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She had needed money to send her brother to an Ivy League university. She heard from a friend about the Wife for Hire Agency.
Thanks to their assistance, she found a husband who funded her brother's education and began a fresh chapter in her life through a two-year marriage arrangement.
My eyes light up with excitement and hope. She even says she didn't expect to find love through this arrangement.
"Who needs love?" I scoff at myself.
This could be my chance - marry a wealthy man for a short period and he'll fund my research project to find a cure for my mother. Leaning back in my chair, I clap my hands together. "This is it, my big break. Wife for Hire Agency, here I come."
***P***
I run my hands down my high-end classic outfit, studying my reflection in the full-length mirror. This has been my go-to style ever since I started college. People would tease me about it, making comments like "Are you off to your secretarial job after class?" or "You dress like my mom." That one always stung. Back in high school, I was used to wearing uniforms and then switching to jeans and t-shirts for after-school activities. But college was different; it was important to me, both for my education and for honoring my father's life insurance policy. That's why I made an effort to dress in business casual or professional attire - it helped me take my studies seriously and not waste my inheritance.
Being different attracts two types of men: the ones who pretend to care and manipulate you, and the ones who see straight into your soul and tug at your heartstrings. I struggle to suppress the memories that flood my mind when I think about how he couldn’t stay away from me during our time in college.
My gaze falls on my outfit - gray slacks, black kitten heels, and a short-sleeved cream blouse. It gives off a professional and respectable vibe.
Kinsley, your goal is to attract a husband. The man shouldn’t pick you just based on looks. However, my supposed beauty may actually benefit me for once in this situation.
I swipe a finger over my semi button nose and marvel in my pecan skin. I love the skin I’m in.
My fingers slide through my freshly washed hair. The thick brown waves dance over my slender shoulders.
If I want to hook the wealthiest man, I’ll have to seek reinforcement. My best friends and fellow doctors, Faye and Shaylee.
High fashion is their signature style. Even before they put on their white doctor coats. They look like they just stepped off the page of a magazine. Couture all the way.
I pick up my phone off the nightstand and quickly send a text in our group chat.
Me: I have an important meeting today and need to exude subtle sexiness.
Faye: laughing emoji
Shaylee: face palm emoji
Me: So I need to go shopping. ASAP.
Faye: Girl, you should’ve led with shopping.
Shaylee: I work overnight. How about noon? I’d like to get at least five hours of sleep.
Faye: Boring. I’ll drink for me and Shaylee.
Me: Laughing emoji. Noon it is.
Faye: I’ll pick you two up at eleven thirty.
Shaylee: Ok.
Me: Great! Thanks girls.
It’s important I don’t let them go too far today.
***P***
Faye bobs her head to the beat of the music as she drives her powder blue Bentley truck through Newark, New Jersey.
The woman is a southern bell from South Carolina. She comes from money. Her husband is also rich. I’m not sure Faye knows what it’s like to be poor. She had dressed her ass off during medical school and didn’t apologize for it.
