Mister Fake Fiance

“Okay. If I leave now, I can meet you in front of the hotel in half an hour or less, I think. What do you need me to bring?”

“Nothing. Just put on something nice.”

“Nice?” she repeats blankly.

“Yeah. Like, um…a black cocktail dress.” Every woman owns one, according to my cousin Kathleen.

“I don’t have any that I can wear.” Erin is almost whispering. It’s like she’s confessing a crime.

What the hell? How could Kathleen be wrong about something like this? She’s a freakin’ model! Shit. “You don’t have anything dressy?”

“Um. No…?”

Mr. Niagara finally flushes before I can figure out the next step.

“David?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you in a bathroom?”

“No,” I say, not wanting her to know I’m making this phone call in a hotel bathroom stall. It just seems…ridiculous. “Of course not. It’s a presentation sound effect.” I try for a laugh. “Whoever put this thing together really went overboard.”

“Oh.” She sounds skeptical, but doesn’t pursue it.

I try to think fast. A dress, a dress, a dress…

“Just start getting ready,” I say finally. “Thirty minutes, right? And text me your address. I’ll figure the dress out for you.”

“Do you need me to do it faster?”

Half an hour is a world record for women, in my experience. “No, no. That’s fine.”

“Okay. I’m really sorry I don’t have a dress.” Based on her tone, she might as well be saying, “I’m sorry I deleted that marketing campaign that you spent an entire month working on.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m asking at the last minute. You couldn’t have known. Thanks for being so flexible, Erin.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. Just doing my job.”

I want to tell her she’s doing me a favor because it isn’t her job to fix my personal life, but that feels like oversharing. Instead, I make a mental note to give her a special bonus out of my own fund. She deserves it. And I’m also getting her a gift certificate to a fancy boutique so she can buy herself a decent cocktail dress.

I hang up, considering my options. If this were Virginia, I could send out an SOS to any one of my female cousins. But I’m in California, and I don’t know that many women out here. Hookups don’t count, and I can’t ask them to let my assistant borrow their dresses. Charlotte would lend me one, but she’s too tall and buxom.

So who…?

An idea pops into my head: Dane!

Well, not Dane, but his wife. Sophia is about the same height as Erin and has the same slender build. She must have something Erin can borrow for a night. The woman dresses like a queen.

Filled with optimism, I call his number.

“Why are you calling me instead of giving money to my cousin?”

This is him being friendly, actually answering my call, rather than having it go to voicemail or hanging up immediately.

“Don’t be a dick,” I say. “I’m actually not calling you, but Sophia.”

“Why do you want to talk to my wife?” Dane says, instantly suspicious.