Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
V iolet
I sit at a small table in the corner of Louie’s Pub, nursing a club soda and trying to decide if I should leave. The clock on my phone says it’s 7:12, and my so-called date is already late. I open my phone again, pulling up Dex’s profile for the hundredth time.
There he is: 42 years old, ER doctor, and looking for “Miss Right-Now.” His bio basically screams, “I’m just here for a good time,” but then again, so does mine when I take another look at it. Amazingly, I’d received over two hundred replies in the first hour after posting my profile. Dex was the only one I responded to, and it might have something to do with his dark eyes and that strong, square jaw. There’s something about him that looks powerful—alpha. Just the kind of man I need to shut down Mr. Wayne Harris, Esquire.
I put my phone on the table and glance around the room. It’s cozy, dimly lit, with couples scattered at tables and booths, laughing and leaning into each other. They look happy, and there’s a pang of something unfamiliar in my chest. Jealousy, maybe. Once upon a time, I wanted that, too.
The clock ticks to 7:15. Looks like my knight in a white coat isn’t showing up after all. He’s probably not even a doctor. More like a five-foot-tall, three-hundred-pound guy living in his mom’s basement, making fake profiles just to talk to women. This has to be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. I grab my coat, ready to leave.
Just as I stand, the door to the pub swings open, and a man strides in. My breath catches. He’s tall—really tall—and his dark eyes sweep the room before landing on me. A smile spreads across his face, and I swear my heart skips a beat.
“Violet?” he asks, stopping at my table and extending his hand. “Dex Faletti. I’m so sorry I’m late.”
I take his hand, and the moment our palms touch, a spark of something warm and electric shoots up my arm. “Violet Turcott,” I say, trying to sound steady despite the flutter in my chest.
“There was an accident on Route One,” he explains, sitting down across from me. “I had to stop. If I’d had your number, I would have called.”
“No worries,” I say with a shrug, though my pulse is still racing. “I just assumed I was being stood up.”
“No man in his right mind would stand you up.” His tone is warm and teasing, and the way he looks at me makes my cheeks heat.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Dex,” I warn, though a smile tugs at my lips.
“That’s not exactly what your profile says,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Dumbest idea of the century, I groan internally. Even though Dex is as handsome in person as he is in his pictures, there’s no way he’s really a doctor. He’s probably some serial killer recently released on a technicality. But I need a body, and he’ll do.
“Look,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Let me be honest with you. The company I work for is having a Valentine’s Night Benefit, and attendance is mandatory. Even though I’d rather stay home and swallow razor blades for fun, I have to go.”
Dex leans back in his chair, his eyebrows lifting. “Interesting. Go on.”
I roll my eyes. “I need a date. Which is where you come in.”
“Why do you need a date?”
“Because I can’t go alone. One of the new partners at the firm will be all over me like a second skin, and I need a date.”
“You mean you need a bodyguard,” he says, flashing a perfect smile.
“Bodyguard, date, whatever. I just can’t go alone.”
“So, what’s the compensation package for this ‘date’?” he asks, his smile widening.
“A hundred dollars,” I say, crossing my arms.
“I’ll do it. But not for a hundred dollars.”
“Fine,” I huff, standing and grabbing my coat. “I knew this was stupid.”
Before I can storm off, he says, “I’ll do it for free.”
I spin around, narrowing my eyes. “What?”
“I’ll protect you. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had in your life…” He trails off, leaning forward with a grin. “But I want one real date with you.”
“One date? That’s it? You don’t want the money?”
“Nope. One date on the night of my choosing.”
I think about my options. I could show up to the benefit with a can of mace in my bag and hope for the best. I could awkwardly ask one of my friends to loan me their husband for the night. Or I could take Dr. Dex's offer and hope that settles Mr. Harris down for good.
“It’s a deal,” I say finally. “Meet me here Saturday night at 7 p.m. sharp—no excuses—and we’ll drive to the benefit in my car. It would look weird if we came in separate cars.” I start walking toward the door. “And wear a black tuxedo.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he calls after me, his tone amused.
As I step outside into the crisp night air, I can’t help but wonder what on earth I’ve just gotten myself into.