Page 10 of Fake Dating the Silver Fox

“Graham.”

I roll my eyes to heaven and back. “Whatever you say, PETER.”

The conversation dots are back, then gone, then back again. “It’s not what you think.”

I bark out a laugh and stalk to the kitchen, where I grab a bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge before typing out a reply. “That’s what all the catfish say.”

“I’m not a catfish.”

“Is that your picture on the profile?”

“No.”

“Buh-bye.” I toss the phone onto the counter and pour wine all the way to the rim of the glass.

Now, I must start over finding a date to the fundraiser, and I’m not sure I want one.

The heaviness in my heart hurts as I slide onto a stool. Graham/Peter had made me excited about the prospect of dating again. The illusion bursts like a painful blister.

I don’t think I’ll ever find someone who’s right for me. I might as well start adopting cats.

I’ve always wanted a Siamese.

Theding!of his response comes before I can take the first sip of wine. Despite my annoyance, I pick up my phone and check his message.

“It’s for privacy.”

Is this guy for real?I take a long sip before replying. “Why do you need privacy? From your wife?”

“I told you—I’m not married.”

I sip while waiting for him to elaborate. Finally, his message appears.

“I’m in the public eye.”

I groan. “Let me guess. You’re famous?”

“Sort of.”

I can almost hear Lark’s voice in my head, telling me I need to be firm. Take control.

“Two choices: video chat or find another date.”

There’s a long pause during which I down half my glass of wine, staring at my phone the entire time. I’m about to give in and text him again when the chime sounds.

“Fine. What’s your number?”

I text him my number, then panic. I’m sure I’m a mess. I haven’t even looked in the mirror.

I waste precious moments running to the bathroom and applying a quick coat of lip gloss and fluffing my hair. It shouldn’t matter if I look good or not. He’s the one catfishing.

Then, I remember our flirty banter and easy conversation over text. My belly tightens. I really don’t want him to be a catfish. Please let this all be one big mistake.

The possibility that he’s a murderer flits through my mind. I sure as hell hope Lark isn’t right about that.

I’m about to find out.

My phone rings, and I sprint to the living room. No way he’s seeing me in the bathroom for the first time. I position myself on my sofa with my favorite painting behind me on the wall.

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