Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Would you mind if I go first? My thing is kind of time-sensitive.” He clears his throat. “What I’m about to say is batshit crazy and I know it. But I promise, if you do this huge favor for me, I’ll make it worth your while. Remember how I was going to try to get you hired to cater the partnership dinners at my firm? I’ll absolutely do that for you. In addition, I’ll introduce you to my father. I don’t speak to him anymore, but if you do this for me, I’ll bite the bullet and call him to ask if he’ll hire you to cater his firm’s monthly board meeting. Everyone on the board is wealthy, so I’m sure—"
“I don’t want you to introduce me to your father,” I shriek, on the verge of having a panic attack.
“Oh. My mother’s told you about him, huh?” Max says. “Okay, yeah, scratch that. If you do this favor for me, then I’ll—"
“What’s the favor?” I shout. I glance at Ripley in my rearview mirror to make sure my loud volume hasn’t pierced my daughter’s cartoon bubble, and when she looks blissfully unaware of my conversation with Max, I return to him and exhale. “Just spit it out, for fuck’s sake. Please. You’re freaking me out.”
“Sorry. I wanted to dangle an adequate carrot before you heard my crazy request. Just, please, keep an open mind.”
“Spit it out, Max. Please.”
Max exhales and launches into his tale. He tells me about his firm’s biggest client—some multi-billionaire tech mogul genius inventor wannabe cowboy philanthropist with a soft spot for kids who’s been Max’s dream employer and hero since his earliest days of law school.
“What does he have to do with me?” I ask.
“I’m getting there,” Max says. He explains he took his current job precisely because his firm is the only one the tech guru uses for legal services in Seattle. He says he’s been trying to find ways to get assigned to the guy’s legal team for years, to no avail, and that now, out of nowhere, thanks to his mother’s drunken Facebook post, he’s been invited to bring his “beautiful new family” to the tech mogul’s sprawling ranch in Wyoming next week for a “thank you retreat” the tech guru hosts for a myriad of professional service providers—lawyers, engineers, accountants, etcetera. “The week has jokingly been dubbed ‘family camp’ by my firm,” he says, “because everyone tends to show up with their families. The woman who went last year came back and was immediately made partner. This is my golden ticket, Marnie. My way in. Finally. All I have to do to cash in the golden ticket is bring my supposed fiancée and her kid to camp next week.”
My jaw is hanging open. “You can’t be serious,” I say. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not. But don’t say no yet. Think about how much fun Ripley will have riding ponies and mining for gold and doing arts and crafts. From what I’ve been told, the ranch itself is mind boggling and they spare no expense to make it an incredible experience for everyone. My friend, Shelby, said they have a country fair one night with rides for kids. You know, the kind you see at big country fairs, only it’s a private party. And she said the food is incredible. And there are camp counselors to play games with the kids. Oh, and she said the accommodations are like staying in a fancy, rustic hotel.”
Clearly, he’s lost his damned mind. “Max,” I say. “Have you thought about what happens after camp? When there’s no more fiancée and kid? No wedding? How are you planning to explain that? Are Ripley and I going to get killed off or what?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there,” Max says. “It shouldn’t be too hard. My firm doesn’t give a shit about anybody’s family or personal life. They only pretend to care when it comes to Wayne Walters, since he’s a big family man. I guess if I had to, I could hire actors at some point to come to the annual family picnic. Or maybe my wife could be visiting her grandparents out of state that particular weekend.”
“You’re insane. First of all, it would never work. Nobody’s ever going to believe we’re an actual couple and you give two shits about Ripley. Second of all, even if it did work, which it wouldn’t, you’d be in the worse position of needing to supply a fake family for every family event for the rest of your professional life.”
“Let me worry about that,” Max says. “All I need from you is one week in Wyoming, during which you’ll pretend to be my beloved fiancée. In exchange, I’ll do everything in my power to get you more clients than you know what to do with. Plus, Ripley will have an unforgettable experience. The time of her life.”