Page 17 of An American in London

“Sounds like you didn’t stick around long enough to find out. Maybe he just really wants those hotels. This Ben guy sounds super wealthy. He probably just picked a number he thought you couldn’t say no to. Although, if it were me, I would have negotiated him up fifty percent. Can you call him and tell him you’ve changed your mind?”

“I don’t have his number,” I say. I could probably find it in the bank’s system. Hell, I could probably run into him at Coffee Confide in Me, although I haven’t this week. “Didn’t I come to London to keep my job? Not to follow some rich guy around pretending I’m engaged to him. I don’t want to lose focus on the end goal here.” The pretending bit wouldn’t be that hard. My broken engagement is still fresh, but the tingles I felt when I touched Ben revealed that my vagina isn’t as loyal as my heart.

“Maybe,” Melanie says. “Or you could be killing two birds with one stone by saying yes. In fact, I count three birds. First, you don’t make an enemy of the bank’s important client. I mean, that’s a win. Impressing your boss is why you’re there.”

It’s a compelling argument I can’t ignore.

“Second, you don’t have to worry about not having money for an apartment, plus some savings to fall back on. Then finally, and I think this is most important, pretending to be a gorgeous billionaire’s fiancée soundsfun. And a fun injection is exactly what you need about now.”

Everything she’s saying is true, and I feel terrible for not talking it through with her before saying no.

“You don’t think pretending to be a stranger’s fiancée for money is too weird and sex-workery?”

Surely she’ll see my point. She’ll understand why I said no.

“So if he didn’t pay you, it’d be better?”

I spot the blue door on the other side of the street. Except it’s not blue. It’s been repainted peacock green. I recognize the tarnished brass doorknob and the lantern hanging outside.

“I’m serious,” Melanie says. “Say that when you bumped into him in Green Park, he hadn’t been so grumpy. Maybe the two of you had a brief flirtation. Perhaps he recommended a restaurant and took a picture of you so you didn’t have to rely on selfies. Then you bumped into him at the coffee shop ... Let’s say he bought your coffee, and the two of you sat down for a chat. Maybe he asked you to dinner, and you found out about his dilemma.”

Melanie should have been a lawyer.

“You’re right, it’s a good way of looking at it,” I confess. “But isn’t it different when he’s offering tobuymy time?”

“Why?”

I don’t have an answer. “I don’t know. Do you remember the scene inSunshine on a Rainy Daywhen a barefoot Daniel rushes after Jennifer after the fight and gets locked out?” I stand in front of the door and just stare at it.

“Of course I do.” Melanie has also watched every single DDL film ever made. One of the perks of being my best friend. “That was your mom’s favorite.”

It didn’t matter how often we watched the movie together. When we got to the scene, she’d always say, “Make sure you marry someone who’d run after you barefoot in a rainstorm.” Then she’d talk about the time she and Dad got locked out of the car at a music festival. “It didn’t rain, and we didn’t argue,” she’d say. “But if circumstances had been different, your father would have come after me no matter the weather or his footwear.”

“You okay?” Melanie asks.

“Yeah. I have so many happy memories,” I say. The bit I leave unsaid is,I wish she was here with me.But Melanie knows.

“She would be so happy you’re in London.”

I nod. “I know.”

“I think she’d want you to pretend to be this guy’s fiancée.” Melanie certainly does, and I can’t ignore her opinion. She’s my best friend.

I turn away from the door. For all the nostalgia it inspires, a door is only interesting for so long.

“You really think it would be a good idea?”

I’m not sure what my mother would say. She’d probably tell me to follow my heart. She was a romantic like that. It’s moments like these when the grief surfaces. They don’t happen very often now. I still miss her, but I don’t rail against God in the way I used to. I’ve accepted things how they are. I got to have her for as long as I did. I have wonderful memories and I knew her heart. I know what she would have done in most circumstances I come across. Being asked to be someone’s fake fiancée, though ... Amazingly, it never came up in all ourwhat would you do ifscenarios.

“Your mom was a dreamer. A lover of fairy-tale romances. She’d tell you to pretend to be this guy’s fiancée because even though it might start off as pretend, it might turn into a love story.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve seen how hot this guy is. And he’s rich AF. He can date any girl he wants.” I haven’t told Melanie about the surge of electricity I felt when Ben touched me. Just because I felt it doesn’t mean he did.

“Okay, so take the romance out of this. It’s practical. You get the moneyandyou don’t make an enemy of a client. You could even negotiate. See if he’ll pay you more.”

The scales are tipping. Melanie’s making really good points. “You think I should try and call him?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe fate will intervene and you’ll bump into each other again. Didn’t you say you work in the same building?”

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