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“I’m Scarlett,” I say, aiming for an approximation of charm and wishing I wasn’t wearing spandex and an oversize shirt.
He frowns. “I thought Bixby said your name was Sarah…”
“Scarlett’s what I go by.”
“I may have misheard.” It’s the kind of tone that says he knows he didn’t, but he’s letting it slide. For now. “Bix and I aren’t close, I’m afraid.”
“Us either.” Which is true as I’ve never met him. “It’s a four-week gig, working for you and…I’m sorry, I just overheard it might be more than that.”
He’s nodding, and he crosses the room to lean on his desk as he takes me in. “You don’t look like I expected.”
I pop a hand on my hip and strike a Vogue pose. When he doesn’t laugh, I bite down on a sigh and drop my hand. “I took up riding my bike. I was heading home when I got the call.”
This is partly true. I ride because one of my gigs is couriering. And I happened to be there at XO after my final job finished because Sarah Merriweather is actually a friend. She comes from old money but never has it and burns through it like it’s kindling.
Sarah’s flighty. She’s blond and pretty and fits the image he’s got in his head of an heiress without the cash and a whole lot of need.
We had drinks planned, which always meant waiting forever for Sarah to get her shit together. And in the minutes between agreeing to meet Hudson Sinclair and solve all her immediate money needs with a stupidly well-paying job, she’d gotten a call from her man of the hour.
A rich oligarch who wooed her with the South of France.
No work in sight except to keep the guy happy.
So, in a panic, she’d thrown together a small list of potential replacements—who keeps dossiers on other people when you’re not a spy?—and begged me to deliver them.
So here I am, not meaning to, but pretending to be my friend.
It won’t hurt. It’s all hush-hush and secretive. He wants something. I want something. Needs will be met and it’s all just a contractual obligation. Still. I hold out the package.
He looks at it like I’m offering him dime store candy. With suspicion. “What is that?”
“I came prepared. Just in case you want someone else. Here’s a selection.” I pause, looking at the padded envelope. Down on his fancy floor are my sneakered feet. They’re not even the good ones. The sneakers, I mean. I have the same feet I’ve always had. It’s a thing. I’ve learned to live with it.
“You came here with other women in mind, in case I found you lacking?” he says in the exact voice people use for the potentially violent and unhinged. “For what you thought was a job?”
I nod. “And for a finder’s fee.”
“Of course.” He frowned. “This isn’t a joke, Scarlett.”
“I know that.”
“You were eavesdropping.”
I shrug. “I overheard, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” he asks. “All? It’s my life.”
I swallow, fingers biting into the soft cardboard and padding. “I know.” No one knows Sarah’s taken off. She’s not close to her family, and I’m imagining her cousin who lives on the other side of the country figured this was an easy way to help her. “I don’t usually look like this. Then again, I also work at a temp agency.”
“Doing what?”
“PA.” I say this as nonchalantly as I can. I’ve never done anything like that before. But does it matter? This is to convince a stuffy lawyer I’m in love and going to marry this man, which doesn’t involve office work. I’m in lust with him on a superficial level already, so that will help.
I don’t want to sleep with him. But admire him? Yep, I can do that. A lot. Maybe even for hours.
“What did you overhear?”
“You need a fiancée in four weeks. I don’t know anything else except it’s important and you’re paying well.”
