Escorting the Groom (The Escort Collection 4)

"But, sir—"

I hung up before he could start sniveling. I punched in the number for Shirley, my assistant. "Shirley."

"Yes?"

"You're probably going to get a call soon—"

"From Simon in La Jolla? He's texting me now." She was quiet for a minute, probably reading. "He's pretty upset. Said you just fired him for no reason?"

"Oh, there's a reason." I wished I hadn't drunk so much bourbon earlier. My head was starting to throb. "He just screwed up another deal. Get him lined up with HR. Tell them to give him the usual severance package and send him on his way. Please."

"You know this is the fourth person you've fired this quarter?" Shirley's voice contained no judgment. She knew how to handle me. She was just reporting facts without drama, which was why I paid her well, and why she was the employee who'd been with me the longest.

"We need to fire the headhunters, too," I said. "They keep sending us losers. I want you to start working with HR and form an executive search committee. You can vet the applicants. You'll do a better job than anyone else. We can talk about your increase in compensation tomorrow. Right now, I have to go."

"Mr. Ford, it's only six o'clock." Shirley sounded dumbfounded. With so many deals happening on the West Coast, I usually worked until at least nine every night. And I came in at four in the morning so I could conduct business for an hour with my Chinese associates.

"I know. I have a date." I never talked about my personal life at work, largely because I didn't have one. "With my fiancée."

"What?" Shirley whooped. "You're engaged?"

I cleared my throat. "That's correct." Might as well start spreading the news.

"Oh, Mr. Ford, I'm so glad!" She hung up and came barreling around the corner from her office. Her short legs moved in a whir, as fast as a cartoon character's. She stood in front of my desk and clapped. "Do you have a picture? What's she like? Can you bring her in? When're you getting married?"

I held up my hand to stop her. "Easy, Shirley." I took out my cell phone and scrolled to the picture the madam had sent me of Blake.

"Oh, my," Shirley said in awe. "Is she one of those Victoria's Secret models? She looks just like one!"

I indulged her with a smile. "No. But she is pretty, isn't she?" It seemed ridiculous, but pride bloomed in my chest.

Shirley, who had maybe seen me smile three times in the past ten years, patted my arm approvingly. "She's beautiful. I hope you two will be very happy together. Are you planning a large wedding?"

"That's what we're going to discuss at dinner tonight. But no matter what we do, I hope that you will join us at the ceremony. I would love for you to meet Blake, and for her to meet you." I grinned at my assistant, but I was mentally kicking myself. What the hell was I saying? I was inviting my staff to my fake-but-legal wedding? And I was smiling about it?

For fuck's sake.

"Oh, Mr. Ford!" Shirley's eyes glittered behind her glasses. "I'd be honored."

My stomach sank. It didn't sound like Shirley would be forgetting about the invite anytime soon.

I let her cluck and coo for another minute before I said a hasty goodbye and hustled out of the office. I'd made dinner reservations, and I wanted to change first.

I had a very important date.

BLAKE

I twisted the straps of my dress nervously. Lucas had called and said he'd made reservations for seven. His voice was stern and sexy on the other end of the line. Anxious, I'd started getting ready at five, wanting to make sure I looked perfect.

And not daring to think about why.

I was looking forward to tonight. I was looking forward to talking to my client about our wedding. That was crazy, right? Still, I'd looked online at some venues today and had braved a few bridal websites. I'd found some beautiful dresses. Some of the pictures were so dreamy, with the models looking as if they were actual princesses. Even though the wedding was only pretend—pretend for real—I intended to have fun with the planning. I surprised myself with that. I never had fun. Fun and I did not coexist.

I smoothed the fabric of my long black dress and studied myself in the mirror. I looked good. But who wouldn't, wearing a dress that cost six hundred dollars? Elena always kept designer clothes available for high-end assignments like this. She wanted us to be able to fit in when we accompanied our clients to upscale functions and restaurants. She wanted us to look the part.

The dress was tightfitting through the chest; it had spaghetti straps and went all the way to the floor. I had curled my hair in loose waves and pulled it all over one shoulder. I was wearing enormous cubic zirconia studs in my ears. If anyone saw me in this dress, on Lucas Ford's arm, they would never doubt that the earrings were real. They wouldn't question a thing.

I certainly looked the part of the billionaire's fiancée. Still, I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that people actually lived like this. That women could spend hundreds of dollars on a single dress and live in an apartment that cost millions, overlooking the park. When Lucas paid me at the end of this assignment, I was going to buy a simple, safe condominium in a nice neighborhood. I would still buy my clothes from Target and Marshall's, like a normal person. Who needed a dress like this in real life?