Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
That was a fair point, especially how things had worked out for them.
“I hate that you’re sort of right,” I grumble.
She cups her ear. “Did you say you love that I’m right?”
“You’re a little right.” That’s all I’ll admit. I get what she’s saying, but our situations are different. “But I have to look like I’m trying. That’s the point—this is for show.”
She smiles softly. “I’d think, especially when you’re fake-dating, you wouldn’t want to try on too many different personalities. It’s best if you be you.”
I part my lips to highlight the flaw in her logic, but dammit, I can’t.
“Okay, you’re really right,” I admit as my stomach swoops with nerves. “What the hell am I getting myself into, Josie? I date bikers and stockbrokers. I date bartenders and project managers for an app that takes a picture of your cat when it uses your computer to tell you that you weren’t hacked. I don’t fake date or real date billionaires.” I slow my roll, breathe, then add, “Especially billionaires who send me Mint-nificent ice cream.”
Her big eyes pop. “So Maeve was right?”
“No,” I say, scoffing. “He’s just generous.”
She clears her throat. “He looked at you like he thinks you’re gorgeous last fall at The Resort and now he’s sent you your favorite ice cream?”
“He did.” I briefly savor the tasty memory and the card too. Happy holidays to my favorite elf. Then I’m back to the current convo. “Anyway, my point is—”
Josie waggles a finger, cutting me off. “Nope. Tell me more about the ice cream he sent.”
“It was sweet. It was creamy. It melted in my mouth.”
Her eyebrows shoot higher. “And he sent your favorite flavor, you say?”
Oh no. Oh, hell no. I can see where she’s going, but I won’t follow. “It’s not a sign, Josie,” I say, trying to head her off before she gets to Romance Lane. “It was just ice cream, nothing else. Besides, everyone likes mint. Mint is not a sign.”
She smirks. “Oh, it’s for sure not a sign if it needs a triple denial.”
I give her a serious look. “I mentioned my favorite ice cream shop when we were in his office, creating a whole backstory of how we supposedly started dating. That’s all.” But I did like the card. It’s stashed in my bedside table.
“And then he sent it to you for real.” She is a dog refusing to let go of a bone.
“Yes, Josie. It was real ice cream,” I say firmly. I stare her down, and she gives it right back to me, staring hard like she’s waiting for some reaction. Like I’ll connect the dots then be over the moon with glee.
She’ll be waiting a long time. I’m a realist.
“Wilder is a strategic man,” I say. “He knows how to get things done. Yes, the ice cream was amazing, but he also knows how to play the game.”
“The fake dating game?”
“Any game,” I emphasize. Then I shrug, lightening my tone. “Besides, his assistant probably sent it. It was nice, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means he listened to you,” she points out thoughtfully.
As her observation sinks in, there’s a tiny flutter in my chest. A warm and lovely feeling that only lasts a second, maybe three or four. But I don’t linger on it. This faux-mance isn’t about flutters and feelings. It’s about faking it and faking it well.
“As I was saying,” I say, grabbing control of the conversation. “I need to look like I belong on a date with him.”
She laughs, but it’s with me, not at me. It’s reassuring as she says, “He asked you to be his wedding date.”
“His fake wedding date,” I remind her.
“Yes, but out of all the women in San Francisco, he asked you. Because he likes you.”
I bark out a laugh, then shake my head fiercely. “He asked me because he feels sorry for me. He has a hero complex, and he needs a shield.”
She gives me a look with those soft blue eyes. “He might need a shield, but he also likes you.”
The last thing I need is for that idea to take root in my head. “This is a you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours situationship.”
Although, it’s not really an even trade. Does Wilder…feel sorry for me? Is that why he offered to be my fake date for the Christmas Eve wedding? Maybe I can subtly determine an answer to that question tonight.
“Besides, I have loans to pay off, a dream I’m saving up for, and a job I like. I’m not interested in dating my boss,” I finish, back on the topic. “I’m not really even interested in dating, given how my last relationship ended.”
“All that may be true but he wouldn’t want to spend all this time with you if he didn’t enjoy your company.”
I hold out my hands, confused. “What does that have to do with what to wear?”