Mister Fake Fiance

The elevator doors open with a soft chime. I stare, my jaw going slack.

The woman who steps out is maybe five-five, but looks much taller thanks to sky-high stilettos in bright red. Her mouth rests in a neutral line, and is coated with the same shade of red as those gorgeous shoes. A pale, wide-brimmed hat sits over a delicate face with large, bright eyes, a small nose and smooth, poreless skin. Her hair is glossy auburn, long and perfectly cut and styled. The dress she has on is cream-colored and fitted to accentuate her slim body, and her accessories, from earrings to necklace, look not just expensive but exceptional. Interestingly, her nails are short and neatly trimmed, although meticulously lacquered in the dreamiest shade of pink. The rest of her says she should have long, fussy nails that require a team of manicurists working overtime to maintain.

Eight people follow—two women and six men. They’re all in basic corporate black and white, their suits crisp. The women’s makeup looks as fresh as if they haven’t been up and about since the morning.

“I’m David Darling, and this is my assistant Erin Clare. You must be Yuna Hae. Nice to meet you,” David says, stepping forward with a friendly smile.

“The pleasure’s mine,” she says in a modulated tone, shaking his hand. Her smile is reserved but warm enough, and her English is unaccented and smooth. Her gaze flicks to me for a moment, but then goes back to David.

Well, I’m making about as much of an impression as a piece of furniture. But I’m also glad; it would be embarrassing to offer my slightly sweaty hand to a woman so poised and cool.

She doesn’t introduce her team. The woman standing to her left leans over and whispers something in her ear. Probably a state secret.

David’s smile doesn’t falter. “This way. We’ve got everything set up for the presentation, and I think you’ll appreciate what a partnership can do to help the Ivy Foundation grow.”

“Thank you,” Yuna says. “I’ve been impressed with your new video capabilities, especially the sound. Clarity of sound is critical.”

Makes sense. The Ivy Foundation is for aspiring musicians, after all.

David leads her to our largest and most ostentatiously impressive conference room. Several people from marketing already have laptops hooked to the big screen in front. Gerry sets up the PowerPoint presentation on the computer, then looks up.

Yuna stiffens next to David, then stops moving altogether.

Gerry freezes, then opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

What the heck? Do they know each other? They’re reacting like exes who had a bad breakup. But when would he have had the chance to date an Asian heiress like her?

Her expression cools until it makes me shiver. She turns to David. “I’m afraid the Ivy Foundation cannot work with Sweet Darlings.” Her tone is flat—and colder than an iceberg. “Thank you for your time.”

Holy shit. I swallow a gasp.

David’s smile vanishes. He glances at Gerry, who is staring at his fingers with supreme concentration, then looks at her closely. “I can’t force you to work with us, but can I at least know why you changed your mind so suddenly? Without even having seen our presentation?”

“I don’t work with people with poor sense of judgment and boundaries. Such people always do something to embarrass not only themselves, but their business partners.” She looks at Gerry briefly before turning to David again. “The Ivy Foundation does not bear the name Hae Min, and it has no profit motive, and I have no ambition to be involved in Hae Min Group’s management. But that doesn’t mean the foundation and I do not represent my father’s company and its values. It’s a matter of pride, reputation and honor. We do not work with entities that employ men who think it’s acceptable to grope women in public. I also do not believe such a man will say anything worth listening to.”

Oh my God. I always thought Gerry was a condescending smarmy jerk, but groping?

David’s face turns red. This is not one of the possible scenarios and reactions we went over. “What…did he do?”

“He should know,” she says frostily. “It happened only on Monday. Not even forty-eight hours have passed.”

“Gerry?” David says calmly. But the calm is a front.

The muscle under his left eye is twitching. That means he’s angry enough to murder somebody. I’ve seen this reaction when our rival company stole our marketing idea and launched it first, thereby making us scramble to find a way to salvage ours overnight. The person responsible for that is no longer working for Sweet Darlings, Inc. The last I heard, he’s scrubbing toilets at Taco Bell.

“I…don’t know what she’s talking about.” Gerry’s Adam’s apple bobs.

Good God. He’s a terrible liar. He should at least look David in the eye if he wants to be believable.

“I’m sure the bar will be happy to provide security footage of you touching me inappropriately. You also fled without paying for your drinks and chicken wings.” Yuna’s voice lacks inflection, but it drips with contempt.

The six men behind her glare at Gerry like he’s a roach they’re dying to crush under their heels.

Gerry doesn’t even try to speak. He is so red now that it wouldn’t surprise me if he keeled over with a stroke. Or an aneurysm.

“Gerry, go wait in my office and we’ll have a talk.” David says it in the most terrible voice I’ve ever heard from him. Gerry’s going to wish he’d only had a stroke.

Shoulders hunched, he gets up and leaves without a peep.