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Eeee!
I’m beaming wide, already floating up near the ceiling when he adds: “I’d like you to pretend to be my girlfriend. It would be fake, obviously. You’d get overtime.”
I crash back down to the floor.
Overtime? He wants to pay me for this?
…Fake?
“It’s purely business,” Sebastian says, still frowning over my shoulder. When he finally looks at me, concern darts through his gray eyes. Guess my dismay is splashed all over my face. “I can hire someone else,” he adds quickly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Felicity. But I have neither the time nor the inclination to find a real date, and… well, you know my family.”
After our four years together, I certainly do. They’re a pack of designer-suited jackals.
Whenever my grouchy sweetheart of a boss goes down the coast for family events, he always comes back looking worn down by life and five years older. At this rate, he’ll be a crumbly old man before I’ve hit thirty, and who wants that?
“I’ll do it,” I say. Never mind my bruised heart; I will rescue this buttoned-down grump from his nefarious relatives. “But I’m… you know…”
I wave a hand up and down my body. My boss’s mouth twists, and his gaze rakes me from head to toe, cataloging my many flaws.
The crinkly, too-bright clothes, covered with a fine layer of cat hair; the bruise on my knee from roller derby. My messy hair that always escapes from whatever bun or braid I put it in. Take your pick.
Is he gonna change his mind? My fingers pluck at my purple skirt, and I swallow hard. Maybe he’ll take it back and ask someone more suitable. Because let’s be honest: if Sebastian wants to impress his snooty family, I’m the last girl in the world he should choose.
“No,” Sebastian declares, stern eyes fixed on an ink stain on my cuff. “I need it to be you, Felicity. I’ll coach you.”
Oh, great. Learning all the ways I don’t measure up for this man? Sounds like pure torture.
Because the Bamfords are old money. Country clubs and race horses and private vineyards—thatkind of money. And I have raspberry streaks in my hair and a tattoo of my ancient cat Rusty on my wrist. My bus pass has seen more action than my credit card.
“Awesome,” I say.
But as I slink out of his office, my bruised heart dragging along the carpet, I try to see the positive side.
And that is: a weekend event with my boss. Hours and hours together away from the office. A sneak peek at his origins, and the chance to give the evil eye to his awful relatives. Sounds fun.
And who knows? Maybe pretending to date me will open Sebastian’s eyes! Maybe he’ll scoop me over his shoulder like a bespectacled Tarzan and carry me into the sunset.
Yeah, right. Girls like me don’t land dreamboats like this. We nurse our forbidden crushes, then go home alone and snuggle with our stinky old cats.
Hope Rusty is ready to be the little spoon when I get home. Today’s been a doozy.
Two
Sebastian
“Stand up straight. Okay, try smiling for me.” Hmm. “Can you show fewer teeth?”
A week later, I’m in the penthouse office with Felicity and a personal stylist after hours. The sky is navy blue outside, the city skyline hazy with electric light. Stars glitter high above as I coach my assistant in the Bamford ways, the stylist tutting and fussing.
We could be here for a while.
Felicity huffs and pushes her shoulders back. The bland smile she pastes on looks so fake it’s painful.
…Or maybe this won’t take long at all. “That’s spot on. Well done.”
Circling her slowly, I examine the outfit I ordered. Dressed in an austere cream dress with her hair pinned up to hide the pink streaks, Felicity looks… normal. Not at all like the human hurricane I’m used to.
My chest pinches, but I ignore it.
