13. Cuffing Season
13
Cuffing Season
CARLY
To-do list—November 16
Volunteer shift at Success in a Dress: 9–noon
Lunch with the girls
Tell them about the arrangement Do NOT tell them about the arrangement
I frowned at a knock-off Louis Vuitton satchel. It had a scuff across the bottom, and the stitching on the pleather strap showed signs of fraying. It might last two, maybe three wearings. What if it fell apart at an interview? The women we served at Success in a Dress were just getting back on their feet after ending a stint in prison or escaping an abusive relationship. They were nervous enough. Having a wardrobe malfunction during a job interview would destroy their fragile confidence. I tossed the bag into the pile for resale. Let someone pay a dollar for it at a thrift store.
The bell above the door jingled, and three women entered laden with shopping bags. My cheeks tugged up into a smile.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “We aren’t supposed to meet for another half an hour.”
“We thought we’d help you,” Tessa said. “And clean out our closets at the same time.” She plunked two shopping bags onto a bare spot on the long table where I’d been sorting donations.
“Ooh.” I pulled out a black Alexander McQueen blazer. “This is nice. I didn’t know you wore suits.”
Tessa tossed her curtain of red hair. “I used to work in an office once upon a time.”
“Which office?” Lucie asked.
“It was a thousand years ago.” Tessa waved her hand.
“That blazer looks like it cost a thousand bucks,” Lucie said. “You must’ve been pretty high up in that office.”
Tessa rubbed at a scrape on a pink patent Jimmy Choo pump and didn’t answer.
Savannah heaved her bag onto the table. “I don’t know if you can use them, but I brought some casual clothes.”
There had to be an entire lululemon display’s worth of yoga pants and tops in there.
“Savannah, you don’t have to give up stuff you can use,” I said, eyeing the tunic and leggings she was wearing.
“I’m making room in my closet for more camera-friendly clothes,” she said. “I, uh…” She glanced at Tessa. “I accepted some seed money to turn my blog into a YouTube show.”
“Really?” I asked. “That’s fabulous!”
Savannah sucked in a big breath. “Yeah, I’m nervous but excited.”
When her chin trembled, I walked around the table to hug her. She was a lot like the women we served, except for her relatively stable home life and disposable income. “Want my help shopping for something to wear on camera?”
“You’d do that?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said. “We’ll go shopping after lunch. We’ll talk about what persona you want to present and find something that fits.”
She squeezed me, hard. “Thank you.”
“I’ve got donations too.” Lucie pushed a paper bag forward with her foot. “Dresses. My mother keeps sending them to me every time my dad has some event. I never wear them. Some still have the tags.”
The ones at the top of the bag were in pastel shades that would’ve turned her tan skin gray. She was smart to stick with black.
“Ladies, thank you so much for these. When our clients feel confident in what they’re wearing, they do better in job interviews. And, uh”—I glanced at the stacks of yoga pants in Savannah’s bags—“athletic pursuits.”
“Can we help you sort them?” Savannah asked.
“Sure. Suits go over there.” I pointed at a rack along the near wall. “Dresses over there.” I gestured at the far wall. “Everything else on the tables at the back.”
Savannah headed toward the back tables, and Tessa carried her bags to the rack I’d indicated.
Lucie didn’t move. “So…what did you decide about your ex’s wedding? Did you send back the reply card stuffed with glitter or dipped in mayonnaise?”
I winced, but I couldn’t lie to my friend, not even to avoid a million follow-up questions. “Neither. I accepted.”
“Bold. Do you need a plus-one? I know a guy or two.”
“Thanks, that’s sweet. But I already have a fake plus-one.”
“What’s a fake plus-one? Are you bringing a life-size cardboard cutout of Daniel Craig?”
“No, he’s real.” What would my friends think about my agreement with Andrew? “He’s playing the role of my boyfriend.”
“Oh. Like in The Proposal or The Wedding Date? Is he a sex worker? Not that there’s anything wrong with hiring a sex worker. We should normalize sex work.”
“It’s more of a professional exchange, an arrangement. I’m pretending to be his girlfriend at some of his business events.”
“Ah, like cuffing season.”
“No. It’s nothing like cuffing season. It’s all business. Real business, not funny business.”
“No sex?” Her voice rang through the warehouse. “But that’s the fun part of these things.”
I lowered my voice. “It’s not about fun. It’s about building up my clientele. And he’s up for a promotion at work that requires him to be in a steady relationship.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who is this guy?”
I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at her. “Andrew Jones.”
Behind me, Savannah squealed. “I knew it! I knew you’d end up together!”
I turned to face her and Tessa. “We’re not together. I was explaining to Lucie that it’s fake for three events. A client dinner of his, which we’ve already done, Brad’s wedding, and his company’s holiday party.”
Savannah planted her hands on her hips. “Fake dating always ends up as a real relationship.”
“Only in your romance novels,” Lucie said. “And you’ve read too many of them if you confuse them with reality. Though with your sexual chemistry”—she hissed through her teeth—“you’ll end up in bed for sure.”
“We will not. It’s rule two.”
Tessa scrunched her nose. “I thought rule two was not telling anyone. That seems to contradict the whole fake-dating concept.”
“We established new rules. New rule two is no sex.”
“And, as I pointed out,” Lucie said, “the sex is the fun part.”
“As I pointed out, it’s not about fun. It’s business. Come on, let’s wash our hands and go to lunch. I’ll tell you all about our first fake date. It was a doozy.”
As I led them to the sink, I resolved not to tell them how the date had ended. Because that kiss had broken all the rules.