Chapter 7
7
By Friday morning, I’m convinced this whole “fake date” was an extremely bad idea.
Cleo came over last night and packed my weekend bag for me, with bikinis, a few barely-there dresses and several minuscule silk shreds of lingerie. I’ve been instructed to “pull out all the stops” to make entirely sure that Alexander’s ex believes beyond a shadow of a doubt that he and I are madly in love.
I keep checking my phone, expecting the text message from Cleo to tell me Alexander has called the whole thing off. I’m sure he’ll come to his senses. Two hundred and fifty thousand for one weekend seems very over the top. Can’t he just tell his ex he’s no longer interested in her and be done with it?
The message doesn’t come.
Nothing from Josh either.
I also haven’t heard from any detectives or lawyers, so at least there’s that.
I go through my yoga routine. Then I do my ten minutes of meditation.
Then I grab my guitar, go out to my sunny little balcony and make the most of my brief window of quiet. I start strumming the new song I’m working on.
From where it’s sitting on the table, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.
Checking my phone, I see the text is from Cleo and I’m relieved. I can spend the weekend working on my music instead of awkwardly pretending to be some random billionaire’s true love.
Thank me later. I managed to talk them into adding an extra fifty grand. Work it, girl!
Shit. So this is really happening.
Also, a limo will pick you up in front of your building at four thirty. So you don’t have to schlep your way over to Park Avenue. Alexander suggested it
Oh, and according to Noah, he’s been staring at your photo “raptly” since Wednesday. But they have no idea about your identity beyond your first name and that one photograph. Your girl has your back!! Call me at 3. I need to give you another pep talk before your limo pick-up [heart emoji] [kiss emoji] [painting nails emoji]
A flurry of butterflies flutters through my stomach at the thought of getting picked up by Alexander Maddox’s limo.
Like Cleo pointed out, I am a born performer—on stage. I love playing music and I don’t really get stage fright. I genuinely enjoy having an audience.
But this is different.
Sit on his lap, Cleo insisted. Play with his hair. Kiss him when the ex is watching.
I don’t even know how to kiss.
Even Cleo doesn’t know I’m still a virgin. I don’t know why I’m secretive about it. I guess I’m a little self-conscious about the fact that I’m 23 and incredibly inexperienced.
I’ve hardly ever dated, mostly because I’ve always been so preoccupied with doing my best to improve our situation. It’s taken a lot of work and a lot of time.
I also shared a bedroom with my little brother until two years ago. And since then, well, guilty as charged: I’ve been focused on making sure Josh is on track.
It’s true that I get a lot of offers from men. Online and at my gigs. But my schedule is full and it always feels like too much to take on. I can admit I’m overly protective of Josh, or maybe it’s just that I don’t want to introduce someone into his life until I’m sure it’s someone who will stick around—and who I want to stick around. And I can never be sure about that.
I have trust issues when it comes to men, for obvious reasons. I don’t overanalyze it. It is what it is. My father is the most unreliable person I’ve ever known and it’s caused Josh and me a lot of pain and angst over the years. But we’re okay now. So the last thing I want to do is rock our boat by inviting some fly-by-night stranger into our home and our lives. It’s taken me too long to feel safe to risk that.
I know I’m overly cautious but I’ve forgiven myself for that. It’s always been my plan to wait. To make sure Josh is good, and once he is, then I’ll eventually focus on my own needs and wants.
Which, according to Cleo—and I guess I have to agree—it’s now time to do.
After this weekend, I decide I’m going to do exactly that. I’ll have enough money in the bank to not have to panic, knowing the finances are at least on track to give Josh whatever he needs.
Then I’ll begin to test the waters in the dating scene.
Maybe the fake date with the billionaire will be good for me. A trial run. A nice warm-up round for the real thing.
Sure, it’s out of my comfort zone, but it can’t be that hard. It’s not like I have to do anything beyond possibly sitting on his lap and giving him the occasional kiss, very lightly. It’s not going to be a real kiss, so it hardly matters.
If he’s as aloof and uptight as Cleo described, he might not even want me to. It might just be a case of sitting next to him at the wedding, making polite, stilted conversation and pretending to find him appealing.
Easy.
Out of curiosity, I check my banking app.
Holy shit.
He’s already deposited the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
I immediately transfer it into Josh’s Columbia account. There’s already a hundred grand in there from my savings, for his tuition, books and anything else he might need. But this will give us a buffer for next year, and the next, while I continue to save for the full amount.
We could have applied for a loan. A lot of people do. We still might. But I loved the idea of him being free and clear. I just want so badly for him to soar.
And maybe he actually will.
Wow. He’s really going to Columbia. It still seems surreal. He’s going to college. I’m sure he’s already transferred the money back into our father’s bank account. He’s having fun with his friends and the detectives haven’t called.
For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to relax a little.
Hell, maybe I will have fun in the Hamptons. Drinking obscenely overpriced champagne, being wined and dined, dancing. It doesn’t sound so bad. I can’t even remember a time when I had a whole weekend to just go with the flow and be pampered. In fact, I’ve never been pampered.
I’ve been very fortunate to have the success I’ve had, but growing up poor, you never take these things for granted. I spent shitloads on this apartment (and I’m still paying it off, which I will be for life), but other than that, I’ve never been frivolous.
Maybe frivolous feels good, who knows.
Checking the time, I notice it’s already 2:54. I still need to shower and get ready. At least I’m already packed, with my outfit laid out by Cleo.
More butterflies take flight in my stomach when I think about the limo picking me up in just over an hour and a half. I’m not sure why I’m nervous. I don’t need to be.
I do a quick Google search. For now, I have the upper hand. Alexander Maddox won’t be able to search for me since he doesn’t know who I am.
Alexander J.B. Maddox IV, 29, is the oldest son of A.J. Benjamin Maddox III. Alexander inherited the CEO position of Maddox Enterprises from his late father, who in turn inherited it from his father, who inherited it from his father. Maddox Enterprises was established in 1894 by Alexander’s great grandfather Alexander J.B. Maddox, and, since its inception, has consistently been among the top ten highest-grossing investment groups in the country. It is rated as the ninth most profitable investment firm in New York State history.
Okay, so when Cleo described him as a multi-billionaire she wasn’t joking.
Additionally, Alexander Maddox is on the Board of several prominent Fortune 500 companies, including Invested Enterprises, which is owned and run by Alexander’s three brothers, Cash (CEO), Noah (CFO) and Colton (COO).
Alexander Maddox is famously reclusive. Little is known about his dating history, which he keeps fiercely private. Most recently, he’s been photographed with Margot Russo, one of New York’s most sought-after wedding planners, but whether or not they dated was not officially confirmed and they haven’t been seen together in at least six months. According to socialite Sydney Valentine, who claims to have “shared time” with Mr. Maddox, he’s a “commitment-phobe” and “has a personality that’s as cold as ice…but in the sack he’s a f#&*!ng inferno.”
Yikes.
I scroll through the few images of Alexander online. There’s one of him at a charity event last year, but he’s in the distance. One of him in his office, standing with his arms folded, photographed for an article in Forbes. And one of him on a red carpet with a woman. She’s clinging to his arm, dressed in a puffy beige gown that looks like a slightly burnt meringue. She’s smiling widely but Alexander looks pissed off.
Is this the ex?
I zoom in a little.
There’s no denying he’s handsome. Okay, like, insanely so. His hair is black. His eyes are strikingly blue. He’s tall and fills out his tux like…well, like he’s got serious muscles hidden under all those buttoned-up layers.
With his looks and all that money, it would be easy to be intimidated by him. But I make a decision here and now…not to be intimidated by him.
It’s not a real date. I’ve already been paid. I promised to put on a good show and I will.
For a split second I think about darting over to Saks Fifth Ave and buying something linen and conservative. The clothes Cleo insisted on packing are the opposite of demure.
I check the time again and it’s 2:59. I call her.
“Hey, Ive.”
“Are these outfits actually appropriate for a Hamptons wedding?”
“Of course they are. Especially if it’s you who’s wearing them. Girl, you could wear a paper bag and still outshine all the socialites. Trust me. You want to make an impression.”
“What kind of impression are we talking about?”
“A rock ‘n roll impression. A gorgeous bohemian genius goddess impression. Don’t you dare second guess a single thing. I want you to promise me something, Ive.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll live in the moment, enjoy the stunning person you are and make the most of it. Your assignment—and I won’t take no for an answer—is to let loose and have some fun. That’s an order.”
“Yes, drill sergeant.”
She laughs. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s overdue.”
“Okay. You’re right.”
“Are you wearing my favorite little pink number?”
“I’m just about to jump in the shower.”
“Girl, three o’clock! Your limo will be there in an hour.”
“You said 4:30.”
“It’ll probably be waiting by 4:15. Alexander is very punctual.”
“It doesn’t take that long to get ready.”
“For you, maybe. I’m hanging up now or this will stress me out.”
“Okay, I’m getting ready now.”
“Good. Ive?”
“Yeah?”
“Love you. Thanks for doing this. Have fun. Call me the second you need any kind of moral support whatsoever. He promised to be nice. He’s a little bit scared of me so I know he’ll be true to his word.”
I can’t help laughing. “I’m sure he is. Love you too, Clee. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Embrace your stunning gorgeousness and go wild.”
“I’ll do my best. Talk soon.”
We end the call and—shit—it’s ten after three.
I jump in the shower, washing my long hair with the Extra Shine Luxe shampoo one of my clients sent me. Then I dry myself with a fluffy Infinite Puff towel I was gifted, and I put on the Tropical Bronze With A Hint of Glitter body butter I promote for another client. Being an “influencer” definitely has its perks. I have naturally olive skin but I love the light extra tan this body butter gives me, and it makes my skin look almost shimmery.
I have a few tiny tattoos on my arms, one on my hand and one on my right shoulder blade, all of which are fully on display. I wonder how many other guests at the wedding will have tattoos, almost smiling to myself. I bet Alexander Maddox doesn’t have any tattoos.
I guess I’ll find out, since we’re sleeping in the same bed.
I’ve never slept in the same bed as a man before.
Deep breaths.
I dry my hair, leaving it down, flowing silkily over my shoulders.
I shimmy into the dress Cleo raved about. It’s got a fitted lacy halter top that ties at the back with a satin strap, and also behind my neck. It definitely shows off my boobs, which I know is part of the reason Cleo chose it. The skirt is pink and lightly fitted—and very short—with a slightly flouncy hem. I put a few gold cuffs around my wrists, put on some gold hoop earrings and drape a gold chain necklace around my neck.
My eyelashes are naturally long, but I put on some Magic Length mascara, Barely There Flawless foundation and Candy Pink Lusciousness lip gloss.
Finally, I find my gold heeled sandals to complete the look.
I take a few photos in my mirror, tagging my clients.
Cleo was right though. I love this outfit.
Ready or not, Mr. Hot MegaBucks, here I come.
I quickly text Josh.
Going to a wedding in the Hamptons this weekend, believe it or not! Hope you’re having fun (but not too much fun haha)
Checking the time again—oh, shit—it’s 4:37. Oops, I’m seven minutes late.
I grab my bag, my wheeled weekend suitcase, my keys, my charger, and I let myself out.