Page 11 of Fake it for Keeps

She looked every bit the successful madam of a high-end dating service.

“Hallie.” She smiled, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”

“Of course.” I folded my hands in my lap, trying to look composed. “I assume this is about last night.”

“It is.” She pulled out a folder and opened it, scanning the contents. “John filed a complaint. He says you abandoned your duties to dance with another client, and that you left him at a club at three.”

“He was drunk,” I said defensively. “And handsy. I wasn’t going to let him pressure me into going home with him.”

“I understand.” Della held up a hand, cutting me off. “And between you and me, John is… difficult. This isn’t the first complaint we’ve had about his behavior. I don’t think he understands what our agency is all about.”

I blinked, surprised. “Then why⁠—”

“Money.” She closed the folder. “He pays well, and he’s a repeat client. But that doesn’t mean I won’t blacklist him for poor behavior. I protect my girls first before I worry about a client.”

“So what happens now?”

“You’ll receive twenty-five percent of your contracted fee.” She named a figure that made my heart sink. It was better than nothing, but nowhere near what I’d been counting on. “I’m sorry, Hallie. I know you were hoping for more.”

Twenty-five percent. That wasn’t going to make a dent in the beach house repairs. I’d need to take on at least three more contracts to get close to what I needed, and after last night, I wasn’t sure I had the stomach for it.

“I understand,” I said quietly.

“However.” Della leaned back in her chair, studying me with those sharp eyes. “I have something that might make the disappointment easier to bear.”

I looked up, hope flickering despite myself. “What do you mean?”

“Another contract.” She smiled, her red lipstick looking even redder against what were clearly very white veneers. “A new client specifically requested you. After seeing you at the gala last night.”

My heart started pounding. “Requested me? Who?”

“He’s a billionaire. Well known in the city.” Della’s smile widened. “And he’s willing to pay significantly more than John did. We’re talking like a hundred thousand dollars. Possibly more, depending on how things go.”

A hundred thousand dollars. How many zeroes is that? My brain isn’t working.

I could barely breathe. That kind of money would not only cover the beach house repairs, but it would also give me a cushion. Security. Maybe even let me take some time off from the salon to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life.

“What’s the catch?” I asked, because there had to be one. “That much money for one night? I can’t imagine what the client expects of me.”

“It’s not a one-night contract,” Della said, waving away my worries. “This would be ongoing. Several weeks, possibly months. You’d need to be available for multiple events, public appearances, that sort of thing.”

“Who is it?” I asked again.

It was a lot of money, but if it was an old fart or another version of John, I wasn’t sure I could handle the fake thing for weeks. I couldn’t make it eight hours with John.

“He’s here.” Della stood up, smoothing her dress. “Waiting in the conference room. If you’re interested, we can go sign the papers now.”

I hesitated for only a moment. A hundred grand. The beach house. My father’s legacy.

“I’m in,” I said, standing up. “Let’s do it.”

Della smiled and led me out of her office, down a hallway lined with tasteful black-and-white photographs. My palms were sweating, and I could feel my pulse in my neck.

Please, don’t let the guy be a complete toad.