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“Just weddings?” I ask again, suspicious. “Can’t he find his own date?”
“Weddings can be… Loaded events,” Olivia explains. “Some women think they spell commitment, others get swept up with the romance of the occasion. My client would prefer to keep everything simple, and perhaps avoid some exes, too.”
“Ah.” I nod, getting a picture of the situation now. He’s probably one of those guys who recoils from the word ‘commitment’, with a string of broken hearts around town. I see them all the time: Pushing fifty, thinking like they’re suave bachelors instead of pathetic balding fools. And she wants me to pretend to be arm candy for this guy?
“The job would pay very well,” Olivia adds.
And, God help me, I pause.
Just how well?I wonder. Well enough to bridge the gap to my next job?
“Is he… Nice?” I ask instead.
“Oh, he’s the sweetest—really.” Olivia insists. “Very charming and… Debonair.”
I mentally revise the age of this guy up from forty-something to sixty-something.
“Would you at least meet with him?” she continues. “I think it could be a good fit. At least help you get along until you find a new job.”
I see the sympathy in her eyes and wince. “You really don’t have to do this.” I reassure her. “I’m fine. I would have throttled Bret sooner or later, and at least this way, I’m just unemployed, and not facing assault charges. Your boyfriend saved me serious legal bills.”
“My boyfriend?” Olivia snorts over her tea. “God no! Charlie’s my cousin.”
I blink, ignoring the fact I’m relieved. “Oh. OK.”
She gets to her feet and produces an elegant business card. “Think about it,” she says, passing it to me. “As well as the event fees, there would be a stipend for wardrobe, hair, makeup… And who knows? You might have fun.”
Fun?
I stare at the card in my hand, turning over her not-so-indecent proposal. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about it, but Mama needs to pay rent, and if I don’t have to sell my body to do so, just a few hours of my time…
How would smiling and nodding with this guy be any different to running around after Bret and the Bassingers?
Except with way less dog shampoo, and humiliation.
“I’ll do it,” I say impulsively. “At least, I’ll meet the client. No promises, though,” I add.
Olivia beams.
“You won’t regret it. Oh, this is going to begood.”
3
CHARLIE
“How doesit feel to own the hottest bar in the city?” I ask, strolling into the bar and dropping a copyof New York Nowon the table. The magazine’s latest edition has two whole pages singing the praises of Mavericks, complete with a glowing review of our cocktail list, and breathless prose about the chic, industrial-meets-downtown decor.
The journalist was pretty breathless, too, when I gave her a private tour of my bedroom that night.
“It’s out?”
Dash, one of the other co-owners, reaches for the magazine with interest.
He pushes back his blonde hair and quotes, “‘Mavericks has established itself as one of Manhattan’s hottest nightlife destinations, and not just because of its five handsome owners. Ladies line up to catch a glimpse of these lifetime friends-turned-entrepreneurs—and to sample their superior wine list.’Jesus, man,” he says, throwing it down with a laugh. “You must have shown her a real good time.”
“Did the trick, didn’t it?” I grin, pleased. “Now that’s what I call a glowing review.”
“Or a personal ad.” Austin cracks, entering in time to hear us. He retired from Major League baseball last year as a beloved MVP, so knows a thing or two about dealing with the press.
