Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I don’t need to settle down,” I say, agitatedly running my hands through my hair. “I need everyone else to get their heads out of their asses and quit blowing this out of proportion.”
“Look,” Ian says with a sigh. “If anyone knows what it’s like to have his life turned upside down overnight, it’s me. I understand even more what it’s like to have accusations hurled at you that are unfounded. You want to fight, and I get that. But you’ve also got to ask yourself what you want more: to stand on principle or your job.”
I look back up. “You’re saying I should give in? Play along?”
“I’m saying, there are worse things than pretending to have a girlfriend for a few weeks until this blows over. Nobody’s asking you to walk down the aisle or go diamond shopping. Just let people think that you might consider doing it . . . someday.”
I grunt, not in the mood to get into all the reasons why I have zero intention of walking down the aisle or going diamond shopping—ever.
“Ian’s right. Things could be worse. Like having the SEC on your ass for insider trading,” Kennedy says with a bland look at Ian.
Ian glares. “Alleged insider trading. And I was cleared.”
Kennedy’s hands lift in surrender. “I know. I was just trying to back up your point that Matt’s situation could be worse.”
They’re right. I feel like an ass complaining about my situation when it’s nothing compared to what Ian went through.
His worst-case scenario had been prison; mine’s . . . what? Playing house for a few weeks? Pretending to be a doting boyfriend? It’s a small price to pay for keeping the life I’ve worked for—the life I love.
“Okay, fine,” I say, draping the towel around my neck as I look at Ian. “Kennedy’s right. Lara’s my best bet for finding a woman to play the part.”
Ian’s blue eyes blink. “How the hell do you figure that?”
“Because she’s the only nice girl we know.”
“Kate’s nice,” Ian points out.
“I don’t think the guy who bones his assistant is what the bosses had in mind when they suggested this plan,” Kennedy points out. “Lara’s social group’s a better bet.”
“Am I the only one who remembers that my fiancée is FBI?” Ian asks incredulously. “Lying isn’t really their thing.”
“Sure it is. They do undercover work,” I argue.
“They go undercover to solve crimes and catch bad guys,” Ian says. “Not save party-boy reputations. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say, knowing he’s right. “What about that Gabby chick, Lara’s best friend?”
“Moved to Paris with her boyfriend. A long-distance fake girlfriend’s not going to do you any good. What about her friend Megan, the cute redhead from her yoga class? You met her at our dinner party last month.”
I immediately shake my head. Not that Megan wasn’t cute and fun and all that, but she gave off a distinct vibe that she was looking for more than a fling. The type of girl who wants to find a boyfriend who turns into a husband who turns into a dad. None of that’s for me, which is why I’d politely avoided her all evening.
“Too risky,” I say.
Kennedy raises his eyebrows. “Risky? That woman was five two if an inch and as likable as they come.”
“Exactly,” I say, standing and gripping the towel around my neck with both hands and tugging in aggravation over this whole situation. “That’s exactly my problem. You guys know as well as I do what it’s like to be a single millionaire under thirty . . . five,” I add with a glance at a glowering Kennedy, remembering he’s got a few years on me. “At the risk of sounding like a conceited asshole . . .”
“You don’t know any women who can pretend to be your girlfriend without actually wanting the part?” Ian asks.
“Not really, no. And while I can think of a handful who’d be game to play along, I wouldn’t trust any of them to know how to conduct themselves in a business meeting. They’d probably order shots at dinner and end up doing more harm than good.”
“So no marriage-minded women, but no party girls, either,” Kennedy muses.
“Right. I need someone who will know the stakes from the very beginning and who won’t misconstrue anything when I act besotted with her in front of clients.”
“Did you just use the word besotted?” Ian asks.
I hitch my thumb at Kennedy. “His dopey vocabulary is rubbing off on me. But you guys get what I mean, right?”
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” Kennedy says as the three of us make our way over to the squat rack that’s finally freed up. “It doesn’t help that the light at the end of the tunnel is the Wolfe Gala. You’re going to have to convince a hell of a lot of people you’re in love, all while champagne and absurdly expensive dresses are involved.”