Evie I LEFT THE CEO’s office as calmly as I could, hurried toward the restroom, and proceeded to freak out. I didn’t want to hyperventilate at work, but didn’t know if I could stop it. I ran into a stall just as rapid breaths racked my entire body. I fisted my hands into my eyes and tried not to think about how utterly weird of a thing had just happened, but it was impossible. Had my boss really just asked me to be his fake girlfriend in exchange for ke eping my job? And had I really said yes? Exactly how important was this job to me? Was it worth this? I mean, I guess it was since I’d said yes, but what was wrong with me? What was wrong was that my house situation was worse than I liked to admit, even to myself. I k ept getting warning letters about needing to pay my mortgage. I couldn’t lose this job. I had to make my next payment and then figure out my back payments before I got foreclosed on. I didn’t have time to look for another job, much less one as high paying as this one. I needed these paychecks, and I needed them fast. If what I had to do to ke ep those paychecks coming was pretend to be my extremely handsome CEO’s girlfriend at a few events, well, then that’s what I would have to do. I leaned my forehead against the cool tile wall. No one at work could know, even though his sister worked here. I’d have to sign an NDA. I’d never been great at ke eping secrets. What he should have asked me was how well I could ke ep a secret, but then mayb e he would have fired me instead. “Shit, shit, shit,” I said to myself. “You okay in there?” a voice came from the stall next to me. The voice sounded like Tasha. “I’m fine,” I said, in the world’s least convincing answer. Had she heard me breathing like I’d just run a marathon? “I just need a minute.” “Okay then,” she answered, obviously not interested in my situation, which was good. There was no way I could explain any of this, and I wasn’t in a mental state to craft a cover - up. She flushed, washed her hands, and left. I remained in my stall.
I needed to get myself together and go on about my workday. I had lunch with Rex to survive as well. This day would likely be the weirdest workday I’d ever had, but as I had that thought, it occurred to me that every day going forward would be a farce. I could handle this, I told myself. I would save my house, and maybe I could save myself from declaring bankruptcy. This situation would last for weeks, maybe months. That was doable. If I lost my house or declared bankruptcy, my entire life would change a nd be harder for years. This would all be worth it in the end. I’D NEVER BEEN to Joes eppi’s before, but it was impossible to miss with its valet parking attendants out front, dark windows, and ritzy awning. I’d been to fancy restaurants a time or two, but not restaurants with hundred dollar plates on the menu. Especia lly not for lunch. My usual restaurant choices in volved vegetarian options, lunch specials under ten dollars, and to - go containers. So when I stood in front of Joes eppi’s and thought through what I was about to talk about with my boss, I froze up. This was too weird. The front door of the restaurant opened, and Rex stood there, holding it for me. “Come in, Ms. Day. Our table is ready.” I followed him inside, and a hostess led us to a table in a private room. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, he would choose a private room. He didn’t want anyone to know about our deal. That’s why we were doing this here instead of in his office. A pretty, young server approached our table, and I noticed how her eyes settled on him, how her smile was all for him while she hardly made eye contact with me. “I’ll have whatever your lunch special is today,” he said simply, barely making eye contact with the server. Instead, he looked at me, and a strange little flutter landed in my chest as he did. “Evie?” I almost said I’d have the same, but this was an Italian restaurant. I didn’t want to be slurping up spaghetti while he detailed what kind of deal we’d be undertaking together. I took a quick glance at the menu and ordered bruschetta. That should allow me some level of dignity while negotiating, assuming I’d be negotiating. I watched the server make her way back to the kitchen. I wondered if I should get up and leave while I still could. This was my last chance to say no. He had a folder with him. I figured the NDA was inside of that folder. Last chance to flee. And yet I sat there and awaited my fate.
“This is a very ritzy restaurant,” I said. “I thought when you said meet you for lunch, you might mean at the cafe next door to the building. It’s a lovely cafe. I go there all the time. They have really nice portobello sandwiches.” A tight smile settled on his face, and I wondered if he ever truly smiled. So far, I had no proof that he did, but at least this humorless, flat smile showed he knew the principle behind the action. “Are you nervous?” “Well, I feel a little out of place here. Business casual doesn’t seem the right look. I’d fit in better in a suit... or a ballgown.” “Ms. Day, if we’re to do this, you will be surrounded by places far higher - end than this restaurant. Does that bother you?” I shook my head. The most opulence I’d ever experienced was buying name brand groceries instead of store brand, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He might change his mind, and I had to admit to myself that I was intrigued by what his world might look like. May be being a pretend girlfriend to a billionaire would be fun. And pretending to be his date and having an excuse to stare at him certainly wouldn’t be horrible. “You shouldn’t call me Ms. Day if we’re pretending to date.” He nodded, a tiny smile pricking at his lips. “You’re right.” “Do you always go by Rex? Should I ever call you Reginald?” “Rex. My father is Reginald. I’ve always gone by Rex. I liked it as a kid, like I was going to bulldoze everything.” I’ll bet he bulldozed all kinds of things, mostly employees and people who tried to have feelings in his presence. I wondered if he was as stern on the inside as he was on the outside. And, if he wasn’t, I wondered what he’d be like when he lightened up, i f he ever did. I made that a goal of mine — to get him to lighten up. “Before we get into details, we need to deal with the NDA.” He opened the folder and took out a packet of papers. “You’re welcome to sign this now or take it home to read it over or consult with a lawyer, but the gist of this is that you may not speak priv ately or publicly of our agreement, not to friends, not to family, not to the press. This is a secret between you and me, and it will stay that way or you will find yourself in the midst of a lawsuit.” Holy shit. He didn’t mess around. I snatched the NDA off of the table. “I’m not going to tell anyone about this. Don’t worry. I don’t have anyone to tell. I’d like to know more about what you’re asking of me before I sign, though.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’d like you to sign before I give you details, as that agreement also protects those details.” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll sign it now. I don’t care.” He pulled a pen out of his breast pocket. The pen had gold accents. I was sure they were actual gold. I skimmed the agreement, but didn’t see anything that made me believe he was trying to sneak anything in. Don’t tell anyone. Really, no one. Seriously, don’t tell even your cat, if you have a cat, which I didn’t, so we were fine there. So I signed it and h anded it back to him. Our food arrived and for a few minutes, he ate in silence. I watched him. Even the way he ate was stately and refined, while I took a bite of bruschetta and immediately some tomatoes slipped and landed in my lap. I had overestimated the dignity of eating b ruschetta. He watched, obviously not impressed. I tittered as I dabbed at the mess. “I don’t usually dump food in my lap. I promise.” He looked sk eptical. “Are you always so serious?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “Are you always so talkative?” I smiled. “I am.” “You might want to refrain from talking too much around my family.” “Why is that?” “None of us are like that. They might read it as nervousness. They might get suspicious.” “Oh, don’t worry. I know how to work a room just fine, but I’ll do my best not to talk too much. I suspect I won’t know what to talk about, anyway. I’ll be the odd one out, and I don’t think any of them would like to hear about how much instant ramen I’ve had to eat this week.” He winced. “I take it I should ke ep my instant ramen habits to myself?” He took a de ep breath and then let it out. “Honestly, I want you to be yourself. The more you try to be someone you’re not, the more likely it is that someone will get suspicious.” “If I act like myself, they’ll wonder what you see in me.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s not up to them what I see in anyone.” In those words, I could hear an entire world of hurt, and pain, and betrayal. What kind of family situation would I be walking into? How much would being myself actually help? I didn’t want to ask. He seemed so sure that me being myself was the way to go. “So what kinds of appearances will you need me to make with you?” I asked. “I come from a wealthy family, Evie,” he began. “I’m the oldest of my siblings, and my father is a controlling man. He is attempting to push me into dating — and possibly marrying — the daughter of his best friend. Her name is Anya. Anya’s father is also pres suring her, but unlike me, she’s invested in the idea of us getting married. The only way I can es cape the pressure is if everyone around me thinks I’ve found love on my own, which, of course, I have not. I don’t want to be married. I don’t want to be in l ove.” “Why not?” I asked. He frowned. “That’s not the point here. The point is that I don’t want my father trying to steer me toward a relationship I don’t want. My family is having dinner on Sunday evening. That would be the first event where I need you. There’s a fundraiser and a lso a gala coming up soon.” “I can do Sunday, and chances are I can do those other dates as well.” “Good,” he said, poking at his meal and avoiding eye contact with me. “So, how long do you need me to be your fake girlfriend?” I asked. “Is this just for Sunday night and a gala?” Tension flickered through his face. “That is up for negotiation. I’d like to set the term of our agreement for as long as you’re willing, but that’s very nebulous. To ke ep your job, let’s say that we’re looking at a minimum of three months to get me throug h the summer galas and fundraisers. Ideally, I’d like this to continue for up to a year, but I know that’s a long time. We can reconvene after three months and see where we’re both at.” “Fine,” I said. I wanted to push him for longer than three months, in case I needed longer to sort my mortgage out. But I could get my back payments under control in that amount of time. I would have to. “I agree to that. And then after three months is up, I’m free to ke ep my job without pretending to be anything?” He hesitated, and I wondered how well he’d planned any of this out. I assumed he had a spreadsheet somewhere filled with formulas and macros and charts detailing what his fake girlfriend plan should look like, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was flying by the seat of his pants, which was far more fun.
“Which brings me to another point,” he said, and this point made him feel very obviously awkward, which only made me more curious. This was becoming oddly enjoyable. My wealthy boss was d epending on me — his talkative, awkward assistant — to get him out of a j am. He hardly knew me, but he apparently needed my help enough that he was willing to put himself at some kind of risk. I could see that vulnerability etched in his expression, and it intrigued me. “Which is?” I asked. “This will be much more believable if we are comfortable acting the part.” He couldn’t look me in the eye when he said it, and I couldn’t hold back a smile. I didn’t say anything. For one, I didn’t want to assume I knew what he was about to say. I also was enjoying watching him squirm. He was such a grouchy, confident man. I liked seeing this other side of him where he wasn’t sure of himself. “We’ll need to act like we’re enamored with each other to sell this. I want this to look as real as possible.” “And what does that mean to you?” “I’m not an affectionate man, so my family won’t expect much. Hand holding. A kiss on the cheek. A touch on the arm. I feel beyond awkward even broaching this topic. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I don’t have to touch you at all.” The more awkward he got, the more adorable I found him. His embarrassment at the idea of touching me was also nothing but endearing. In fact, it made me want to touch him just to see that embarrassment rocket through him. Well, that and the fact that he wa s extremely attractive. I would have no issue at all with this part of the agreement. “Hand holding or casual arm touches are fine,” I said. “A kiss on the cheek, also fine.” More than that? Well, if he really needed me to make out with him, I probably wou ld. No, I definitely would, but I was sure if I told him that, he’d call the whole thing off. He cleared his throat and poked at a ravioli. “I can also be pretty flirty without any contact at all, if that works better for you,” I said. He cleared his throat again and stabbed a ravioli on his plate, but he hadn’t eaten any of his meal. I wondered if this was what embarrassment looked like for him. “Maybe it’s better if we just see what each moment calls for.” “Okay,” I said, but now I wanted to be flirty just to see him get embarrassed again. “And when we’re at work? What about Rebekah?”
“Rebekah is going to be the most complicated part of this,” he said. “If we’re being honest, I’m still debating what to do about her. So far, I don’t intend to tell her I’m bringing you on Sunday until Sunday gets here. She’s going to be surprised, but I’l l handle it.” “How should I act around her at work?” “I’d say that d epends on how she reacts, but I’m leaning toward ke eping things professional at work.” I gave him a good long stare for that. Suddenly, I was pretty sure this grouchy, commanding, rich man was in over his head just as much as I was.