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I frown. Maybe I should back out of this madness?
Actually, every rational thread of me says I should back out of this cray.
Before I know what’s happening, I grab the phone and panic-dial.
“Hey, Paige.” Brina picks up on the first ring.
“Oh, thank God. You have time for me today, right? I need you to talk me out of something stupid.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I can hear her sunny, teasing smile over the phone, and then a sigh. “Let’s hear how stupid this thing you’re planning is.”
“I can’t give any details because I’m sworn to secrecy, but...I’m sorta in the process of possibly faking an engagement.”
“Oooh, mysterious! Why?”
“Again. I can’t say. I just...help me, Brina,” I whimper, pulling a hand over my face.
Brina laughs like a hyena with its tail caught. “So, wait, girl. I’m supposed to talk you out of getting fake married, but I can’t ask any questions? Not fair.”
“Um, basically.” I realize how stupid this sounds.
“What kind of relationship are we talking? Is there a certain raging bossasaurus involved?”
“Um...” I cough into my hand while I say the next word. “Yeah.”
For a heavy second, she’s quiet.
“Riddle me this, if you think it’s stupid, why do it?”
“Money. A lot of it,” I answer quickly.
She laughs. “Yeah, don’t do it then. You’re not broke enough to need the money and you’ve got plenty of pride to bruise.”
“No, Brina, like a lot of money. The kind that makes you want to stuff your ego in a little box and bungie it shut.”
“Oh. So, you’re afraid of the windfall making you stupid? Why?”
“Because...” I trail off.
Because it’s as pathetic as it sounds. I don’t want Wardhole thinking he owns me, and that’s just scratching the surface.
Let’s be real for a second. The first time I saw him, I wanted his number. When he brought me home that night, if I wasn’t so loopy and my ankle wasn’t twisted, I would’ve jumped him.
If I have to get fake engaged to him, it might suck when it’s over.
“It’s just so much like Austin. Being a placeholder for some guy to use, without really loving me,” I say, closing my eyes. “Of course, I’d be agreeing to it this time. There’d be no cruel surprises. But I just...yeah. Advice?”
She pauses long enough to weigh my greed against my beat-up heart. What are best friends for?
“You really want my two cents, Paige? I say, go for it.”
I open my eyes and blink.
That was...not what I expected.
“For real? I’m kind of surprised you’d support it.”
“It’s a win-win. If it doesn’t work out, well, then you’ll have a nice fat cushion to find a new job. And you know I’m not here to push you into anything you’re not ready for, but this might be a good way to forget all about that little prick. It was years ago, Paige. You can’t keep beating yourself up, and the dating app duds aren’t doing you many favors.”
True.
She falls silent, and I roll the idea over, wondering if she’s right.
“Well...”
“Try to have some fun with it, okay? I know you can pull a rich guy’s tail just as well as I do. I don’t care what the agreement says, you’re not letting him walk all over you, right?”
“Never!” I throw back.
She giggles. “That’s the spirit. Look, I don’t think you’ll regret it, and if you do you, well, blame me.”
“Crap, you’re right. I gotta go. I need to give him a 'challenge accepted.'”
“Good luck, lady,” she tells me. “Get paid. I want to see you hawking your art out of your own studio like a badass in a year,” she says.
“We’ll see,” I throw back, eating my own smile. “Later!”
Sabrina’s a mind reader. She knows exactly what I want and she also reminds me that this could actually work.
A few months in thrall to Ward Brandt could open doors that seemed chained shut for the next decade.
One point five million dollars means I’m free from Warden’s BS and anyone else’s.
I can slay on my own terms.
I can call my own shots.
I can even find a normal man to ring me one fine day—if normal dudes still exist.
God.
I’m also not in peril. I’m confident I won’t get bulldozed by the bosshole, so I channel that grit into the fun flirty facade I’ve been keeping up all night when I grab my phone and text back.
When and where, mister?
His reply comes instantaneously. My property in Highland Park. Should I send Reese, or do you want to drive? Fair warning, it’s not the easiest place to find for good reason.
I roll my eyes.
Of course the office beast has his very own modern Gothic castle tucked behind a wall of manicured trees, a medieval gate, and hugging prime Lake Michigan shore. The cliché forms in my mind so vividly it hurts.
When you’re his kinda rich and hilariously anti-social, you get to brood in style.
