Page 42 of Matched with Her Fake Fiance

Tanya ignores me and says, “She’s definitely different than your type.”

“Things are different between me and Dani. It was the right time. And she’s more focused on me rather than her career aspirations.” As flattered as I would like to feel about that compliment, I cringe thinking that my negotiation for this whole fake relationship was to ask him to come to the mixer. Not like I’m up for a promotion or anything one way or the other, but the whole thing leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

When my mind comes back to the present, I’m not sure if I should be playing fiancée or bodyguard because the intensity increases in their voices. I won’t be surprised if a fight breaks out. Well, Miles is a gentleman and wouldn’t do something here. At least I hope he won’t ruin anything that benefits sick kids.

Without another word, Tanya walks away, heading for the drink table.

It’s then Miles seems to have woken up from his fury.

“Hey there, Tiger. Do you want to explain what just happened?” I’m trying to be serious, but my mouth betrays me with a smile. While intense, the conversation has been somewhat comical, to me anyway.

“I, uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” He runs a hand through his hair and the strands bounce back into place perfectly. How does that happen? Magic hair?

I tug on his sleeve, heading for a small alcove where prying eyes can’t see us. “Okay, since you decided to make us one step away from marriage in our fairytale relationship, we probably need to go over a few things. Like what happened between you and the model-esque woman who was just here.”

The muscle along his jaw bounces a bit, his eyes turning into a storm. “We dated for a little less than three years. She left when a business opportunity came up.”

The facts are working slowly through my brain. “Wait, was she a co-worker?”

His jaw tightens and he nods. “I was over the team of researchers, and she was one of them. She rose in the ranks while we dated and then left once she’d received the ‘experience’ she needed for her real dream job.”

“Awesome,” I say, more peeved than anything. Nothing like using a good man to get what she wanted. I have to push back the guilt that fills me with that thought. Miles agreed to come to the mixer. It’s not like I asked him to donate millions of dollars. “So what is her interest in you now? Why approach you?”

I’m leaning against the wall, and Miles leans next to me with one arm stretched higher to hold him up as he thinks about my question.

“Jealousy. She has a fear of missing out and seeing me happy is probably making her crazy.” Miles shifts his gaze from my eyes down to my lips and back up again. We’re in the perfect section for a little kissing action, but I’m not entirely sure he’s up for it. He asked for a farce after all.

I laugh. “Okay, so we’ve upped the ante to fiancés. We’re going to have to come up with a story for the proposal.”

Miles closes his eyes and groans. “I didn’t even think about that. We’ll need a ring too.” Instead of smiling, he frowns, looking defeated.

“Hey, hey,” I say, moving to look right into his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m still here and we’ll figure this out. It’s just a bump in the road.”

There’s a scream and an audible gasp over by the staircase. At first, I don’t react because I know a total of three people here, four if I count Miles’s awful ex. But as the crowd parts just enough to see, Diane is on the floor, trying to help Jack up.

Blood drips down onto his white shirt and to the ground.

“Miles, it’s Jack,” I say, pointing.

He turns and jogs over to his friend. “What happened?” I hear him say as I work my way through the crowd. The majority of people here don’t know me and move in after Miles passes by, blocking my path.

Miles reaches out a hand and helps Jack stand up. “I was just dancing along and we caught the stair.”

From the look of Miles’s expression, he’s not buying that answer.

Diane’s eyes are wide and she’s near tears. “You saved me,” she says, wrapping her arms around Jack.

“We might want to get him to a hospital or a doctor or something,” I say, pointing to the gash on his forehead. Head wounds bleed more than others, but in a place like this, rumors could swerve toward him dying just for the drama of the story.

Most of the room has stopped, everyone staring in our direction.

“I’ll get the car,” Miles says, pulling out his phone. “Let’s head out to the street.”

It seems like we’re weaving through millions of people at this point, but as we pass one of the refreshment tables, I grab a stack of small paper napkins and hand them to Jack.

“Use this before you make the blood trail worse.”

He accepts and presses them to his forehead. “I’ve been through worse. I’ll be fine.”

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