Читать книгу Her Convenient Christmas Date - Barbara Wallace - Страница 12

IF THERE WERE two things Susan detested, they were headaches and people bothering her when she wanted to be left alone. Saturday morning brought both: a blinding headache and a phone ringing loudly right next to her ear.

Lifting her head from the sofa—where she’d collapsed facedown after stumbling from the bathroom—she glared at the caller ID, planning on killing the person.

Just her luck, it was her brother Thomas. One of two people in the UK she couldn’t kill. He was also the only person whose call she had to take. As CEO of Collier’s, he was technically her boss.

That didn’t mean she had to be pleasant though. “Do you know what time it is?” she growled.

“Happy Saturday to you, as well. It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

Really? She pulled the phone from her ear to check. When she’d lain down, it was just before seven that day. “Sorry. Thought it was earlier.”

It suddenly dawned on her why Thomas could be calling. “Rosalind didn’t have the baby, did she?” She pushed herself upright, ignoring how the blood rush made the room—and her stomach—sway.

“Not yet. The doctor thinks she’ll go right on her due date, same as she did with Maddie. And you sound like dirt.”

She felt like dirt. No longer having to worry about being alert, she slid down into the cushions. “Maria’s wedding was last night. I overdosed on sloe gin.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Not as good as you’d think.” And ending with her nearly falling on her face when she tripped going up her front steps—right after she’d insisted she was perfectly able to navigate the walk on her own. She could just imagine the look that had crossed Lewis Matolo’s face when he caught her by the waist. A combination of smugness and disgust, no doubt. At least he was gentleman enough not to say anything out loud.

“Is there a reason you’re calling?” she asked. “Because otherwise, I would like to go back to dying.”

“Actually, there are two reasons, if you can stave off your demise for ten minutes.”

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. What do you need?”

“The first thing isn’t a need, it’s an invitation. Rosalind and I were talking last night. About how fantastical the last eighteen months have been. Between her accident and last Christmas…”

Fantastical was a good word for it. Eighteen months earlier, Rosalind had disappeared after her car plunged off a bridge in Scotland. She had reappeared last Christmas hundreds of miles away with amnesia of all things. Rediscovering their relationship had been a challenge. Susan liked to think she helped the cause by sharing some hard truths Thomas hadn’t been willing to tell his returning bride.

Of course she was the only one who thought so at the time, but the three of them had put the issue behind them.

“We thought, with the baby arriving soon, it would be the perfect time to reestablish ourselves as a family,” Thomas continued.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve decided to renew our vows on Christmas Eve. Nothing huge. Just family and a few close friends.”

“That sounds…lovely.” Susan hated the tiny knot of jealousy that twisted in her midsection. Her brother had fought hard for his life and family; a proper sister wouldn’t envy his happiness.

Especially when his voice hummed with a bashful excitement. “Maddie’s going to be the maid of honor,” he said. “She’ll be heartbroken if her favorite aunt isn’t there.”

“I’d be heartbroken if I missed seeing her,” Susan replied, the knot easing slightly. The prospect of seeing her young niece dressed like a princess was too charming to resist.

“So you’ll be there?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t like she had Christmas Eve plans.

“Great. I’ll let Rosalind know. The other reason I called…” On the other end of the line, Susan heard the clink of a teacup. “I’m going to need you and Linus to host the Collier party again this year. I promised Rosalind I would take time off when the baby was born so we could bond as a family.”

Susan groaned. Not again. Collier’s had been holding a company Christmas party for its employees ever since the days of Queen Victoria. What was once a show of largesse toward the workers had morphed into a fancy cocktail party hosted by the CEO. Last year, Thomas had begged off because of Rosalind’s amnesia, leaving her and Linus to play the benevolent owners.

“Can’t Linus host by himself?” Everyone loved Linus.

“I’d prefer both of you to be there. Especially since Linus has been…”

“Unreliable?” She thought of how he’d left her in the lurch last night.

“Distracted,” Thomas replied. There was a pause, during which she imagined him studying his cup of tea while he thought of the right words. “Look, I know the party’s not your favorite event…”

“Try least favorite,” Susan corrected. The whole affair was an exercise in awkwardness for everyone involved. Smiling and making small talk with people like Ginger and Courtney. It’d be like the wedding times ten. “I was actually thinking of staying home this year…”

“You can’t. You’re a Collier. It wouldn’t look right.”

“I doubt people will care—they’re more interested in the free booze.”

“Susan…”

“Fine.” She noticed he hadn’t corrected her. “I’ll host the party.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else or can I go back to dying now?” Her head was demanding coffee and aspirin before it could handle any more conversation.

“Die away,” her brother replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Susan tossed her phone on the cushion next to her. Five minutes, she thought as her eyes fluttered closed and her body fell sideways. Five minutes and she’d head to the kitchen for caffeine.

The phone rang again, the shrillness next to her ear making her wince. She fumbled for it without opening her eyes. “What did you forget?”

“Nothing that I know of,” said an unfamiliar voice. Deep and with a strong northern twang, it caused tingles to trip up her spine. “I was calling to see how your head felt this morning.”

How did this stranger know she had a killer hangover? “Who is this?” Susan pushed herself into a seated position—again.

“Lewis Matolo. The bloke who brought you home, remember?”

Remember? She was hoping to forget. Nearly bursting into tears, tripping over her own two feet. She’d worked hard her entire adult life to project an image of togetherness and control to the outside world…and Lewis Matolo had seen none of that.

She also remembered him being incredibly attractive. If you were into the cocky, athletic sort.

“How did you get my number?”

“I texted Hank and Maria and asked them.”

“You bothered them on their honeymoon.” Her heart actually fluttered at the idea. Why on earth would he go to that much trouble to track her down? Surely, not simply to check on her well-being.

“Don’t worry. They were killing time at Heathrow waiting for their boarding call. I’m glad to see you made it to your apartment safely. No tripping up the stairs?”

Thankfully, he couldn’t see how warm her face was. “I told you, the sidewalk was slippery from the cold weather,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” It was clear from the amusement in his voice that he hadn’t bought the excuse then and he still wasn’t buying it now. Susan blushed a little deeper.

“Since you didn’t fall and break your neck,” he continued, “how would you feel about lunch?”

“Lunch? With you?” A dumb question, she knew, but he’d caught her off guard. She needed a reality check before her heart fluttered again. Why would someone like him be asking her out?

“No, with Prince William. I have a…business proposition to run by you.”

How stupid of her. Of course he would be calling about business. Doing her best to hold back a sigh, she said, “New business ideas are my brother Thomas’s bailiwick. You’re better off calling him directly. I don’t get involved in that end.”

“You misunderstand. This isn’t about Collier’s. It’s about… Let me just say I think I have an idea that might benefit us both.”

Beneficial to her but didn’t involve Collier’s? He had her attention. “Go on?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve read Lorianne’s blog today?”

Lorianne Around London was the UK’s most popular gossip website. A treasure trove of royal, political and celebrity gossip, the blog was influential and widely read, even by those who claimed they didn’t. “The only thing I’ve seen today is the inside of my eyelids. Why?”

“You might want to check it out on your way to the restaurant,” Lewis replied. “There’s a “Blind Item” you might find interesting. Now, are we on for lunch?”

Susan ran a hand through her curls. Her hair was a stiff mess from being retro-styled and she still had a splitting headache. Without checking a mirror, she knew she looked like a plump, raccoon-eyed nightmare. Hardly suitable for public viewing.

On the other hand, Lewis’s offer intrigued her foggy brain. A business venture that benefitted her, didn’t involve Collier’s and was somehow connected to a “Blind Item” in Lorianne Around London? How could she resist?

“Where and when?” she asked.

The Christmas tree next to the fountain was decorated with pairs of miniature shoes. At night, it was lit with hundreds of rainbow-colored lights, but at midday all you could see were mini sneakers and stilettos. It was supposed to be making an artistic and social commentary, but damn if Lewis could figure it out. Walk a mile in another’s shoes, maybe? Guess he wasn’t sophisticated enough because he preferred the lights.

Still frowning, he turned his attention back to the restaurant. It was ten minutes past their agreed-upon time. Susan didn’t strike him as the kind of person who ran late. He’d done a little digging on her when he’d texted Hank and Maria. If anything, Susan was the kind of person who arrived early and grew annoyed when you didn’t too. She hadn’t been joking last night when she said she wasn’t very well liked at her company. In fact, Maria had used a very specific word to describe her, and for a second Lewis wondered if his plan was a good idea.

He caught the eye of a waiter who immediately approached the table. “Can I get another sparkling water?” he asked.

The young man nodded. “Of course. Right away.”

As the man walked away, Lewis noticed a handful of diners looking in his direction. The Mayfair restaurant was too posh a location for autograph seekers. The people who dined here were supposed to be nonchalant about dining with celebrities. That didn’t mean they weren’t above sneaking a peek when one was in their midst, however.

When he was a kid, places like this were a foreign country. They were for people who lived on the other side of the city, who drove nice cars and whose kids always had new clothes. They definitely weren’t for nobodies who bounced from foster home to foster home. Sometimes he pinched himself that he was really able to walk into a restaurant like this one and order whatever he wanted. Sometimes he masked his anxiety with extreme cockiness.

Sometimes—most times, in the past—he’d drunk to keep from feeling exposed.

It’s all right; you belong here.

For how long though? Celebrity was a fleeting thing. Washed-up athletes were a dime a dozen. If he couldn’t get a broadcast job, what would he do? Football was the only world he knew. The sport defined him. Made him matter. Made him somebody.

It’s your reputation, Lewis. That’s how his agent had put it after telling him he’d lost the BBC commentator job. People are afraid you’re going to pull one of your antics again. No one wants to risk waking up to see their studio analyst double-fisting bottles of Cristal on the front page.

In other words, he needed to prove to the world he had shed his Champagne Lewis persona for good. He’d been trying to deliver that message for the past nine months, but karma kept tripping him up. Like last night. He was surprised that the drink-tossing incident hadn’t made it onto Lorianne’s blog. The woman had spies everywhere.

Reading today’s item, however, made him realize a few things. First, that he was damn lucky, and second, that if he wanted the world to know he was a changed man, he needed to do more than simply give up drinking and stay home. He needed to give the public proof, something splashy, that would convey the message for him.

The idea as to how had hit him like a jolt this morning. It was crazy, but it was worth a shot.

Now he needed his proposed partner in crime to appear.

He was about to turn his awareness back to the window when a flash of blue caught his attention. Finally. Susan Collier cut through the dining room, her peacock blue jacket popping amid the room’s gold-and-green garlands. She wore a pair of oversize sunglasses covering her face and moved like a person who didn’t have a moment to spare. Quite a different appearance from the soft, hazy woman who’d tripped her way up her front stairs the night before.

“Sorry I’m late. We got stuck in traffic.”

Lewis saw it for the excuse it was. He also always seemed to have problems with the traffic on days he was hungover. “No problem. I’ve been sitting hear enjoying the view. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

“It should. They started decorating the day after Halloween.”

She looked down at the bench he sat on. Although the alcove table could accommodate up to six people, it had been set for intimacy. This meant the only seating was the velvet bench that curved along the wall. She had no choice but to slide to the middle so they could sit side by side. “Interesting choice of table,” she remarked.

“I like sitting by the window.” He moved over to make room. Not too much room though. He wanted to sit next to her. That was the point.

“Don’t suppose you read Lorianne’s site,” he said when she’d settled in—her sunglasses remaining in place.

“You mean ‘Blind Item’ number five? How could I resist? You had me intrigued.” Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a printout of Lorianne’s blog.

This A-plus bad-boy former athlete with the fancy name was seen playing the gentleman for a member of one of London’s most established families last night. He walked the lady to the door and didn’t stay the night. Fluke? Or has he washed his hands of his wild ways?

She folded the paper in half again. “Those are some of the lamest clues I’ve ever seen. ‘Fancy name’ for Champagne Lewis? ‘Washed his hands’ for Collier’s Soap? Was this your doing?”

“I wish. Our driver must have given her the tip. Lorianne’s known for her network. He must have texted her after he dropped us off and Lorianne shoved it in her column.” That was the beauty of the internet. In the old days, the public would have had to wait another twenty-four hours for the news item to go public.

“Interesting, don’t you think?” he asked.

“How so?” Susan replied.

“Good afternoon. Glad you could join us.” It was their waiter, returning with Lewis’s sparkling water. “Can I get you anything? A cocktail perhaps?”

“The lady will have a Bloody Mary.” Lewis ignored the way Susan’s head spun around to stare at him.

“A glass of water will be fine,” she told the waiter, in a no-nonsense tone.

“And the Bloody Mary.”

The poor young man looked from Lewis to Susan and back, clearly unsure who he should listen to. “She’ll have water and a Bloody Mary,” Lewis told him. He leaned in so he could lower his voice. “Hair of the dog, Trust me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll be nursing that headache of yours all day.” A drink wouldn’t ease the pain of her throbbing head necessarily, but in his experience, it helped more often than not. “I’m the expert, remember?”

“Fine.” She told the waiter to bring her both. “If alcohol is such a cure-all, why aren’t you having any?” she asked once the waiter had gone.

“Simple. I’m not hungover. Plus, I don’t drink. Anymore,” he added when she opened her mouth.

“You don’t? Since when?”

Since he’d woken up with one too many hangovers and realized what a mess he’d made of his career, that’s when. “Been nearly nine months now.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“Few people do.” And those who did, didn’t believe it would stick. “I decided last spring it was time to get my act together. Turn over a new leaf, as it were.”

“How’s the new leaf working out for you?”

“There’s been a few bumps.” Like last night. “Turns out being sober is only half the battle. Dealing with the mess you left behind…”

“I’m guessing last night was a bump.”

“For both of us, wouldn’t you say?” He took a sip of water. “Are you going to wear those glasses throughout lunch?” It was impossible to gauge her expression when it was hidden by those big black lenses. “Feel like I’m having lunch with a Russian spy.” Or a woman embarrassed to be with him.

Although her lips pulled into a smirk, she removed the glasses. “Satisfied?” she asked.

Her excess from the night before revealed itself in a pair of dark circles that washed the color from her face. Her eyes’ warm copper center was still visible though. Lewis had wondered if he’d imagined the unusual color. He hadn’t. He hadn’t imagined the intelligence in her eyes either.

“So…” She dropped her gaze, blocking his view once more. “You said you had a business proposition for me.”

“Yes.” Apparently they were going to get right down to business. Lewis could deal with that. “Now that I’ve retired, I’m hoping to get into broadcasting but no one wants to give me so much as a meeting. They’re all afraid to take a risk.”

“No offense, but can you blame them?”

“Maybe once upon a time, but I’m not the same guy I was nine months ago. I’ve grown up, and if they gave me a shot, they would see that I know my stuff. I’d be damned good.”

He shifted in his seat so he could look her straight on. “It’s maddening. They won’t even meet with me. It’s as though the world has slotted me into a role and now I’m stuck in it for life. Whether it fits or not.”

“Everyone thinks they know you,” she said in soft voice. She was folding and unfolding her glasses with great thoughtfulness.

“Precisely.” The rush of someone understanding made Lewis want to grab her hands and squeeze them. “Telling them isn’t enough. They need tangible evidence that I am not the same person. That’s where you come in.” Taking a chance, he reached over and laid his hand on her forearm.

In a flash, her hands stilled. Lewis felt the muscles in her arm tense. Slowly—very slowly—her gaze rose to meet his. “How so?”

Before he could answer, their waiter returned. As the man placed her drinks on the table, his eyes flickered to Susan’s arm, which she quickly pulled away. Lewis tried not to smile. “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

So eager had he been to discuss business, neither of them had had a chance to look at the menu. “Not—”

“I’ll have the egg-and-avocado sandwich,” Susan announced. “Is that all right? Or do you need to change my order?”

Man, but she had a bite to her. And here he’d thought last night’s sharpness was from the alcohol. “Sounds perfect. In fact, I’ll have the same. You’re very decisive, for a woman who didn’t have time to study the menu,” he said once the waiter had moved on.”

“I read the item at the top of the page and decided it sounded good. I’m not much for hemming and hawing when there’s a decision to be made.”

“You don’t like to waste your time.”

“Not if I can help it.” She swished her celery-stalk garnish around in the glass and took a crisp bite off its end. “Bringing me back to my question. What are you looking for from me?”

Lewis placed his hands on the table. He thought about covering her arm again, but that might look too forward. This was where actions and word choice mattered. “You might think I’m crazy, but I got the idea from Lorianne’s site. Until now, I’ve been staying out of the public eye, hoping people would realize I’d given up the party life, but it hasn’t been working. People only believe what they see.”

“Or think they see,” she added.

She caught on quick. “Precisely. This morning, I read Lorianne’s ‘Blind Item,’ and I realized I had things backward. Instead of being out of the public eye, I need to do the opposite. I need to be seen as much as possible, only, in the way I want to be seen.”

“In other words, you want to create a new tabloid persona. Makes sense. Although I’m not sure where I come in.”

“Well…” This was where the proposition got tricky. “I was hoping you’d be my partner in crime,” he said. “Nothing says changed man like a relationship with someone completely against type. A woman who is the total opposite of all the other women I’ve ever dated. You.”

Susan stared at him, drink hovering just below her lower lip. “Are you trying to get another drink tossed in your face?”

“Wait.” She’d set her drink down and was gathering her things. “Hear me out.”

“I already heard you. You spent your sporting career dating beautiful women. Now, to prove you’ve changed, you want to date someone who isn’t beautiful and that someone is me.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Really?” She cocked her head. “What did I miss?”

“Yes, I dated a lot of beautiful women, but…” He threw up his hands in case the noise she’d made was the precursor to a drink toss. “They were just good-time girls.”

“The kind of girls whose name you forget.”

“Right. I mean, no. You should never, ever forget a lover’s name.” He could almost hear the thin ice cracking beneath him with each sentence. So much for making sure his words mattered.

“You’re smart,” he rushed on. “You own a respected business. Doesn’t Collier’s Soap have the queen’s blessing?”

“We have a Royal Warrant, yes.”

“See? You’re someone society takes seriously. No one would expect to see you involved with a party boy like me. So if you were involved…”

“They would assume you must not be the empty-headed wild man anymore.”

Forgetting about overstepping, he clasped her hand in his. “That’s it exactly.”

Her fingers were cold and damp from her glass. Lewis pressed his hands tight to warm them. “And it’s not as though you’re unattractive,” he added.

She didn’t smile. So much for humor. He was mucking this up big-time. “Look, you’re smart. You’re cute.” Cute wasn’t the right word, he realized. She radiated too much class and intelligence to be labeled merely cute. Sophisticated? Maybe. Different?

Yeah, different. Unique.

“Bottom line is, I need your help, if I’m to have any chance of getting a network job,” he said. “Lorianne has already marked us as a potential couple. It would take a while to find another woman as qualified.” Not to mention one whose company he enjoyed as much as he did Susan’s, surprisingly.

“Why is being a broadcaster so important?” she asked. “Surely there are other jobs out there?”

“Because I think I’d be good at it. No, I know I’d be good at it,” he told her. There was more though. “Besides, football is the only thing I’ve ever known. I’m not ready to leave it behind.”

The field and the fans had been the only real home he’d ever had. Without them, all he’d have would be a handful of hazy memories of the glory days. He wasn’t ready to be kicked to the curb, unwanted, again. To go back to being nobody.

He blinked. Susan was frowning at him from over her drink.

“Were you even listening?” she asked.

“Sorry. I drifted off for a moment.”

“Obviously.” She took a long sip of her drink, which, Lewis noticed, was about a third gone. “You said on the phone this proposition would be mutually beneficial. You explained what you would get out of this ‘arrangement,’ but what’s in it for me?”

“Simple,” he replied. “You get seen with me.”

Thank goodness she’d swallowed before he spoke or she would have spit tomato juice all over the table. “You’re joking. That’s your idea of mutually beneficial?”

He leaned back against the bench, his arms stretched out along the back. “You disagree?”

Talk about ego. Like he was such a prize.

She took in his chiseled features—far more prominent in the light of day—and the way his cashmere sweater pulled across his equally chiseled torso.

Okay, he was a prize.

Still, did he think her so desperate she needed a fake boyfriend?

Aren’t you? She ignored her own question.

“I think you have an extremely high opinion of your appeal.” She paused to sip her drink. Much as she hated to admit it, the combination of tomato juice and vodka was easing her hangover. The tension in her shoulders and neck were lessening with each sip. “Why would I care whether I was seen in public with you?”

“To quote… ‘my own brother didn’t want to be my date.’”

“When did I say that?” It was true, but she couldn’t see herself sharing the information.

“While we were waiting for the car.”

Susan thought back. Much of the trip home was fuzzy. She vaguely remembered growing angry when they passed the ladies’ room and going on a tirade about being single which may have morphed into a drunken pity party.

Oh, man, now she remembered. Stupid Christmas Wishes. “I was drunk. People say and do a lot of foolish things when they are under the influence, as I’m sure you would agree.”

“In vino veritas.”

He flashed a smirk as he reached for his water. “As for the value of my appeal…? There are a lot of women in the UK who would tell you I’ve got plenty.”

“Then why don’t you ask one of them to be your fake girlfriend? Oh, wait, let me guess. Oh, right, they’re all supermodels and party girls.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you? I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you clearly need me more than I need you.” Or the way it stung.

“You’re right,” he replied. “I do need you more than you need me.”

Points for honesty. Sitting back, she waited to hear his expanded sales pitch.

“Believe it or not, you would get something tangible out of the relationship,” he told her.

Beyond being able to rub the fake arrangement in Ginger’s and Courtney’s faces—which she had to admit, a part of her found appealing. “How so?”

“If my plan works, the two of us will be in the tabloids and gossip columns, a lot. Both our profiles will be raised.”

“Why would I care about a higher profile?”

“You tell me, Ms. Collier.”

He was appealing to her ego again. It wouldn’t be only the Courtneys and Gingers of the world she’d be showing, it would be the world. The equivalent of a giant ad announcing her desirability. As if she were that lonely.

“What makes you think the tabloids, or anyone for that matter, would believe we were a real couple?” she asked. Simply out of curiosity.

“Are you kidding? Celebrities arrange public relationships all the time in order to sell an image. Remember that pop star who was dating the guy from the Brazilian team? Totally to keep people from knowing he was shagging his equipment manager.”

“No way.”

“It’s the truth. I know the equipment manager.”

Susan remembered seeing the singer on the cover of several magazines at the hair salon talking about finally finding love. She’d been a nobody newcomer before the relationship.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You’re not…?”

“No.”

Not that it mattered. She still wasn’t going to say yes to this silly idea.

“Granted you and I wouldn’t become an international sensation, but, if we do this right, we will get mentioned in the papers. We only need to be together a few months. Long enough for people to believe we are the real deal.”

“Even though we aren’t.”

“Right. But the only people who will know are you and me. Everyone else will think you won me over with your brilliant mind and razor-sharp wit.”

“And, if I say yes—not that I am—how long would we need to play act?”

“Just over a month. At least through the holidays.”

Meaning he would be her “boyfriend” at the Collier’s Christmas Party. Wouldn’t that be interesting? To be part of a couple for once instead of standing around watching everyone else? Even if it was only pretend.

Despite his offered upsides, the idea struck her wrong. Did she really want to spend weeks with a disinterested man just so she could stick it to a few petty witches? Seemed like she should be better than that.

Then there was the obvious.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply date a different category of women instead of subterfuge?”

He looked at her for a second, as though weighing his words, his sensual lips drawn in a frown. “If I were looking to get into a long-term relationship, maybe, but…”

“You don’t have to go on. I get your point.” He was looking to repair an image, not actually change his tastes.

“I’m not asking you to decide this very moment,” he said. “Let’s have some lunch, and you think the idea over. Let me know later on.”

“Thank you.” She doubted food would change her mind, but she’d rather not ruin the mood until after she’d eaten.

In the meantime, she was curious if she still looked like death now that her headache had eased. When the waiter arrived with their food, she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.

Whoever decorated the restaurant had the foresight to install ambient lighting as opposed to fluorescent in the sitting room so women checking the mirror would feel good about their appearance. Unfortunately, all the ambient lighting in the world couldn’t brighten her washed-out complexion. She’d tried to hide the damage with powder and concealer, but the dark circles stubbornly remained. Searching into her bag, she pulled out a compact and touched up her blush. No sense bothering with lipstick since it would only wear off again when she ate. Then she combed her hands through her curls and stepped back.

Her shoulders slumped. She looked like she felt. Tired, and hungover. The jacket was too boxy for her short frame, making her look like a squashed blueberry. People probably thought she was Lewis’s agent or business manager. Certainly not a potential girlfriend. Correction, fake girlfriend.

What made Lewis think the idea would work? No way, people wouldn’t believe they were an item.

Behind her, the door opened and two university-age girls slipped in. Susan immediately envied their long hair which they wore in messy topknots. Envied their cropped sweaters and leggings too. No one would mistake them for a sports agent.

All her life, she had wondered what it would be like to fit. To feel accepted by someone. Anyone. She had a lot to offer, if people would only look.

Don’t be so dramatic, her mother would say. People don’t look if there’s nothing to look at.

Belinda was full of those little bon mots.

Lewis Matolo was offering people something to look at.

Would it be so horrible if the world saw her as someone different? Just for a little while?

Rummaging through her bag, she located a hair tie and forced her curls into a messy bun. Then, she shed her jacket. The black turtleneck wasn’t stylish, but at least the world could see she had a waist.

The world. Susan chewed her lower lip. Was she really that crazy?

Lewis was biting into his egg sandwich when she returned. She tossed her bag on the bench and slid in next to him. “You’ve got a deal.”