Page 16 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“Wow, they’re covering everything,” she says.

But then we open it up and read it, and we’re just laughing. There are questions about employment history, school history and dates of graduation, where I’ve lived, place of birth.

“This is hilarious,” Jada says. “Are they repurposing a rental application as a fake fiancée questionnaire?”

“Where’s the space for date of last tetanus shot?” I joke.

Jada stirs her drink. “This is what you call a fake fiancée scheme concocted by two dudes.”

We snigger some more about the questionnaire. You know Clark wrote it. Rex wouldn’t involve himself in this level of detail. Or would he?

“Oh my god,” I say, pointing to an item that says, simply, “family of origin.” “What is that even supposed to mean? Asking me to do this was a cry for help,” I say. “I’m making my own damn questionnaire. For both of us to answer.”

“Let’s do it! Let’s do it right now!” she practically screams.

We order another round and start putting questions down. First thing: pets! Then name of favorite childhood pet. Favorite food. Foods you hate. Siblings. Briefs or boxers or boxer briefs. Top gross-out thing. Top bucket list stuff. Side of bed. Favorite music, favorite movies, favorite books.

Making a fake fiancée questionnaire is surprisingly fun, and I’m definitely unleashing every bit of nosiness that I ever had about Rex.

“Night owl or morning person?” Jada asks.

“Rex is neither a morning nor night person. He has one setting, and that’s grouchy.” But I put it down, because he needs to know that I’m a morning person.

“You know what you also need? A getting-together story,” Jada says. “How did you go from stylist and client to romance of the century?”

“Totally,” I say. “It’s the first thing people would wonder.”

“Did he just ask you to dinner one day? You’re cutting his hair and he wants to know, what are you doing this Saturday?”

“Too boring,” I say.

“Sometimes boring is believable.”

“Yeah, but Rex is not boring. I think Rex saw me out somewhere after a month of my cutting his hair. I was out for tapas on a Tinder date, and he found himself burning up with jealousy. It was then he realized he had to have me, and that’s when he asked me out.”

“Burning up with jealousy behind a fern,” Jada says. “You want to get in the little details.”

“Okay, he was behind a fern, but not hiding. Rex wouldn’t hide. It’s just where his table happened to be.”

“And he didn’t realize what a high point of his week your haircuts were until he saw you with another man. And he was wining and dining an important client from Tagastan. And then he came up to you and asked you out.”

“Tagastan,” I say. “Perfect.”

She shrugs.

“But here’s the thing—Rex would never hit on a woman who’s out with another man,” I say. “He’s an asshole, but not a douche. Rex has a code—a very old-fashioned code.”

“I like that,” Jada says.

“A dark emotion must compel him,” I say.

“Okay,” Jada says, “how’s this—the Tinder date was going poorly. The guy was drunk. And Rex had been watching you from afar, burning up with jealousy behind his fern. And then the guy gets handsy, and you push him away but he won’t get the message and lay off, and suddenly Rex was there.”

I sit up. “And Rex clamps his muscular hand on the guy’s shoulder, and he growls—literally growls like an animal. And in a low and menacing voice, he says, ‘walk away.’”

“Don’t you want him to say something more dramatic?” Jada asks. “Like, ‘touch her again, and I will rearrange your face like amarble cake.’”

“Would a man say that to another man, though? Rearrange your face like a marble cake?”

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