Page 8 of Falling for your Fake Boyfriend

“Why are you bringing a fake girlfriend along to your sister’s wedding? I mean, you’re more than tolerable to look at?—”

“Good to know that I don’t repel you.”

“You don’t.” Her blue gaze swept around the office. “I think it’s a given that you’re quite successful. Why would a man like you need to pay for a date? You must have a black book the size of an Oxford Dictionary.” Her face smoothed like stone. “Are you some kind of a?—”

I looked at her in question. “Care to finish that question?”

“You know—are you a—hmm, how would Layla say it—an off-kilter weirdo?”

I held in a laugh. “As far as I know I’m not a weirdo, although I won’t say the same about being off-kilter, at least not in my family’s mind. What do you say, Isla? Are you interested?”

“Will there be lots of goodies and drinks?”

“Guaranteed. So, you can eat and drink and smile and be polite and then we’ll leave, and I’ll give you five thousand dollars you can put toward that bakery of yours. That’ll be the end of our transaction.”

Her crooked, wary half-smile might have been her best smile of all. “You make it sound so romantic,” she said wryly.

“Nope. Nothing romantic about it. There’ll be a lot of people at the house for the wedding, so you can just stand off in the distance, fade into the background and people watch. I can guarantee you some very interesting people watching.”

“Hmm, can I have some time to think about it?” she asked.

“I’m leaving for the wedding day after tomorrow—Thursday. The wedding is Sunday, and we’ll be back on Monday.”

She pushed off the desk. “This Thursday? I can’t. I have to work.” She crossed her arms, importantly. “Seven thousand.”

I smiled.

“All right. Six thousand, five hundred. I’ll be missing several days of work.”

“I’ll pay you seven.”

Her eyes lit up, then her lips pulled down. “I don’t have anything to wear. Is it a fancy wedding?”

I thought about the seven-figure wedding my sister had been planning for the last year. “It’s pretty fancy. Tell you what, I’ll Venmo you five hundred dollars for some clothes and shoes.”

“Does that come off the seven thousand?”

I laughed. “You’re a shrewd businesswoman.”

“My future bakery is on the line here, so yep, I’m feeling pretty cutthroat about it all.”

“The clothing money is extra.”

She lifted a finger and pointed. “Can I keep the clothes?”

“Sure, for your next fancy wedding.”

She shook her head. “Nope, I can resell them online. Five hundred is a used industrial-sized mixer.”

“Fair enough. What do you say? I can pick you up Thursday morning, around seven. It’s an eight-hour drive to my parents’ house. I can fill you in on names and details on the way.”

Isla leaned against the desk again and bit her lip in thought. “Should we write up a contract?”

“We could, but I’m fine with a verbal agreement and a handshake.” This was possibly my craziest plan ever, but if it got my mom off my back for a while, it would be worth it.

Isla stuck out her hand. “You have a deal, Mr.—”

“Greyson. Lucas Greyson.”

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