Page 10 of Pretend To Be Mine

“Adrian, I know my sister. This is the opportunity she’s been waiting for. Just talk to her. I’ll text you her info right now.”

My phone buzzed a moment later with a contact labeled “Elizabeth Laramie” and a phone number with a New York area code.

It was a bad idea, but hiring a complete stranger was a worse idea. With a lot of luck, it might actually work.

4

ELIZABETH

Istared at a number on the screen that I didn’t recognize. My hand was frozen halfway to my mouth with a forkful of leftover pad thai. Odd numbers were usually spam, someone trying to sell me car insurance or warn me about my vehicle’s extended warranty on a car I didn’t own.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if it was one of the places I’d applied to, calling to say they’d made a mistake, that they wanted to interview me after all?

I dropped the fork and grabbed the phone, swiping to answer before it could go to voicemail.

“Hello?” The word came out slightly strangled. I cleared my throat. “Hello, this is Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth Laramie?” The voice was male, deep, and unfamiliar. And damn sexy. If he was a telemarketer, he was in the wrong business. A voice like that should be narrating steamy audiobooks.

“Yes, this is—wait, who is this?”

There was a pause. I looked at my screen again to make sure the voice didn’t hang up. I was very willing to hear about an auto warranty just so I could listen to his voice.

“This is Adrian Blackwell.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“I’m a friend of your brother’s,” he said, seemingly unaware that he’d just caused me to have a minor stroke. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Was that amusement in his voice? “Actually, could you meet me this afternoon? I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you in person.”

Business proposition. Adrian Blackwell had a business proposition for me. Adrian Blackwell was calling me.

Chris actually did it.

“I—yes. Yes, of course. When? Where?”

“My office. Say, three o’clock? I’ll have your name added to the security list downstairs.”

Three o’clock. His office. I looked at the clock on my microwave: 11:47 AM. That gave me just over three hours to have a complete mental breakdown and then somehow pull myself together enough to meet with the CEO of Blackwell Couture.

“Three o’clock. Your office. I’ll be there.”

“See you then, Elizabeth.”

The line went dead.

I tried to remember how to breathe.

Adrian Blackwell had just called me.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

My phone rang again. I hoped it wasn’t Adrian changing his mind. If it was the same number, I would ignore it and pretend I never saw the call. I wasn’t giving him an out. No way.