STELLA
I’d overestimatedthe number of straight, single men in my life.
After vetting my contacts, I found three who could potentially fulfill the role of my fake boyfriend, and after two disastrous test dates, that number had dwindled to one.
My first date kept trying to sell me on crypto while the second asked me for a bathroom blowjob in between the entree and dessert.
By the time my third date rolled around, my optimism had dwindled into a dying ember, but I clung to that flickering flame like it was my last hope.
Which it was.
No one knew when Delamonte would make their decision, but it had to be soon. I had a limited time to find a fake boyfriend, throw some couple photos up, and pray it would drag my account out of its slump. When it came to landing competitive brand deals, every little bit helped.
It wasn’t the world’s best or most well-thought-out plan, but it was a plan. No matter how ludicrous it was, it made me feel like I was taking control of my life, and that knowledge—that I wasn’t completely helpless and still had the power to shape my future—was the only thing keeping me afloat at the moment.
“Third time’s the charm.” The words rang with equal parts hope, weariness, and a touch of self-loathing.
I’d thrown myself into the Boyfriend Plan, as Brady called it, because I had no choice, but a part of me flinched every time I thought about what a successful plan would entail.
Deception. Lying. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
I’d cultivated close relationships with my followers over the years. Some of them had been with me since I was a college freshman posting grainy photos of my campus looks online.
The thought of betraying that trust made my stomach turn.
However, I couldn’t let Maura down. And, if I was being honest, I really wanted a million followers.
It was the big milestone. The door that would open a thousand more opportunities and prove that I wasn’t the disappointment my parents thought I was.
My friends thought I had the perfect family, and I’d never told them the truth because it seemed like such a trivial problem. Judgmental families were a dime a dozen.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting.
My parents didn’t always voice it, but I saw the disappointment in their eyes every time they looked at me.
I took a deep breath, smoothed a hand over the front of my dress, and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror one last time.
Hair twisted into an elegant knot, earrings that added a touch of glamour, and lipstick that brightened my winter-dulled skin.
Perfect.
I took the elevator downstairs and spent the ride checking my emails for Delamonte updates or responses from the dozen jobs I’d applied to over the past week.
Nothing.
No news was good news, right? Maybe not for the jobs, but at least for Delamonte.
Until I received an email or a press release announcing their next brand ambassador from them, I wouldn’t dwell on negativity. I didn’t want to accidentally manifest losing out on the campaign.
The elevator doors pinged open. I stepped out and ran a thumb over the crystals dangling from my necklace. Rose quartz for luck in love, citrine for general good vibrations.
Here’s hoping they work.
“Hi, Stella!” The eager voice pulled my attention to the front desk, where the concierge beamed at me, all shiny teeth and puppy dog eyes from behind the marble counter.
I released my necklace and smiled back. “Hi, Lance. Stuck on the graveyard shift again?”
“That’s what happens when you’re the youngest member on the team.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh before examining me. “You’re all dressed up tonight. Hot date?”
Part of me briefly entertained the idea of asking him to be my fake boyfriend before I dismissed it. That would be too messy for a multitude of reasons, the least of which was the fact he worked in my building.
“Hopefully.” I gave a playful spin, my metallic skirt flaring around my knees. I’d paired it with a fitted black sweater and boots for an elegant but simple first date look. “How do I look?”
“You look beautiful.” There was a wistful note in his voice. “You always—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish before I slammed into a brick wall. I stumbled and I instinctively reached up to steady myself.
Soft wool and masculine heat touched my fingers.
Not a wall, my dazed mind noted.
My eyes traveled up past the peaked lapels of a black suit, the open collar of a crisp white shirt, and the tanned column of a strong, masculine throat before they rested on a beautifully carved face, shadowed with disapproval.
“Ms. Alonso.” Christian’s cool voice sent goosebumps skittering across my skin. There was no trace of the semi-playful dinner partner from New York. “Distracting my staff from their job again?”
Again? I’d never distracted anyone from anything, except maybe the time Lance helped me carry a package to the elevators and the resident behind me in line had to wait an extra two minutes.
I removed my hand from Christian’s chest. His heat seared so deep I felt it in my bones even when I stepped back and upped the wattage of my smile.
Calm, cool, collected.
“I was making conversation. I wanted Lance’s opinion on something, but since you’re here, I might as well ask you.” I spun again. “What do you think? Is this outfit date-worthy?”
I didn’t even complete my first spin before Christian’s hand closed around my arm.
When I looked up, the shadow of disapproval had morphed into something darker. More dangerous.
Then I blinked and the darkness was gone, replaced by his usual polite impassiveness.
Somehow, that unsettled me even more.