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I grit my teeth. “I’m a fast learner. Sir.”
“You don’t need tosirme,” Gage snorts. “I’ve seen you do theElectric Slide. Very drunkenly.”
Oh, so he’s allowed to mention the fact that we know each other outside of work, but if I bring it up, I’m somehow demanding preferential treatment.
I don’t think so. I’ll suck it up and defer to him when it comes to work stuff, but I’m not going to stand here and let him make fun of choices I’ve made in my personal life.
I put my hands on my hips. “People said my dancing was half the fun at that wedding.”
“Are you sure they meant it as a compliment?” he shoots back.
I purse my lips. After the community art center where I worked shut down, and I couldn’t find another art teacher job, Tom encouraged me to apply for the job as Gage’s assistant. All but guaranteeing that Gage would hire me because of some favor he owed Tom. My big brother is only four years older than me, but he’s miles more responsible than me.
When I expressed concerns about working for Gage, Tom talked about what a straight-shooter Gage is. How he doesn’t waste time with small talk or office politics. Gage says what he means, and he means what he says.
In theory, I like that in a man. In practice, it mostly feels like he’s being rude to me.
All. Freaking. Day. Long.
I force a smile. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to go home for the day.” I turn to leave.
“Wait,” Gage commands, his voice so authoritative I freeze.
“What size dress are you?”
I turn around, bewildered. “I’m pretty sure that’s an H.R. violation.”
“Your entire hiring process was an H.R. violation,” Gage grumbles. “I don’t typically offer jobs to wildly unqualified women just because of who they’re related to.”
I open my mouth to object, but he points to a designer dress hanging on the back of his door. It’s a barely-there gold silk number that clings and swoops in impossibly sexy ways. My roommate, who works at a small fashion history museum, would drool.
“Will that fit you?” Gage asks.
I blink. “Why do you have a dress hanging in your office?”
“There’s a charity auction tonight,” Gage explains impatiently. “My date had a mishap with the dress she was planning on wearing, so I had a new one delivered here since she was supposed to meet me at the office. Unfortunately, she can’t make it.” He gestures impatiently. “Will it fit you?”
I take the dress down and check the tag. Then I check the fabric. There’s some stretch there. “Probably,” I say.
“Good. I need a date for a charity auction tonight. As I said, mine canceled, and I’m not about to spend the night listening to nosy busybodies asking me why I don’t have a girlfriend or trying to set me up.”
“I...what?” I can’t believe he wants me to go to a fancy event with no notice, wearing a dress he bought for another woman.
“Get dressed. We leave in fifteen minutes. There’s a lobbyist I need to talk to, and he normally leaves these things early.”
Gage clearly hasn’t thought this through. And I’m not just saying that because I would commit murder to be able to go home right this instant and eat my weight in potato chips.
“But I’m not...” I try to think how to say this tactfully, before giving up and going for the blunt version. “I don’t know the etiquette for an event like that, and I don’t have time to prepare. I think I’d be more of a hindrance than help.”
Gage returns his focus to his computer. “All I need you to do is stand next to me, smile, and look vaguely like a woman I might date. Even you couldn’t mess that up.”
Now, I realize the full extent of the problem. My asshole boss isn’t just asking me to attend a work function as his last-minute guest.
He’s asking me to be his fake girlfriend. In averysexy dress.
And after the day I’ve had, I don’t know if I can tell him no.
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