LIAM

I stand in the back corner of the restaurant, holding the single, red rose I bought from the street vendor out front as Ada winds her way through the tables covered in crisp, white linens. The sunshine streaming through the massive skylight overhead catches in the chaotic, wavy strands of her ponytail. All I can think about is getting my damn hands in that hair. Heads turn as people decked out in their finest designer threads watch her pass.

She definitely stands out in her yoga pants and sneakers, camera dangling around her neck. She's the only authentic person in a sea of posers and social climbers. She sees me and stops walking, head cocked to the side, eyeing the rose in my hand.

I thought if she walked out of here holding it, the photographers would go nuts. After my visit with my dad this morning, all I wanted to do was see Ada. I told myself it was so the paps could get more shots of us together in case he decided to talk to the press despite the cash I gave him.

But I should've already texted Julian, so he could tip the photogs off about us being here. Part of me—a very stupid part—wants to just hang with this girl today and see what happens. Between that kiss at the carousel and the way she blocked the paparazzi from photographing Faye outside Rockefeller Plaza the other night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about her. That was shockingly cool. Definitely not what I expected. It's got me wondering if maybe she isn't like the rest of them at all.

"Are you auditioning for the next season of The Bachelor or something?" Ada's mouth curves into a grin.

I laugh, holding the flower out to her. "Ada Datchery, will you accept this rose?"

She studies me for a beat then plucks it from my hand. "I guess. But next time you decide to invite me to High Tea at the freaking Plaza, maybe give me a heads up, so I can change." She gestures down at her clothes.

I want to tell her she looks gorgeous just how she is, but instead I clear my throat and say, "Right. Sorry."

Striding past me, she sets her camera down on the table.

My hand brushes hers as I reach to slide her chair out for her.

She rolls her eyes at me. "I can get my own chair."

"I know you can, Ace."

She looks over her shoulder at the other diners, but a row of potted plants blocks us from view. "No one's watching," she says. "You can drop the act."

Her words are a reality check. None of this is real. It's all a show. The thought is weirdly disappointing.

"Humor me." I gesture toward the chair.

She sighs dramatically but sits down. A waitress appears and takes our drink orders. Ada asks for a Coke, and I request my usual.

"An Arnold Palmer? Seriously?" Ada's eyes crinkle with amusement. "My great grandpa used to order those."

"Hey, don't mock it till you try it."

"I'll take your word for it." She smiles, and for a second, all I want is to be the guy who makes her smile like that all the time. I've got to pull my head out of my ass.

I open my menu. "So, how's work going?"

"You want to talk about my work?"

"Isn't that what people usually talk about during business lunches?"

She quirks an eyebrow like she sees right through me. All the conflicted feelings I have for this girl are probably written all over my face.

"If you must know, work is pretty craptastic at the moment." She flicks her menu open.

"Craptastic? Is that the kind of word they teach in high schools these days?"

"Basically. But speaking of work—" She reaches for her camera.

"You're going to take pictures now?" My face falls as I feel the familiar prickle of annoyance that's like an automatic response anytime someone tries to take my photograph.

"This is a business lunch, right?" she asks. "Pictures are my business."

"Fair enough." I shrug, frowning.

I might not like it, but she's got a point. So far, she's more than held up her end of this deal. Letting her take a picture is the least I can do. "So what do you want me to do? Smile or something?"

"Just look down at your menu and be natural." She fiddles with the knobs on the front of her Nikon. "Tabloids want candid shots. They only buy photos of celebs posing and looking pretty for the cameras at big events."

"So you're saying you think I'm pretty?" I tease.

"You wish," she says, but I don't miss the flush creeping up her neck.

I chuckle, looking at my menu and rubbing my chin like I'm trying to decide what to order. I hear the ch-ch as Ada takes the shot and examines it. "How'd it turn out?" I ask.

She folds her arms, squinting up at me. "Does the term over-acting mean anything to you?"

"Ouch!" I clutch my chest, laughing. "That was ruthless."

She presses a hand to her mouth, but a laugh sneaks out, making me feel like I just won some kind of prize. I realize I'm staring at her and clear my throat, forcing myself to look away as she starts winding that star charm of hers between her fingers.

"Nice necklace," I say. "Where'd you get it?"

"Thanks. It was my grandmother's." Ada's voice is quiet, something like sadness tugging at her features. "She left it to me when she...well, she left it to me."

I nod, understanding. I wonder how long ago her grandmother passed. "It looks like one of the stars from the Walk of Fame."

"It is. It's got her name on it. She was an aspiring actor."

The look on Ada's face is so full of love and grief it pulls at old wounds inside me. I've never experienced unconditional love like that. I don't know if I ever will. When I first started acting, I thought I'd find that kind of connection with my fans. It didn't take me long to realize they were only in love with the character I portrayed, not the person I am.

The waitress drops off our drinks before hurrying to another table.

"Grams bought me my very first camera," Ada continues. "My parents weren't exactly thrilled about the idea of me becoming a paparazzi, but she convinced them to let her sign me up for photography lessons."

"She sounds like an amazing woman," I say gently.

"She was." Ada takes a sip of her Coke, blinking rapidly. "She's the reason I realized I wanted to be a photog in the first place."

"Oh, yeah?"

"She used to take me to all the big movie premieres, so I could take pictures of all the celebrities." Ada gestures at me with a wave of her hand. "And, I don't know. I just fell in love with capturing those moments and sharing them with other people."

I blink at her. I'd wondered why she wanted to be a pap, but I never would've guessed. It reminds me of the reason I want to make movies. Giving people magical moments to escape into regardless of what they're dealing with in their own lives is what I've always wanted to do. It's the same kind of escape acting gave me as a kid.

Ada's blush spreads into her cheeks, and her eyes fall to the tablecloth. "That sounded so cheesy. You probably think I'm a total nerd."

"I can relate actually." Without thinking, I reach out and take her hand across the table. We've held hands for the cameras so many times now, it's like second nature.

Ada's eyes snap to mine, lips parting in surprise. I should let go, but I don't. She's still for a heartbeat then her fingers curl around mine, and she squeezes my hand back. It's like being hit with a lightning bolt, one that cracks something open inside of me and leaves me questioning how fake this thing between us really is.

The waitress chooses that moment to bring our meals, and Ada pulls her hand back. The pasta I ordered smells incredible, warm tomatoes and melted cheese. But food is the last thing on my mind.

I'm dying to know where Ada's head's at and if she's feeling as confused as I am. But I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to ask her that. We didn't exactly get off to the best start. And she's been very open about using this relationship to get ahead in her career. I'm going to look like such an idiot if I tell her I just might be as obsessed with her as she said I am, and she doesn't feel the same way.

"So what's your favorite movie?" Ada breaks the silence I'd been too lost in thought to notice.

I laugh. "Are you really pulling out the bad date questions right now?"

"Well, since this is obviously the worst date ever, yeah." Her eyes are sparkling when I look up at her though, and it makes me think that maybe she's enjoying this as much as I am.

"Fair enough." I take a swig of my drink. "It's Casablanca."

"Really? I would have pegged you as a Rebel Without a Cause kind of guy."

"Oooh, I see how it is. I'll have you know that Humphrey Bogart was a badass. He even served in the—"

"In the Navy. I know," she interrupts.

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Only true movie buffs know that.

"You've got that whole broody, tough-guy vibe going," Ada continues. "I figured you'd be more of a James Dean fan."

"Well," I rest my elbows on the table, "maybe you can't always see people clearly through that lens of yours."

She leans toward me. "And maybe the people behind those lenses aren't as bad as you think they are."

"Doubtful," I say even though I'm starting to wonder that very thing. "So what's your favorite movie then?"

"Roman Holiday."

"You're into Hepburn?"

"What? You think us evil photogs aren't capable of appreciating a classic?"

"Something like that," I admit.

She glowers at me. "I could sweep the floor with you when it comes to classic movie trivia, Matthew McConaughey."

"Bring it, Paparazzi Queen."

We quiz each other on films as we eat, and I'm seriously impressed with how much Ada knows about movies. I can't believe how much fun I'm having talking to this girl, who only a couple of weeks ago made me want to pull my hair out.

We finish eating too soon. I don't want the night to be over yet. I want to spend more time with her.

Ada folds her napkin, tossing it on the table. There's a question in her eyes as she looks up at me. "I didn't see any paps outside when I got here."

"Yeah." I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. "I, uh, didn't tell my publicist we were here. He's the one who tips them off for me."

"Why not?"

I don't know the answer to that question myself yet, so I ask one of my own instead. "Did you tell your co-workers we were here?"

She shakes her head, the expression in her eyes indecipherable.

My thumb taps nervously against the table. "What do you say we keep them in the dark a little longer?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Go for a walk with me?" I stand and hold out my hand to her.