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Am I really prepared to pass it up just because Dash is an infuriatingly arrogant trust fund kid with the smile of a devil and an ass that just doesn’t quit?
One weekend. I can swing that. One weekend, and my dreams could finally become something real.
I pull out my phone and dial him before I can change my mind.
“I knew you’d change your mind.”
Dash’s knowing chuckle almost makes me hang up on the spot, but I force myself to take a deep breath.
Eyes on the prize, Callie.
“I might be interested in saving your ass,” I say, playing it cool. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I don’t just want a cash payment,” I tell him, my heart beating a little faster in my chest. “If I do this… If I use my considerable acting skills to convince your grandmother that you’re a sincere, settled, stable guy so she releases your trust fund… Then you have to use some of it to invest in my company. For real. A legit investment, giving me the seed money I need to really get my makeup line off the ground.”
A horn beeps up ahead. A siren wails in the distance. Dash says nothing.
So much for not being demeaning. The only thing more humiliating than agreeing to take this gig would be Dash changing his mind, after all. Damn. Disappointment twists in my chest. I’m about to tell him to forget I ever called when he finally responds.
“OK, I’m in. You have a deal.”
And suddenly, I’m wondering what, exactly, I’ve just gotten myself into.
5
Callie
Two days later, I’m at JFK, rolling my carry-on behind me along with scores of other travelers as I search the overhead signs and wonder if I’ve officially lost my mind.
I’m here, at the airport. Getting ready to hop on an airplane to Florida with a virtual stranger.
A sizzlingly hot, annoyingly charming one, sure, but still not a man I know very well. Or at all, really. And the sparse knowledge I do have—he’s a loaded playboy who lies to his grandmother—aren’t exactly stellar reasons for jetting halfway across the country to join in his whole ‘committed relationship’ performance.
When I spy the door for the first-class lounge, I hesitate. It’s not too late to change my mind. I can turn around now and send a text telling Dash I had a change of heart. That’s certainly the safest course of action.
Then again, most entrepreneurs don’t hit it big without taking a few risks.
This is your dream, I remind myself. You can tolerate a few days of Dash Dashford’s infuriating company to turn that vision into reality.
I straighten back my shoulders, yank open the door, and march inside. I’ve never been inside a first-class lounge before, but the interior is tons nicer than the cramped public restaurants I passed to get here. The club-style chairs are spaced out, and soothing music pipes through hidden speakers. A man in a formal black suit stands at the ready in front of a sleek, full-sized bar providing free drinks and snacks.
Because the one thing rich people need is free mini pretzels.
As I start to scan the passengers, a loud, infectious laugh draws my attention to a table near the end of the bar. Before I even turn in that direction, I know who’s having the time of his life at seven a.m. in an airport bar.
Dash.
He’s sprawled in one of the booths like he lives there, looking far too hot in a snug black tee and tousled bedroom hair. And clearly, the woman cozied up to him agrees. With her flowing pale-blonde hair and wide-set eyes, she’s gorgeous… and oddly familiar.
I blink as I realize where I’ve seen her before. On my TV screen, strutting her way through the latest Netflix smash series. In real life, she’s every bit as dazzling as on the screen. Her smile is luminous enough to power a small city as she flirts with him, twirling a strand of that golden hair around a perfect, manicure-tipped finger.
And he wanted me to play his fake girlfriend?
I gulp, feeling a tremor of nerves. Half of me wants to revisit my earlier plan to flee the airport and forget all about this harebrained scheme. The other half insists that I stay the course.
Just a couple of days, I remind myself. Then that investment money is all yours.
