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mock disbelief. "Here I've been slaving for at least eight hours to read up on good ol' Mr. Alexander and his very pretty manager, and you're questioning my ability to cram. I crammed before every test in high school. I've got it down to an art form."
    Paris restrained herself from laughing. "Yes, but did you pass those exams?"
    He waggled a finger. "No fair asking hard questions."
    "That does it. We're staying in this corner. If they really want to talk, they can come to you." Besides, she wanted to figure out his angle.
    "Of course." He moved closer, but didn't touch her. He didn't have to. His proximity alone made her head spin.
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    "Just that you must be pretty attracted to me if you're going to that much trouble to keep me all to yourself."
    She smiled sweetly, fighting to keep her breathing under control. "Haven't you ever heard the saying? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?"
    "So we're enemies?"
    "Frankly, I have no idea."
    "Well, there you go." He leaned against the wall, smug satisfaction dancing across his face.
    "There I go what?"
    "Just that you don't know if I'm an enemy or a friend. But you want me around. Sounds like attraction."
    She held her tongue. Such an infuriating man. Attraction wasn't the point. The point was that he crashed the party—pretending to be the man of the hour—supposedly to get a date. Then, in a display of pure arrogance, assumed she was attracted to him. The idea was irritating, conceited. It was also, she conceded, exactly what Alexander would assume.
    Well, so what? True, he looked the part. And he did have a certain aura. And, yes, there was a tingle when he took her hand. But that didn't mean…
    Okay, maybe it did. But even if Paris was attracted to him, he would be the last person she'd tell. "I think you're confusing curiosity about your lack of manners and good character for attraction," she finally retorted.
    "Am I?"
    His response was so quick that for a moment words evaded her, and he seized the advantage.
    "Let me prove myself. Let me be your knight in shining armor and ride forth into the masses spreading the glorious crusade of Montgomery Alexander." He thrust one arm skyward as if holding a sword.
    A giggle escaped her. She couldn't help it. He looked so silly. Besides, what choice did she really have? Montgomery Alexander hiding in the corner with his manager would do nothing to satisfy his fans and would certainly not make Ellis Chapman's day. Any minute now, the masses would come to them.
    It's just like swimming. Take a deep breath and jump.
    "Fine," she said. "But we go together."
    Arms linked, they plunged forward. Within moments, someone caught Alexander's attention and pulled him toward the dance floor, but not before he leaned over and offered one last word of reassurance.
    "Don't worry," he said. "I promise an award-winning performance."
    * * *
    "I should have come right over," Rachel said. "But I thought you'd hired him, and I was going to sulk a little since you'd kept me out of the loop."
    The party was winding down, and Rachel and Paris were camped out in the darkest corner of the restaurant. The remains of crackers, cheese and plump strawberries littered their table. Paris grabbed the last strawberry and shoved the plate aside.
    "He's amazing," Paris said, glancing toward the dance floor where her mystery man was politely stalling a persistent redhead who kept urging him to dance. "I mean, his performance was amazing," she added, feeling the heat pool in her cheeks. "I shadowed him for two hours, ready to rescue him, but he never said anything stupid."
    "Is he how you pictured Alexander?"
    Paris shrugged. Rachel had hit upon the question of the hour. "It's weird. Before, I could imagine Alexander's hands, his scent, his walk, everything. But now, when I close my eyes, all I see is, well, him." She nodded toward the impersonator.
    "Well, of course," Rachel purred, looking like the cat that swallowed the