“I did that campaign for free. It took me less than an hour, and I didn’t die,” I pointed out.
I had a soft spot for charities, and I accepted almost all of those collaborations if the organization was legit. Brady hated it, mainly because they were always unpaid, and he earned nothing from those deals.
Klaus laughed. “Yes, well, that’s the difference between men and women, isn’t it?”
My spine stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means most men ask for what they’re worth and most women don’t.” Klaus’s casual shrug made my eye twitch. “It’s not an insult, merely an observation. But someone’s gotta make less money, right?”
My fingers tightened around the stem of my wineglass.
I suddenly wished it weren’t empty. I’d never been more tempted to throw a drink in someone’s face.
He wasn’t wrong about the whole ask for what they’re worth thing, but his tone was so condescending it overshadowed everything else. Plus, he’d nickel and dimed a cancer charity, of all things.
“Klaus.” My even voice betrayed none of the anger simmering in my blood. “Thank you for the drinks, but we’ve reached the end of our date.”
He stopped fiddling with a stray lock of hair to stare at me. “Excuse me?”
“We’re not compatible, and I don’t want to waste either of our times.”
I would also rather stab my eye out with a Christian Louboutin heel than spend another minute with you, I added silently.
Klaus’s face flushed an angry, mottled red.
“Whatever.” He stood and yanked his coat off the back of his chair. “I only stayed out of pity, anyway. You’re nowhere near as hot as everyone says you are.”
Says the guy who buys followers and uses a fake account to comment how hot he is under his own posts. The retort tingled on the tip of my tongue until my aversion to confrontation squashed it.
If I had a penny for every comeback I kept to myself, I wouldn’t need the Delamonte deal. I would already be a millionaire.
I waited until Klaus stormed out in a cloud of overpowering cologne and indignation before I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
Now that Klaus was off the table, I officially had zero prospects for a decent fake boyfriend.
No fake boyfriend, no follower growth, no Delamonte deal, no money, no care for Maura…
My thoughts ran together in a jumbled stream.
Was there another way to grow my account besides getting a fake boyfriend? Maybe.
Would growing my account fast enough guarantee I get the Delamonte deal? No.
But once my brain latched onto an idea, trying to pry it off was like trying to crack a vault with a toothpick. Plus, with no job and no bites on my resume, I was getting desperate.
The boyfriend idea might’ve made me uneasy, but it’d also offered a glimmer of hope. Now, that glimmer had dulled into an ugly, tarnished brown.
I drained my water, hoping it would alleviate the dryness in my throat. All it did was send me into a small coughing fit when it went down the wrong pipe.
“I assume the whispered sweet nothings and goodnight kiss are off the table.”
My skin grew hot at the familiar drawl behind me.
Cool, calm, collected.
I waited for my lungs to fill with air before I responded.
“Once is a coincidence, twice is a pattern.” I turned my head. “What’s three times, Mr. Harper?”
First, the car ride home. Second, the Delamonte dinner. I didn’t count our lobby run-in earlier that night since we lived in the same building, but overall, I’d bumped into Christian a suspicious number of times over the past two weeks.
“Fate.” He slid onto the stool next to mine and nodded at the bartender, who greeted him with a deferential nod of his own and returned less than a minute later with a glass of rich amber liquid. “Or that D.C. is a small city and we have overlapping social circles.”
“You might be able to convince me you believe in coincidence, but you’ll never convince me you believe in fate.”
It was a notion for romantics and dreamers. Christian was neither.
Romantics didn’t look at someone like they wanted to devour them until there was nothing left except ashes and ecstasy. Darkness and submission.
Something hot and unfamiliar coiled in my stomach before the bells above the front door jangled and broke the spell.
“How long have you been here?” I hadn’t noticed his arrival.
“Long enough to see you eyeing those cocktail picks with longing while your date was talking.”
“It wasn’t a bad date. He just had to leave early for…an emergency.” It was a blatant lie, but I didn’t want to admit it’d failed. Not to Christian.
“Yes, it looked positively scintillating.” His voice was drier than a gin martini. “I could tell by the way your eyes glazed over and strayed to your phone every five seconds. The true signs of a woman infatuated.”
Annoyance squeezed my lungs.
Between Klaus and Christian, the nunnery was looking better by the second.
“People say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
“But it’s the highest form of intelligence.” Christian’s mouth tugged up at my raised eyebrows. “Oscar Wilde. I know the full quote well.”
Why was I not surprised?
“Don’t let me keep you,” I said pointedly. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your Friday night than drink with the girl who takes care of your plants.”
“I’ll leave after you explain why you looked so unhappy after he left.” Christian settled onto his stool, the picture of relaxed elegance, but his eyes were sharp as he waited for my response. “Somehow, I doubt you were disappointed by his exit.”
I rubbed my thumb over the condensation on my water glass, debating how much to tell him.
“I needed his help with something.” Shame crept into my chest.
“With what?” He was a cobra in a king’s suit, with no patience in sight.
Just say it. “I need a fake boyfriend.”
There.I said it and didn’t die, though embarrassment warmed my neck.
But to his credit, Christian didn’t laugh or chastise me. “Explain.”
Alcohol and desperation had loosened my tongue, so I did. I explained everything—Maura, Delamonte, D.C. Style. I even told him I got fired.
A part of me worried he’d evict me since I no longer had a steady income, but I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out.
The pressure inside me had found a temporary release valve, and I was taking full advantage.
Although my friends knew I’d been fired, they didn’t know I was paying for Maura’s care. No one did except for the Greenfield staff…and now, Christian.
For some reason, telling him felt natural, almost easy. Perhaps because it was easier to share secrets with someone who didn’t know me well and, therefore, would hold less judgment.
When I finished, Christian stared at me with a long, assessing gaze.
The silence stretched so long I worried I’d broken him with the sheer absurdity of my idea.
I tucked a loose curl that had fallen out of my updo behind my ear. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it could work. Potentially?” Doubt turned my statement into a question.
“It doesn’t sound ridiculous.” Christian set his now-empty glass down. The bartender reappeared in a flash and refilled it. After a weighted glance from Christian, he topped off my drink as well. “In fact, I have a mutually beneficial proposal.”
“I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”
I was desperate, but I wasn’t that desperate. It was one thing to get a fake boyfriend. It was another to sleep with someone for money, even if that someone was rich and gorgeous.
Annoyance passed through Christian’s eyes. “That’s not my proposal,” he said, his voice edged with irritation. “You need money, and I need a…companion who can accompany me to functions. They’re a necessary and, unfortunately, frequent part of my business.”
“So you want arm candy.” Something akin to disappointment settled in my stomach. “I’m sure you could find a date with a snap of your fingers. You don’t need me for that.”
Even now, all the women in the bar were staring at Christian with dazed, dreamy expressions.
“Not just a date, Stella. I want someone who I can have an actual conversation with. Who puts people at ease and who can work a room with me. Someone who doesn’t want more after the date is over.”
I tapped my fingers on the table. “And if I do that…”
Christian smiled. “Let’s make a deal, Ms. Alonso. You agree to be my companion when needed, and I’ll pay for the entirety of Maura’s care.”
My tapping stopped.
Pay for the entirety of Maura’s care?
My first instinct was an enthusiastic, resounding yes. Not having to worry about Greenfield’s bills would take a load off my shoulders.
But the exhilaration lasted only a minute before warning bells clanged between my ears.
If something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
“Thank you, but I can’t.” The words were painful to say, but they were for the best. “Paying all of Maura’s fees…it’s too much.”
Was it stupid of me to turn down his payment offer when I so desperately needed it? Maybe. Especially when I knew paying for her care wouldn’t put a dent in his wallet? Probably.
If he were anyone else, I might’ve accepted, considering my circumstances. But between the initial lowered rent and our laughable deal for even lower rent after Jules moved out—taking care of his plants did not equate to the thousands of dollars he let slide every month—I already owed him too much.
And my gut told me that when it came to men like Christian Harper, the less one owed them, the better.
Because eventually, the payment would come due, and it would cost more than all the money in the world.
Christian took the refusal in stride. “I understand. Then let’s amend the deal. If you act as my companion, I’ll act as your boyfriend.”
My heart leapt. Now that was a more balanced arrangement.
Still, I shouldn’t.
It was wild and absurd and utterly ridiculous if I thought too hard about it, but…Christian Harper as my (fake) boyfriend. If that didn’t explode my follower count, nothing would.
“With a stipulation, of course,” he added.
Of course.
“What stipulation?”