Page 23 of Fake It For Glory

“Fine, no more white sneakers,” I muttered. “The money you pay me can buy me new feet.”

He wanted a smoke show? Well, that wasn’t going to read well in the article I would write about him. That was not going to read well at all. I could almost taste the revenge I would get when the world read about who he really was. It was no wonder he had to pay someone to go out with him. I would say you couldn’t pay me enough, but half a million dollars certainly made his asshole-ness easier to swallow.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Please, listen to Hattie when you are out shopping.”

“What does that mean?” I asked with disdain dripping from every word.

“Hattie is a professional shopper. She will help you find suitable clothing. She’s been shopping for years and knows how to make anyone look good. She’ll know how to dress you in a flattering way.”

“I’m not paying for another set of clothes,” I said.

“I know. That’s why I’m paying for them,” he said.

“You don’t get to decide what a suitable wardrobe is for me.”

“Actually, I do,” he said, smiling. “I’m paying you to be my pretend girlfriend for a few weeks. You need to fit the part. You need to look like a woman I would date.”

“And I don’t,” I muttered.

“It’s not that,” he said and softened his tone a little. “It’s just that I’m going to be surrounded by some of the richest men and women in society. I have to impress them, which means I need the woman on my arm to be equally as impressive.”

It was insulting to be told you didn’t measure up. I wasn’t enough to be his girlfriend. Talk about a blow to the ego. I dealt with enough feelings of not being good enough. I really didn’t need him to remind me. But this was a job. A gig. I was undercover.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll lose the sneakers. I’ll do my best to fit into whatever mold Hattie creates for me, but if I show up looking like a stuffed sausage, don’t complain.”

“You could never look like a stuffed sausage.” His voice was deep and the look on his face was full of heat.

My heart skipped a beat. There was no way Jensen Loxley could find me attractive. Right? That was silly. He was hot and rich and could have any woman. At least until he opened his mouth and then I understood why he was paying me to pretend to be his girlfriend.

“Glad you think so,” I said and pulled my attention back to the task at hand. “What else is on the agenda for today?”

“Nothing more for today,” he said. “I have a meeting. I’ll need to schedule a meeting to go over the details.”

“What details?”

“My itinerary for the next week,” he said. “We’ve got a busy month ahead of us.”

“Will you be laying out more rules?” I asked with some irritation.

“Do I need to make more rules?” he countered. “I assume you can conduct yourself like a lady when we’re at these events. No cussing. No flirting with anyone. And definitely no drinking. I won’t be seen with a drunk woman at any of these events.”

“What if I want to drink?” I shot back with attitude. “Is that what you’re saying? That I can’t drink?”

“I’m giving you a set of rules. If you can sip champagne without getting drunk, fine. I will not have you tipsy and potentially saying something that exposes our little arrangement. You can follow them or you can walk away from the job, but I’d hate to see you go because you’re too stubborn to adhere to the rules.”

“Well, I don’t like the rules,” I said. “I don’t like the fact that you think you can just buy women for a week and then throw them away.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting this is something I do often?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, do you?” I was going to get information about him one way or another. I didn’t intend to write a smear piece on him, but if he was a dick, I couldn’t lie to the public. I wanted to write an honest piece that accurately painted the picture of who the man really was.

“I’ve already told you I’ve never done this before,” he said and I sensed there was some embarrassment.

“Anything else?” I asked with a sigh.

“No,” he said. “However, I think I should point out this is a business arrangement. You should respect that. I’m only telling you what I expect from you in the job I’ve hired you for. It’s nothing personal.”

“I get it,” I said, shrugging. “You’re a demanding man.”

“I’m a man that has high standards,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good day.”

I left his office without another word. I was annoyed with the rules. I supposed it was part of the job but it grated on my nerves to be told how to dress by a total stranger. It was insulting. When he looked at me, he saw the same frumpy person I did. He made it clear my insecurities weren’t just in my head.

I left the building and stepped onto the sidewalk. There was a chilly breeze and I could smell the fall in the air. Soon, we would have snow on the ground. I looked down at my shoes and wondered if he expected me to walk through the snow in high heels.

A man brushed past me on his way into the building. And then I was jostled from the other side. I stepped back and took a moment to watch all the people hustling up and down the busy sidewalks. I was on Fifth Avenue with the movers and shakers of the world. I looked at the women, judging their outfits. They all looked like they stepped off the pages of a Bloomingdale’s catalog.

That was what Jensen wanted from me. I didn’t own a pencil skirt. I didn’t own anything close to what the women in his office wore. My style was all about hiding my voluptuous curves. My mother always told me a lady never showed too much skin.

I wanted to be more like the women that worked for Jensen. I wanted to let him see my assets but I was also embarrassed by my curves. Maybe there was a better way to look less frumpy without showing too much. Hopefully, Hattie was a miracle worker.

I went home instead of going to the office. I told my dad I was working from home after doing some research. He didn’t need to know the research I was doing was for an entirely different article than the one he wanted me to write.

As soon as I got home, I went to my closet. I stared at the black and dark blue tops I tended to wear. Most of my pants were leggings or some version of them. I had a style that I thought worked for me. Now, I was going to have to change that up. I was both nervous and excited. I wanted to try a new look, but I was also terrified to change who I was.

“Embrace change,” I reminded myself. Nothing changed unless I initiated it.