Faking It with the Frenemy

On the other hand, maybe Champ isn’t thinking about the kiss. His face is buried in his food bowl.

I change, put him on a leash for his walk, and open the door. There are two dead crickets right there in the hallway. Gross, but not as bad as the roach that was there yesterday. I start to go back into the apartment to grab a paper towel to dispose of the bodies.

But Champ lunges forward and gulps down the brown bugs, saving me the trouble. Then he looks up, wagging his tail. If he could talk, he’d probably say, “Did you see that? Wasn’t I awesome?”

“Yes, you are,” I say. Crickets are just protein, nothing poisonous. “You’re an awesome boy!” I scratch behind his ears, then grab a small treat for him. Good behavior always deserves positive reinforcement.

The walk is delightful, especially since I don’t have anything urgent to do today. Salazar’s promised paid month off has already started, so I’m going to take advantage of that and binge-watch some shows. I wish I could hang out with Evie, but she’s busy getting ready for a “welcome to the family” party, hosted by her brother-in-law.

Champ pulls us along, ensuring the walk is brisk, but not taxing. I love how he’s such a happy dog. I thought maybe he’d be depressed after losing his previous owner, but perhaps he realizes she would want him to embrace life. A bit deep for a dog, but some dogs are smarter and more intuitive than a lot of people.

After we come home, I shower and spend the rest of the day in my pajamas watching whatever Netflix serves up. Technology is marvelous. I don’t even have to leave home to grab movies, and Netflix knows what I like—utterly mindless action flicks. Terminator 3 isn’t my absolute favorite from the franchise, but it isn’t bad. I’m pretty sure Netflix is really Skynet with a super AI to make me park my ass on my couch and not join Team Human Resistance. Champ watches with me, snuggled against my hip and thigh.

I share a huge bowl of butter-free popcorn with him, making sure he doesn’t get any kernels. My favorite is buttery caramel popcorn, but if I gorge on that I’ll need to be at the barre studio until next year to undo the damage. And what I have isn’t too terrible, considering. Champ isn’t complaining about the plain flavor either.

My phone rings, and I answer automatically, assuming it’s about the date I have set up for Wyatt. See? He should be grateful! Look how hard I’m working for him!

And I’m not even his assistant, just a rental.

“This is Kim.”

“Oh my God, darling! Tell me you’re free next weekend.” Mom sounds breathless in that familiar “I’m too excited to contain myself” way.

Which under-sixty billionaire just got divorced?

“Uh… I guess? Let me check my calendar,” I say, not wanting to automatically confirm. This could be about anything. Maybe she needs somebody to hold her hand while she gets her breasts Botoxed. If anybody could find a doctor who was willing to experiment, it’d be my mom.

“Byron Pearce is attending an art gallery opening in San Francisco next Saturday! You should go! I have a ticket! I’m willing to give it to you!”

Oh my God. “Mom. Byron really isn’t my type.” If I tell her I found him to be pleasant enough, she’ll never let me have any peace. She doesn’t understand that finding a guy pleasant doesn’t mean I’m ready to plunk down serious cash on a wedding gown.

“How come? He’s worth over a billion, and still very much young enough that he can rise to the occasion without Viagra. I’m certain his stamina is excellent as well.”

Ugh. I should’ve just gone for the buttery caramel popcorn, because I’m going to puke after this phone call. “That’s so not the point.”

“You have to give him a chance, Kim. He’s hot.”

She says that about every man with money. The more he has, the hotter he is. But at the same time… I have to admit that, objectively speaking, Byron Pearce is quite handsome. And unlike some rich guys, his reputation when it comes to women is pristine. He doesn’t screw around, and he doesn’t play games. It’s like he’s only interested in working and making even more money.

“I saw a recent picture of him,” Mom continues. “It looks like he’s been working out. And those eyes! Those lips! I’d love to be your age again so I could kiss him.”

I so do not need that mental picture. On the other hand, the mention of lips and kisses makes me stop and think. Maybe the problem I had yesterday out in the hall was that I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while. It’s like food: if you get hungry enough, you’ll risk eating an unknown mushroom or two. It could be that Wyatt emits some kind if toxin that confuses my brain and undermines my good intentions. And isn’t it true that some poisons can make you tingle…?

“I’m just saying that you should consider the possibilities. Everyone has to marry. And if you’re going to marry, you might as well marry somebody rich,” Mom says, like she’s trying to cajole me to eat my greens.

“Money doesn’t buy happiness.” I toss it out there, knowing she won’t get it…again.

“Well, being poor certainly doesn’t buy it.”

“You know I’m about to get my five-year bonus, don’t you?” I have to get the statue, but I’m confident that will happen. Wyatt signed the contract, and I’m sure that eventually one heiress or another will work out. If I have to, I’ll put him on a two-dates-a-day rotation so we can find somebody faster. The wedding is next weekend.

“You mean that pathetic five hundred thousand dollars?” She tsks. “After taxes and so on, it won’t be that much.”

Just like Mom to dismiss my accomplishments when they don’t align with how she wants me to live my life. “I also have savings.”

“Not a billion dollars’ worth, I’m sure.”

I hiss out a breath. She needs to try a different strategy if she thinks this is going to make me want to consider dating Byron Pearce.