And I immediately understood why people paid him to attend things.
Julian was tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly handsome.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A charcoal jacket over a plain white shirt.
Not flashy.
Just effortlessly put together.
He spotted me, smiled, and came over.
“Claire?”
“Julian?”
He shook my hand.
“Your temporary boyfriend.”
I nearly spit out my coffee.
“You say that very casually.”
“Occupational hazard.”
He sat down.
I studied him.
“You really do this for a living?”
“Not exactly. I’m an actor. Mostly theater. Commercial work when rent becomes persuasive.”
“And fake dates?”
“Occasionally.”
“Why?”
“Because weddings have better food than community theater.”
I laughed.
That was the first thing I liked about him.
The second was that he stopped joking the moment I explained what Mason had done.
Julian listened.
Really listened.
I told him about the affair.
The divorce.
The carefully crafted invitation.
The handwritten request that I come alone.
