Page 14 of Fake It For Him

Without it, I’d likely have been screwed but now things were looking up. It was unconventional, to say the least, but I didn’t give a shit. The girl and I were getting what we needed out of it and I suspected Della took a healthy cut off the top of her exorbitant fee. Everybody would be happy, and I’d never really been one for sticking to social norms and conventions anyway.

Problem solved.

Joe was unloading inventory and restocking the liquor shelves when I arrived. Several cleaners were busy doing their thing, but mid-morning sunlight streamed in through the windows now that the heavy red drapes had been drawn back and rock music played softly through the speakers.

I grinned, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest. I walked right up to him where he was standing on a stepladder to reach the higher shelves. “So I took your advice.”

“My advice?” he asked without looking at me, taking the bottles of Isle of Reid whiskey one at a time and placing them carefully on the glass shelves, making sure their labels were turned to face outward. “What advice was that?”

“I went to that crazy Faux place. I’ll have a date lined up by the end of the week and my father can stick his old-school, judgmental ways up his ass.”

Joe shook his head, chuckling before he twisted on the ladder to look at me. “I don’t think this has anything to do with your father being old fashioned, Cal.”

“Don’t start.” I inhaled deeply before I smirked. “The point is that I’ll have a date and they can all suck it for thinking this was going to keep me away.”

Joe turned back to the shelves, adding more bottles. I joined him behind the bar and he glanced down at me. “You know, maybe it’s time to own up to the fact that sleeping with your brother’s fiancée was a fucked-up thing to do, man. I know you think you did him a favor, and in the long run, maybe you did, but you went about it the wrong way. Your father doesn’t trust you anymore. That’s what this is about. It’s not because he wanted you to stay away or because he’s got old-school values. It’s all about the trust.”

Well, shit. There goes my good mood.

Hearing those words from him stung. Badly. But Joe wasn’t wrong. My dad didn’t trust me anymore and neither did anyone else in my family—and even if it had saved my brother from committing to spend the rest of his life with that woman, it’d also changed the way they looked at me forever.

Until now.

Della just had to do her part and come up with someone who was going to make them believe that there was more to me than what had happened back in Edinburgh. A woman who would make them believe that I’d grown from that, matured, and that they didn’t have to keep me at arm’s length anymore.

As I said it, I realized that I had a lot riding on this arrangement. More than I’d necessarily considered back at Della’s office.

Fuck, maybe I should’ve given her a few extra notes after all.

8

ELLA

I woke up to the shrill sound of my phone ringing. Disoriented, I pried my eyes open and fumbled around trying to find the device before it woke Kara and Mikey. I was still groggy and half asleep when I finally spotted it lying on the rug next to the mustard yellow sofa.

I accepted the call as I rolled back and closed my eyes again. “’Lo?”

“Hello. Good morning. This is Della Fontenot calling from the Faux Agency. Am I speaking with Ms. Ella Carter?”

“Uh, yes,” I mumbled, frowning. Crap. I really have to wake up. That’s my name. It’s not a wrong number.

“Excellent,” Della said. “I’m calling to let you know that your profile has been matched to a client for an event on New Year’s Eve, with a contract lasting from now until then. There will be a few additional events leading up to the big night as well. You indicated that you would be available for a long-term contract. Are you still interested in earning some extra money?”

I sat up and blinked hard at the words extra and money in the same sentence being directed at me. “Huh?”

The woman at the other end of the line chuckled. “Did I wake you up, dear? I do apologize for the early hour. This is a time-sensitive offer. I’m afraid the client you’ve been matched with requires an answer sooner rather than later, and we’ll need to get the paperwork in order soon if you’re still interested and available.”

“I am,” I said quickly. “Interested and available, I mean.”

My gaze finally settled on the clock mounted on the wall above the front door, and my jaw slackened, embarrassment flooding my cheeks when I saw the time. Eleven a.m.? Crap.

“I’m sorry. It’s not too early for you to be calling. I’m the one who owes you an apology. Do you mind telling me where you’re calling from again?”

“Faux’s Agency, darling,” she said, sounding amused. “You signed up with us about two weeks ago?”

Faux’s Agency. Faux’s Agency. Oh, right!

As my brain finally woke up and the fog of my intoxicated sleep lifted, I finally realized what she was talking about. I’d completely forgotten about it, but once I’d realized that I wasn’t going to be able to afford to stay in Portugal, which was where I’d been before I’d flown home, I’d scoured the internet for ways to make some quick money.