Chapter 7
Seven
SUMMER
Anthony, my newest client, has never brought a date to an office party. That much is obvious by the way his coworkers stare at me.
Poor guy is the sole HR rep at a digital marketing agency. In the twenty minutes since we showed up, I’ve managed to glean that he’s not particularly popular, his jokes never land—and I mean, never—and his boss seems to consider him a personal nemesis.
To play my part, I nod and laugh at all the right times, force a smile until my face hurts, and stuff my mouth with cake every time Anthony awkwardly puts an arm around my shoulders like I’m his third cousin.
While Anthony and his coworkers are ranting about the shitty copier, I sneak off to grab some water from the cooler and try to enjoy the ten seconds of alone time.
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up, which is not good timing since I literally just agreed to be Noah’s fake girlfriend and we’ve already scheduled dinner on Sunday with his family.
I don’t make nearly enough off my art to come close to paying the bills, but the more Plus One dates I go on, the more I want to delete the app off my phone and make money doing just about anything else.
I breathe slowly in through my nose and exhale before sipping at the water in my paper cup.
I’m just having a bad day. Awkward dates are always the worst. At least I can tune out the misogynists and plan my grocery list in my head while they talk.
The awkward dates appeal to my sympathies, and I drain myself being a people pleaser.
In my purse, my phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
Unknown
A digital marketing agency, huh? Applying for a new job?
Who the hell is this? And how do they know where I am?
I wrack my brain. I didn’t tell Mom or Hazel where I’d be today, and neither of them has changed their number recently. The words and grammar give absolutely nothing away about who the mystery texter could be.
The first face to flash through my mind is Michael Hunt’s.
But our fake date was terrible, so why would he even want to contact me again?
And how would he have gotten my number? Maybe he was able to hack the Plus One app to get my private information.
I don’t know anything about hacking, but maybe it’s not that hard.
User data gets stolen from apps all the time.
Summer
Who is this?
“Summer?” a voice calls out to me.
When I look up from my phone, Anthony gestures me over to the group with a nervous smile. He seems to exist in a perennial state of discomfort and embarrassment. If there’s one job I want less than being a fake girlfriend, it’s HR.
I force a smile and join them all hovering around a table with an array of snacks in uncomfortable silence. No one has asked me a thing about myself, and I couldn’t be more relieved.
At last, Anthony’s boss breaks the silence with a suggestion of a team-building activity that’s met with a collective groan, and I check my phone.
No response from the unknown number. Maybe the text was a weird, one-off message and they won’t contact me again.
But I can’t shake off the feeling that I’m being watched.
Unknown
You look beautiful this morning.
I nearly drop my phone on the sink, mascara wand in my other hand.
The anonymous texter completely ignored my question about their identity, and now this? I haven’t even left my apartment yet this morning, so they can’t possibly know how I look.
Can they?
I glance around my bathroom for a camera. Who the hell would plant a hidden camera in a bathroom to spy on someone? That’s disgusting.
But how could anyone have done that without me noticing?
The texter definitely can’t be Michael Hunt—he wouldn’t be this kind or try this hard to get my attention.
Could it be Anthony? The awkward HR rep who couldn’t say his true feelings to my face?
No, it’s probably an ex. Someone from my past who kept my number long after I deleted his.
I slide my mascara wand back in the tube and quickly type a response.
Summer
Is this Brad?
Three dots instantly pop up on the screen as he types back.
Unknown
Who the fuck is Brad?
Not Brad then.
When my phone chimes again, my heart leaps into my throat, but it’s not Mr. Anonymous this time.
Hazel
Did you get his full name?
Summer
No, I haven’t left yet.
Hazel
Aren’t you supposed to meet him in like five minutes?
What time is it? Shit. Hazel is better at keeping track of my schedule than I am, and I don’t even remember what state she’s in today. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late to meet Noah for our debrief before his family dinner.
Summer
Yep. Leaving right now.
I spritz some perfume on my wrists and neck before snatching my purse and jacket, calling goodbye to Prick, and trying to put the anonymous texter out of my mind.
Noah instructed me to meet him at the library, which is apparently a short walk from his parents’ home. According to him, they visit every week and check out all the books that they’ll read side by side on their deck each evening. I’ve never been more envious of people I’ve never met.
On the way, I listen to my latest steamy Gothic romance, and I’m flushed by the time I make it to the parking lot, Noah’s car already parked and waiting for me.
Listening to a steamy romance on my drive was definitely a mistake. I shouldn’t be meeting his family while aroused. Worse, I shouldn’t be anywhere near Noah.
When he spots me, Noah climbs out of his car and opens my door before I’ve even unbuckled my seatbelt. I can’t remember the last time anyone opened my car door for me. Maybe in elementary school.
Noah gives me a radiant smile as he holds out a hand to help me.
Then his gaze rakes down to my toes. Heat pools low in my belly.
“You look great. Very fake-girlfriend chic.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He’s dressed nicer than usual. Not quite business casual, but his shirt is free of stains, his jeans are dark wash, and his surprisingly shiny shoes must be brand-new and are not at all suited to a walk. But another Plus One rule is never accepting or giving a ride to a client, so walking it is.
Despite his best efforts, Noah’s brown hair is ruffled, and I’m starting to think it exists in a permanent state of chaos. I kind of love it. No, I definitely do.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod, and he leads the way to the sidewalk. We walk side by side to his parents’ house while he answers my barrage of questions interview-style, my phone out to take notes.
“What’s your full name?”
“Noah Sinclair.”
Quickly, I text the information to Hazel, who insisted on conducting her own background check on Noah after I told her he hired me to be his fake girlfriend. While the Plus One app has implemented protections for us, Hazel will be more thorough than the local police department.
She types back her response as soon as the message is delivered.
Hazel
On it.
“Okay. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
I nod, jotting down the number. “One year older than me. Good—age-appropriate. Favorite color?”
He snorts. “Does that matter?”
“Yes, it does. What if your mom expects me to know every single detail about her baby boy, and I don’t even know something as basic as his favorite color?”
The bright sun and unseasonably warm temperature should be putting me in a good mood, but nerves pulse through me with each step closer to his parents’ house.
I’m never nervous about meeting any of my clients’ relatives, friends, or even exes, so I’m not sure what to make of this unprecedented anxiety.
As much as I hate to ever admit to enjoying any form of exercise, our early evening walk is surprisingly pleasant. I love how walkable our small town is, especially when I don’t want to pay for parking.
“You don’t have to worry about my mom,” he tells me. “It’s my sister you need to worry about.”
“And what’s her name?”
“Victoria. We call her Vee. She hates it, so don’t call her that. Unless you want to antagonize her, which is always fun.”
“I want your family to like me, so I’ll call her Victoria.” I jot down all of this information in a note on my phone entitled Noah Sinclair. “Why do I need to be worried about her?”
“Think of the most protective dog breeds you know—pit bull, German shepherd, rottweiler, chihuahua—add them together, multiply by ten, and you get Vee.”
“Biting hazard. Got it.” A protective sister could be an issue, especially if she’s anything like the average woman with investigative skills comparable to an FBI agent. I’ll have to be careful what I say around her.
“Mom will ask you a million questions about your childhood and your family and your job and your hopes and dreams. Dad will badger you about the condition of your apartment and give you unsolicited advice about repairs and upkeep. My brother, Killian, will mock me relentlessly and tease you about dating me, but all in good fun.”
I nod. Nothing I can’t handle. “Good to know. So I’ll ask again: favorite color?”
“Blue.” Noah flashes that easy grin that makes my stomach flip. How does he always smile so easily? Like even if the world was burning down around him, he’d simply smile and say he had a good run.
Meanwhile, I’d be running in circles, screaming.
“Okay. And—”
“Shouldn’t you tell me yours?” he asks.
“My what?”
“Your favorite color. If we’re going to convince my family we’re dating, I should know these things about you too.”
“That’s not a terrible idea.” I chew my lip. “We’ll stick to the facts for some of it, and then we’ll have to come up with a lie for anything that could potentially expose us. And, while I doubt it will ever come up, my favorite color is blue too. What do you do for work?”
“I’m a pet sitter and boarder.”
I pause halfway through typing his answer. “There’s no way that’s a real job.”
“It absolutely is.” He puffs out his chest in faux defiance.
“I don’t mean to be nosy, and it’s not any of my business so feel free to tell me to fuck off, but do you make a living doing that?”