Mister Fake Fiance

“Perhaps you should mingle more, see what sort of contributions you can squeeze out of people.” I opt for a little cool derision, because giving in to my desire to punch his face is not going to help my cause. Besides, I’d rather check on Erin. She probably wants to leave now. I’d take her home if it weren’t for the fact that my grandmother wants me to buy a piece from here in her name for her upcoming birthday. We don’t give her presents because she wants us to make donations to worthy causes instead.

“Oh, I’m not here just for contributions. Being of service to one’s country isn’t always about money,” Fordham says.

Riiight. So how come every politician enters D.C. with average money in their bank account and leaves filthy rich? But I don’t ask, since I know what a phony like him will say: scrimping, hard work, if you do the right thing for the country, it takes care of you, blah blah blah.

“I have a feeling that money is the only thing you’ll be getting tonight,” I say, pissed off at his entitled, sanctimonious attitude. Acting like he’s some nice guy who plans to marry Erin. Ha! She doesn’t even like this creep. I can tell. “See, the thing is… I’m in love with Erin too.”

He stares at me like he just had a lobotomy. “What?”

“Uh-huh. And I’m going to marry her,” I tell him, the same thing I told Shelly earlier, but with more spite and arrogance. Shelly bruised my ego a couple of years back. This man actively antagonizes me just by existing. Hopefully this will make him vanish permanently from Erin’s life.

“That’s preposterous.”

“Not any more than you just showing up and deciding to marry her without asking her how she feels about it first.”

Confusion clouds his eyes. Are you kidding me? It never occurred to this idiot that she might not want him?

“If you really need a wife, Shelly’s probably single,” I say with a shrug. She’d make a great politician’s wife, since she’ll do anything to get what she wants, including sleeping around. “Fuck my wife for a vote” would make a unique campaign slogan. Viral, even.

“She’s not my type,” Fordham says.

And you’re not Erin’s. The retort dies on my lips when I realize Shelly’s too quiet. It isn’t like her to take a negative remark silently.

I glance around. Shelly isn’t with us anymore. When did she disappear? I was so focused on Fordham that I didn’t even notice. On the other hand, she might’ve slipped away when she realized she wasn’t getting anywhere with me, to find some other sucker to latch on to for the evening. Shelly is nothing if not opportunistic.

Fordham draws himself up. “May the best man win,” he says grimly.

“What?”

“I’m confident I’ll win Erin over to my side.”

Offensive on top of being an asshole. It’s like he’s an Asshole Combo Set. “She’s not a damn…wager.”

“Everything in life is a wager, buddy.”

The only reason I wanted Erin here is because I wanted to show Shelly that she meant nothing to me now. But instead, I’ve managed to reunite Erin with her ex. An ex who’s still in love with her, wants to marry her and is convinced he’s in a competition to win her before I do.

“Speaking of which…” Fordham checks his watch with a deliberate motion. A golden Rolex. Figures. He should just sprinkle diamond dust all over himself and be done with it. “The auction’s starting soon, and I plan on winning some art pieces. Some of them will look great in my new office in D.C., and some will be good as investments.”

“Really? Me too.” I smile, wondering how familiar he is with Elizabeth’s auctions. Things can get heated and expensive. “But first, I need to get my date.”

His face turns red. I go off to find Erin, so we can attend the auction.

* * *

Erin

The hotel is enormous, and I get lost in the hallways. I run into a waiter and ask for directions.

Finally, I enter a huge space that’s supposed to be the bathroom. I actually spotted it earlier, but thought it was a lounge or something when I saw the ivory leather couches and mirrors over a spotless black marble floor.

The place even has multiple reed diffusers, with the bottles labeled “specially blended for the most luxurious and refreshing experience.” That must be how people as rich as David and his social circle feel when they deal with bodily functions.

Except for soft classical music, I don’t hear anything. Sighing, I sit down on one of the couches and close my eyes.

I still can’t believe I ran into Warren. I plan to keep the encounter to myself as long as possible, and pray that Warren’s too busy to call my dad just to tell him about it. Because Dad will assign whatever meaning is most convenient for what he wants. He’ll call it serendipity, the divine will of God, proof that Warren and I belong together…all of which is going to lead to Dad winning the vacant state senate seat.

Ugh.