Bad Neighbor - Single Mom Fake Fiance Romance
I held my tongue, not wanting to curse at my baby sister. It was unlikely she had anything to do with it. Etta, my ex and Whitney’s best friend, could be a cunning bitch, and it was more than likely that she convinced Whitney it would be a good idea for her to come. Whitney was far too trusting to realize that Etta was only interested in getting back with me because I was suddenly rich. The desire for a reunion had nothing to do with love — an emotion I wasn’t even convinced Etta was capable of.
Taking a swig right from the bottle, I returned the Glenfiddich to the drawer, not wanting to actually be drunk on the job. I may have been an alcoholic, but I was a damn well functional alcoholic, making my appointment for an after-work drink with the company CEO and lead council all the more ironic. I had met Ann Howell in Afghanistan. We were in the same company, not long after Congress allowed women to enter combat roles. Something that couldn’t have pleased Ann more basically being career military like she was. Which would explain why she was already a Sergeant when we met despite being five years younger than me. When I left the office to meet my boss in the parking lot, the night was moderately cooler, which came as a relief, but I still wasn’t about to put my jacket back on. We took my car, Ann’s safe enough in her executive spot in the legendary parking garage. How we were getting home was anyone’s guess, but at least I knew I could leave my car at the bar with little hassle. They knew us there, the owner, who worked shifts when desperate, joking that I was helping put her kids through college.
“Why so glum, chum?” Ann asked as we took out usual spots at our usual table by the window.
“How did you know?” I asked. “You’re even more miserable than usual,” she observed. “Fair enough.” She tucked some strands of her black hair behind her ear. “So, spill, who put the salsa in your shorts?”
“My grandpa,” I admitted. “Oh, what did he do?” she asked while sipping on her margarita. “He died.” “Selfish bastard,” Ann muttered, shaking her head in mock shame. “You haven’t heard the worst part.” She blinked at me. “There’s a worse part?” “He left me his estate. Well, have of it. The other half goes to my sister, but still, I really didn’t think he would do that. We hardly knew the man. Anyway, now my sister is coming in from San Diego, and my crazy ex has convinced my sister to let her tag along.”
“Gold digger is she? Your ex, I mean.” “Well established,” I confirmed. She nodded and hummed. “Likely wanting to reconcile for money, not love.” “My thinking exactly,” I confirmed. We sat in silence for a second, both sipping our drinks.
Ann’s lips curled up into a grin. Her eyes got a crazy look in them. “What if you were already taken? Would that make a difference?”
“Probably. The only thing is, I’m not,’ I pointed out, wondering where in the hell she was going with this.
“True enough. Through the thing is, you don’t have to really be in a relationship. You could get somebody to pretend to be your fiancée. Just long enough to throw your ex off the trail. I’ve seen it work before.” She looked down at the table in an uncharacteristic display of embarrassment. “I may have done it.”
I thought about the fact that Ann was recently married and wondered. No, that couldn’t be true. She was joking with me.
The idea of a fake fiancée seemed crazy, but it did seem like an easy way. The prideful part of me was saying I should just step up to Etta even though I really didn’t want to, mostly because it would hurt Whitney. Ann’s idea would solve all sorts of problems. “It’s a thought,” I admitted, scratching my chin. “I just have to find someone who would be crazy enough to go along with that plan.” Ann smiled and raised her glass for a toast. I grinned at her.
“May that happen quickly. And if World War III breaks out with Etta and you need a place to stay, my door is always open.”
I laughed, taking a swig of my whiskey, hoping that was nowhere in the future.
Chapter Two
Ashlyn
The bus rumbled like a mythical beast, the black smog streaming out the back only adding to this sense. The sweltering heat was not improving things much. Katie bounced and laughed on my lap. She really could make the best of any situation. I wished I could share her enthusiasm. Ordinarily, my little girl would have been home with her babysitter, and I would be at work, but the fates apparently decided that I should have a life a bit less ordinary. It started with a Thursday a few weeks before. Heart pounding, I had gone into the manager’s small office at the back of the diner. I was still wearing my uniform and felt somewhat ridiculous. Sitting there on the old-school wooden chair, designed to be uncomfortable, I looked among the business-like utility of his office — wearing knee socks and a hair bow that made me even look even younger than I was. That was the day I was fired.