ADA

"Party of two?" the concierge asks as Elodie and I walk into Fab for her birthday dinner.

"Yes. The reservation is under Ada Datchery." I'm trying to sound chill and mature like I've been to restaurants like this tons of times before. This place is majorly swanky. Between the black marble floors and the string quartet playing an elegant rendition of a pop-rock song in the back corner, I half expect to be asked to leave.

Elodie catches my eye, mouthing, Oh my God.

The light from the massive chandelier above us reflects off her shimmery, silver dress. Her hair is styled in long, loose curls. She's very forties glam. I refused to wear a dress, but I am wearing a sparkly, black tank with black skinny jeans and pointy-toed booties. For me, this is practically prom attire.

"Right this way, mademoiselles." The concierge ushers us inside. He's all smooth manners, slick hair, and fancy fake French accent.

We follow him, wending our way through tables draped in rich, golden linens. The ceiling and walls are inlaid with large, emerald green tiles that shimmer in the warm, low light. A bar runs the length of the wall, the backlit shelves above it filled with expensive-looking bottles of liquor.

Els grabs my arm. "This is incredible."

"Right?" This place is so next level. The money I've made off my shots lately is going to come in handy, since I'm sure my bill is going to be next level too.

"Your table." The waiter gestures toward a round, velvet booth. We sit down, and it's like sitting on a cloud.

The table is set with immaculate white plates and crystal water goblets. The silverware is gold-plated, and it shines like it's been recently polished. The vase in the center overflows with an assortment of green flowers and at least a dozen gold-colored roses. They're shiny and match the decor. I reach out to examine one and realize it's a legit gold-dipped rose.

I jerk my hand back. I don't know if Fab has a you-break-it-you-bought-it policy, but I'm not taking any chances.

"A, this is too much. What am I supposed to do for your birthday next year now?" Elodie gazes around the restaurant, wide-eyed.

"No idea, but you have ten months to figure it out." I grin. "How weird is it that we're actually adults now?"

A waiter materializes and fills our water glasses. He recites their specials like he's done it a thousand times and takes our drink orders. This seems like the type of place where you should order merlot or champagne. I feel almost barbaric ordering a Coke, especially when Elodie asks for sparkling water with lemon.

"Since when do you drink sparkling water with lemon?" I mutter.

"Well, it's not like I was going to order a Mountain Dew in a classy joint like this."

I stick my tongue out at her and flick open my menu. I've never heard of half the things on it, but they all sound delicious. "What are we even going to order? Els? Elodie?"

I set my menu down. Elodie has her phone out, taking pictures like she's the paparazzo at the table. She's photographing the plates, the glasses, the chandelier, the golden flowers, even the booth.

"I'm documenting everything," Elodie says, flipping open her menu and snapping away. A few of the other diners look over at our table.

"Calm down there, Annie Leibovitz." I laugh. "How about we at least decide what we're going to order before you get us kicked out."

She pouts. "You of all people should understand."

"Well, of course, I do. I'm just not sure they do." I tilt my head toward the next table where a woman whose face looks like plastic is side-eyeing us.

"Fine." Elodie huffs, setting her phone down. She starts singing "It's My Party" under her breath, but she's changed the lyrics to 'I'll take pics if I want to.'

I snort. "Yeah, I don't think that's going to catch on."

Elodie hides her cell beneath her napkin as the waiter reappears at our table with our drinks. We end up ordering the stuffed mushrooms. I also get the lobster risotto while Elodie asks for the spicy olive tapenade.

"So how's the fake boyfriend?" Elodie takes a sip of her sparkling water. Her nose wrinkles as she grimaces.

"Ugh." I cover my eyes with my fingertips. With the constant speculation about us online, the last thing I want to think about is Liam Anders. "Can we talk about literally anything else? I need a Liam-free night."

"Fine." Elodie frowns. "But you're filling me in later. This is my only chance to vicariously date a celebrity. My fantasies need fuel." She waggles her eyebrows.

"You're ridiculous." I glance over at the table next to us before bunching up my linen napkin and tossing it at her. Elodie giggles, catching it." I'll tell you everything tomorrow," I say, "but tonight's about you. It's your birthday."

"You're so right. Which one of my many fabulous qualities did you want to discuss?"

I snort. "How about you tell me how the competition prep is going?"

The regional qualifying round for the World Barista Championships is coming up, and Elodie's been stressing hard over which drinks she's going to make.

She sighs dramatically. "Everything I make is too amazing. I can't choose."

"You really need to work on your confidence. It's a problem."

"Seriously though," Elodie giggles. "I need help. You've got to come to the coffee shop this week, so we can narrow it down."

"Only if you promise not to make me drink anything that's previously passed through another creature's digestive tract."

"Fun hater."

The waiter sets a steaming platter between us with a flourish. "Your appetizer."

The mushrooms are covered in hot, gooey cheese and look like something straight out of Bon Appétit. I scrutinize the row of forks sitting in front of me. I can't remember if I'm supposed to start with the one nearest my plate and work my way out or vice versa. Shrugging, I grab the outside fork and go to spear a mushroom. Elodie swats my hand away.

"I need documentation of this culinary perfection before you stuff your face."

I watch her fiddle with different filters as she snaps a photo.

"Permission to stuff my face now?"

"Permission granted." Her fingers tap away at her phone, probably posting her photos.

I pop a mushroom into my mouth. It's hot and buttery and oozes with spices and garlicky goodness. "Oh my God!" I say around my mouthful of food. It comes out sounding more like "Mmm-ahh-odd."

"That good, huh?" Elodie laughs.

I swallow. "So good! I swear I will eat this whole plate if you don't put that phone away."

"So bossy." She sets her cell down and reaches for a fork, but before she can go for a mushroom, her phone beeps. Assuming it's someone commenting on the barrage of pictures she posted, I go in for another bite.

Elodie gasps. "No way!" She swivels in her chair, scanning the tables around us.

"What?"

She glances from me to the screen. "I don't think you're going to love this."

"Give it." I snatch her phone, expecting to see another story about Liam and me.

I take one look at it and gasp, inhaling so hard, I immediately start choking on my own saliva. I grab for my water, spluttering and causing a whole scene as I try to catch my breath.

The plastic woman glares.

"Are you okay?" Elodie is halfway out of her seat like she's ready to come over here and give me the Heimlich.

Tears beat tracks down my face, but I nod. I'm still panting as I blink down at the picture on the phone.

It isn't a story about Liam and me. It's a shot of just me, sitting right here and stuffing my face.

My mouth is so full of mushroom, my cheeks are bulging. I'm mid-food swoon, eyes rolling back in my head. I look like a frickin' chipmunk having an orgasm. Somebody posted it to their InstaStories. I can't believe anyone would snap a pic of me eating and post it. Who would do something like—

Oh.

My hand clenches around Elodie's phone as I register the handle at the top of the screen. @LiamAnders.

He's added his own stupid caption to it too.

@AdaDatchery the Paparazzi Queen looking FAB tonight.

Below the awful picture is a little gif that blinks and says, '10/10 would recommend.'

"That stupid...that arrogant...that asshole."

My blood is hot in my veins as my eyes sweep over the other tables. There's a low chuckle to my left, and I see Liam sitting in one of the other booths. His lips are pulled in that lopsided smirk of his. He lifts his hand in a wave.

What the hell? I mouth, glaring at him.

He holds up his arms and shrugs like he has no idea why I'm upset. Then he leans forward, grinning and says something to the person sitting across from him. I can't see who it is from here.

I turn back to Elodie. "Can you believe him? This is exactly what I've been telling you about."

Elodie bites her lips together. Her eyes are watering like she's holding back a laugh.

"This is not funny!"

"It's hilarious," she wheezes, unable to hold her laughter in anymore.

"Betrayed by my own best friend, and after I take her out for such a nice meal too." I toss her phone to her. "Wait a second. Why did you get an alert when he posted that? Did you set up notifications for him?"

"What?" She gives me her most innocent puppy-dog eyes. "You have him on notifications."

"Yeah, for work. Not because I have any interest whatsoever in what he posts."

"Mmhmm." She shoots me a knowing smile.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Elodie rests her elbows on the table. "I don't think you dislike the guy as much as you keep saying you do."

"How in the Hollywood Hills did you come up with that one?"

"I've seen the shots of you two together, and it definitely does not look like you hate each other."

"Elodie," I snap. "We're faking it for the cameras. You know that."

"A, Liam might be an actor, but you are not. Remember when you played Dorothy in our fifth-grade play and you just scowled at the audience the entire time?"

"I was a child, and there were lights in my eyes. This is completely different."

She squints at me. "Is it though?"

"I know you've decided in that cute, twisted little head of yours that you ship the idea of us together. But have you listened to anything I've said? We despise each other."

"Okay, first of all, do not sink my ship." She raises a finger. "And if you hate each other so much then why does Liam keep staring at you." Her eyes flit over to his table.

"He's probably waiting for his next opportunity to humiliate me." I glance over at him, and our eyes meet. I'm already so flustered, a blush creeps up my neck, which Elodie of course notices.

"Like I said." She grins, and I glower at her.

The waiter arrives with our entrees as another man walks up to the table. His uniform is similar to our waiter's—a white button-down shirt with a black bowtie. But this guy also has a jacket over top. I'm guessing he's the manager.

Uh-oh. Maybe he is going to kick us out for all those pictures Elodie took.

"Pardon me. Miss Datchery, I presume?"

"Erm...yes?"

He beams. "We're so glad that you seem to be enjoying your meal."

His eyes drift over to Liam's table.

Oh, no. Did he see the picture Liam posted? My already smoldering face gets even hotter. I want to hide beneath the tablecloth.

"We would like to offer you a complimentary dessert," he says, "as a thank you for promoting our establishment on social media."

Promoting? Is he kidding? On what planet could that photo be considered promotion? I know they say no press is bad press, but come on.

"She would be happy to accept." Elodie smiles up at him.

"Actually," I say, thinking quickly. "It's my friend's birthday. Maybe you could do something for her instead?"

"But of course," he gushes, turning to Els and smiling. "Your birthday. How wonderful. I know just the thing." His eyes light up, and he pops one finger in the air like he's had a brilliant idea. "Perhaps Mr. Anders and his friend would like to join you for dessert as well. A photo of the two of you together would be so great for the restaurant."

"Oh, n—" I'm about to say no when Elodie cuts me off.

"She'd love that."

"Fantastic. I'll go talk to them straight away." He turns on his heel and marches toward Liam's table.

"What are you doing?" I kick her under the table.

"Ouch! It's my birthday." She kicks me back. "And I would like to have dessert with Liam Anders."

I scowl at her. "You're a monster."

"And you can thank me later."