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“Because she has everything together and she’s super professional.”
“One ‘Savannah’ is more than enough. Trust me.” She hugs me hard. “When exactly is Dante coming in?”
“Um, well, he actually—You see, the thing about him is, it’s complicated.” I stutter.
Now is the perfect time to admit the truth, to come clean about all the random gifts and fake voicemails.
“I’m having an interior designer put some finishing touches on your official manager’s suite so your fiancé can see it while he’s here,” Grandma Hattie says. “Did you already say what day he’s arriving?”
“Yeah, I said he’ll be here on Thursday.”
* * *
Later that night,I lock myself in a suite and set up a table with Mission: Find a Fake Fiancé. I have ninety-six hours to find a guy who can save my life, and I refuse to throw in the towel until the very last second.
I brew coffee and open Craigslist, Home for the Holidays, and Rent-a-mate in separate tabs.
The other sites are far less promising, and I’m convinced that OnlyFans is borderline prostitution.
Not wanting to give up, I log into my social media accounts, checking on all my male friends one by one.
Engaged. Married. Single and looking for anyone down to screw on Christmas. Ugh…
By midnight, I’m close to throwing in the towel and deflating my estate dreams earlier than planned.
As I’m making another pot of coffee, the housekeeping manager texts me “Call me! It’s an emergency!”
I forward it to someone else, someone who isn’t watching her life go up in flames with every passing second.
I’m not sure how long I flip between tabs and scroll through pages, but when I look up from my laptop, the sun is peaking over the clouds and reality is setting in.
“Telling the truth won’t be the end of the world,” I say to myself. “Grandma just won’t trust me t be manager because I’ll still be single…and a liar.”
I lean back in my chair, exhaling.
My work cell rings—signaling the start of a new day with VIP guest requests, and I accept that the jig is up. Game over.
“Thank you for calling your Special Guest Services Manager,” I answer. “I’m Georgia Grey, and I’m looking forward to fulfilling your every request.”
“Good morning, Miss Grey,” a deep voice says. “This is Ryan Painter, a customer specialist with The Office Guest.”
“Okay, seriously? I didn’t have anything to do with that dumpster that caught fire at your headquarters last year. That was totally a coincidence that happened on the same day y’all banned my account.”
“That’s not why I’m calling you, Miss Grey.”
“Oh. Well, what’s going on?”
“I couldn’t help but notice that you have yet to rejoin our app since your suspension was lifted.”
“What?” I sit upright. I’d completely forgotten about The Office Guest.
“I’m sending you a special ten percent code in hopes that you’ll find use for it within the next thirty days, but I do want to warn you that we’ve changed quite a few things since you were last one of our customers.”
“Yeah?” I place him on speaker and re-download the app as he speaks. “Things like what?”
“We just eliminated almost everything you used to abuse our app for.” His voice is deadpan. “And, although you can see what our guests look like, we had to eliminate the men seeing you until it’s time to meet in person due to some abuses by other clients.”
When I enter my old password, I’m not met with an ugly red screen anymore. Instead, the wonderful world I’ve missed so much is suddenly mine again. Gorgeous men in suits, availability, accents, and “skills.”
