My Fake Fiancée

“Want to sue your boss for harassment?”

She snorted. “No. It’s not only me he harasses, it’s everyone. I don’t even want the job. I want to start my own catering company, but with no capital and no kitchen it’s hopeless.” And with her debts from training in Paris, as well as the lowly sum she was now earning, it was going to be quite some time before she could open her own shop.

“Don’t say that. Of course it’s not hopeless.”

Chelsea was in no mood for a pep talk. “Shut up. I don’t want a rah-rah speech. I want to whine. So, to recap, my job’s crap, my boss is crap and oh, yeah, my sublet is about to expire. I’m twenty-eight and all I have is a talent I can’t afford to use, cooking equipment I have no kitchen for and a Paris wardrobe. I am such a loser.”

“You are not. Look at you. You’re gorgeous. I’d kill for your body, men fall all over themselves for you.” She squinted at Chelsea’s chest. “You were such a late bloomer. It’s like you got to college and suddenly sprouted boobs.”

“And hips.”

“So, work sucks. You’ve only been home a few weeks. Give yourself a break.”

“I guess.” She sipped the licorice-flavored liqueur reflectively. She’d had such great plans to open her own catering firm. She knew she had the drive, the talent and the recipes. What she didn’t have was capital. Damn, reality sucked.

“I don’t even need much money. A decent kitchen would do me to start. I’d complain about the hot plate and bar fridge in my sublet, except that soon I’ll be homeless.”

“But you went to Paris! To Le Cordon Bleu. It’s the dream of a lifetime.”

Her forehead creased. “Do you think I might have watched Sabrina too many times?” She’d introduced Sarah to the classic movie where Audrey Hepburn, the prettiest chauffeur’s daughter ever, fell hopelessly in love with her father’s employer’s handsome son, William Holden, who barely noticed her. Her father shipped her off to cooking school in Paris to get her over her hopeless crush. Naturally, in the movie, Audrey ended up with the smarter, richer, older brother, Humphrey Bogart, and lived happily ever after.

Sarah laughed. “We loved that movie, didn’t we?” She tilted her head and studied Chelsea. “You are a dead ringer for Audrey Hepburn, but you’re no chauffeur’s daughter.”

“I’m the next best thing. I was only living in that neighborhood because my aunt and uncle took Mom and me in after the divorce.” She made a wry face. “And I did have a big crush on a guy named David, your brother, who didn’t know I existed.”

“Hah! You did. You were so shy around him. You’d only ever open your mouth to ask him about homework. He thought you were a total brain. Never knew you had a personality. Or a pretty face under all that long hair you hid behind.”

“Don’t remind me. He always helped me, though.” Her fond memories of the godlike creature darkened suddenly. “Then one of his fluffies would drop by and he’d forget all about me, calculus, everything.”

“He still dates fluffies, if you can believe it. The guy never grew up.”

It had been more than ten years since she’d seen her teen crush. “Please tell me he’s bald now. And a beer belly wouldn’t hurt a bit.”

“I’d love to, believe me. But the guy’s still a major hottie. Of course, inside, he’s the same shallow teenage frat boy. Tragic, really.”

“Mmm. He never married?”

Sarah chewed an olive off her pick before saying, “You have to double-pinky swear not to tell anyone I told you, but he was engaged once.”

“Really? What happened?”

“I’m not completely sure. But she was smart, pretty, athletic, nauseatingly perfect, really, and then suddenly she decided to go back to her old boyfriend. David acted like it was no biggie, but he was devastated.”

Her eyes were round with amazement. Imagine, having a guy like David and letting him go. “He must have been so hurt.”

“Yeah. Now he’s back to his little fluffies. He’s only interested in women who share his comfortable worldview that he’s the center of the universe. Who don’t challenge him. He puts all his real focus into his career. Thinks he’s going to be running his company by the time he’s forty. Cretin.”

“I see you two still have that love/hate thing going for you.”

“I do love him. You know I do. But I’m pissed over the little prank he pulled on me at Christmas.”

“You still play tricks on each other?” It sounded to her like neither of them had grown up yet.

“He started it,” Sarah exclaimed, pretty much confirming her opinion. “He signed me up for one of those online dating sites. With the stupidest profile you could imagine. Made me sound like a fifties virgin looking for Mr. Right. Took me days to figure out why I was getting personal e-mails from all these conservative stiffs.”

She had to force herself not to laugh. Those two had been punking each other for years. “And what did you do to retaliate?”

“I haven’t found anything rotten enough.” She smiled a cunning smile and stabbed the last olive in her glass. “Yet.”

“Who’s your hot date with tonight? Another divorce lawyer?”

“You really do know me too well.” She shrugged. “I can’t help it. A good argument gets me all riled up. Trouble is, usually when we’re not fighting the chemistry fizzles. You know?”

“Oh, I know all about fizzling chemistry. In two languages.”

Sarah chuckled. “Look, why don’t I blow off this guy and we can hang out?”

She shook her head. “Can’t. I have to look for a place. Or a homeless shelter.”

“You’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you like.”

“And I would, if I wasn’t allergic to your cat, but thanks.”

Sometimes she wondered why she’d even come back to Philly. Her mom had remarried and moved to Florida, her aunt and uncle had retired to Palm Springs. Yet, somehow this was home. Her friends and all of her memories were here. As much as she’d loved Paris, she’d always known she’d come back.

Philippe had begged her to stay, convincing her that they could open the best restaurant in Paris together and if the authorities gave her any trouble with visas, then he would marry her.

But home had called to her, and now here she was, back home, ironically, without a home.

2

DAVID WAS PRETTY GOOD about staying cool under pressure. In his experience, things usually worked out fine. Maybe he needed to work a little longer, push a bit harder, find a way around a blocked path. But he worked a problem until he found a solution.

This was different. He’d stretched out the date of the engagement dinner as far as he could, but it was fast approaching. Having to produce a suitable fiancée in a few days? How was he supposed to do that without stumbling across a magic lantern or selling his soul to the devil?

And not just any girl would do. This one would be under scrutiny from the top brass, the board and their spouses. He’d mentally reviewed every woman he could think of, scoured Facebook, his personal contact lists, but none of the women he knew were the kind of women Piers and his brother would consider corporate-wife material.

Mainly because he was attracted to certain assets in a woman that had nothing to do with long-term plans.

He should have been spending this whole weekend tracking down high-end matchmakers who might know a suitable woman who wanted to be his fake fiancée for a few months. Somebody serious, maybe a little dowdy, who could hold her own in a conversation. Also, she’d have to be discreet. Then, once the VP job was in the bag, he and his wife-to-be would discover she didn’t want to marry him after all. He’d get all the sympathy of a jilted man and the job would be his.

However, instead of interviewing suitable candidates, he was heading home for brunch at his parents’ place before they headed off on summer vacation for a few weeks.

He pulled in to the driveway of his parents’ Cape Cod, noting that his sister’s car was already there. Suck-up.

He got out of his vehicle, leaned in for the huge bouquet, part send-off and part guilt gift since he hadn’t seen his folks in weeks.

As he walked by his sister’s car he saw that she was still in it, arguing on her cell phone as usual. He sent her a cheery wave and walked on, only to halt and head back a slow step or two until he was level with the driver’s door. He knew it was desperation driving him now, but Sarah was a lawyer with a ton of women friends, many of whom went to Vassar. One of them might impress Van Horne. Sarah was four years younger than he, so most of her friends were in the right age range. Of course, Sarah’s friends tended to be way too serious and definitely too feminist, considering a man’s balls not as one of his chief erogenous zones, but as the handiest place to kick him. Hard.