“Stop,” I mutter to them as we reach the door. “Stop what?” Josie asks, faux innocent. “Stop grinning like that.” “Like what?” Maeve chimes in. “Like you all think you know something,” I whisper. Maeve’s smile ripens. “Oh, I know nothing. Just that your fake date arranged not only a last-minute private paint-and-sip class with a very coveted teacher so you wouldn’t miss it, but also dinner for the four of us at a fabulous new restaurant that’s practically impossible to get into.” “And he’s comping us a penthouse suite in his hotel,” Everly adds, making the point too. “It’s nice. That’s all.
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