Her Convenient Christmas Date

Susan thought back. Much of the trip home was fuzzy. She vaguely remembered growing angry when they passed the ladies’ room and going on a tirade about being single which may have morphed into a drunken pity party.

Oh, man, now she remembered. Stupid Christmas Wishes. “I was drunk. People say and do a lot of foolish things when they are under the influence, as I’m sure you would agree.”

“In vino veritas.”

He flashed a smirk as he reached for his water. “As for the value of my appeal…? There are a lot of women in the UK who would tell you I’ve got plenty.”

“Then why don’t you ask one of them to be your fake girlfriend? Oh, wait, let me guess. Oh, right, they’re all supermodels and party girls.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you? I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you clearly need me more than I need you.” Or the way it stung.

“You’re right,” he replied. “I do need you more than you need me.”

Points for honesty. Sitting back, she waited to hear his expanded sales pitch.

“Believe it or not, you would get something tangible out of the relationship,” he told her.

Beyond being able to rub the fake arrangement in Ginger’s and Courtney’s faces—which she had to admit, a part of her found appealing. “How so?”

“If my plan works, the two of us will be in the tabloids and gossip columns, a lot. Both our profiles will be raised.”

“Why would I care about a higher profile?”

“You tell me, Ms. Collier.”

He was appealing to her ego again. It wouldn’t be only the Courtneys and Gingers of the world she’d be showing, it would be the world. The equivalent of a giant ad announcing her desirability. As if she were that lonely.

“What makes you think the tabloids, or anyone for that matter, would believe we were a real couple?” she asked. Simply out of curiosity.

“Are you kidding? Celebrities arrange public relationships all the time in order to sell an image. Remember that pop star who was dating the guy from the Brazilian team? Totally to keep people from knowing he was shagging his equipment manager.”

“No way.”

“It’s the truth. I know the equipment manager.”

Susan remembered seeing the singer on the cover of several magazines at the hair salon talking about finally finding love. She’d been a nobody newcomer before the relationship.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You’re not…?”

“No.”

Not that it mattered. She still wasn’t going to say yes to this silly idea.

“Granted you and I wouldn’t become an international sensation, but, if we do this right, we will get mentioned in the papers. We only need to be together a few months. Long enough for people to believe we are the real deal.”

“Even though we aren’t.”

“Right. But the only people who will know are you and me. Everyone else will think you won me over with your brilliant mind and razor-sharp wit.”

“And, if I say yes—not that I am—how long would we need to play act?”

“Just over a month. At least through the holidays.”

Meaning he would be her “boyfriend” at the Collier’s Christmas Party. Wouldn’t that be interesting? To be part of a couple for once instead of standing around watching everyone else? Even if it was only pretend.

Despite his offered upsides, the idea struck her wrong. Did she really want to spend weeks with a disinterested man just so she could stick it to a few petty witches? Seemed like she should be better than that.

Then there was the obvious.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply date a different category of women instead of subterfuge?”

He looked at her for a second, as though weighing his words, his sensual lips drawn in a frown. “If I were looking to get into a long-term relationship, maybe, but…”

“You don’t have to go on. I get your point.” He was looking to repair an image, not actually change his tastes.

“I’m not asking you to decide this very moment,” he said. “Let’s have some lunch, and you think the idea over. Let me know later on.”

“Thank you.” She doubted food would change her mind, but she’d rather not ruin the mood until after she’d eaten.

In the meantime, she was curious if she still looked like death now that her headache had eased. When the waiter arrived with their food, she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.

Whoever decorated the restaurant had the foresight to install ambient lighting as opposed to fluorescent in the sitting room so women checking the mirror would feel good about their appearance. Unfortunately, all the ambient lighting in the world couldn’t brighten her washed-out complexion. She’d tried to hide the damage with powder and concealer, but the dark circles stubbornly remained. Searching into her bag, she pulled out a compact and touched up her blush. No sense bothering with lipstick since it would only wear off again when she ate. Then she combed her hands through her curls and stepped back.

Her shoulders slumped. She looked like she felt. Tired, and hungover. The jacket was too boxy for her short frame, making her look like a squashed blueberry. People probably thought she was Lewis’s agent or business manager. Certainly not a potential girlfriend. Correction, fake girlfriend.

What made Lewis think the idea would work? No way, people wouldn’t believe they were an item.

Behind her, the door opened and two university-age girls slipped in. Susan immediately envied their long hair which they wore in messy topknots. Envied their cropped sweaters and leggings too. No one would mistake them for a sports agent.

All her life, she had wondered what it would be like to fit. To feel accepted by someone. Anyone. She had a lot to offer, if people would only look.

Don’t be so dramatic, her mother would say. People don’t look if there’s nothing to look at.

Belinda was full of those little bon mots.

Lewis Matolo was offering people something to look at.

Would it be so horrible if the world saw her as someone different? Just for a little while?

Rummaging through her bag, she located a hair tie and forced her curls into a messy bun. Then, she shed her jacket. The black turtleneck wasn’t stylish, but at least the world could see she had a waist.

The world. Susan chewed her lower lip. Was she really that crazy?

Lewis was biting into his egg sandwich when she returned. She tossed her bag on the bench and slid in next to him. “You’ve got a deal.”

CHAPTER THREE (#u4e68dc6d-692f-57a5-ac02-264fa8d28427)