When Fake Dating Mr. Right Goes Wrong

1. Claire

1

Claire

Access Denied

I battle the temptation to hurl the warm, drawn butter for my lobster into Fiona’s face.

She’s my cousin — and the most annoying person in my life.

As if she could read my thoughts, her face, which was decorated with more layers of makeup than a wedding cake, splits in a mocking grin, making me take another quick glance at the lobster claw perched precariously on a mound of pasta.

One flick of the wrist, and it would be shutting up those red lips lecturing me on how my spending this month exceeded the limit.

She has no right. The designer handbag sitting next to her is a blue Hermès Kelly, one of the very few of its kind. I’m sure she brought it here just to show off. I've been lusting after one for months, and Fiona knows it.

Such a hypocrite!

The only difference between us is that I left Dallas for New York where I can live without the Carter family staring down their noses at me, while she stayed to pretend to be my grandfather’s personal assistant.

Pfft. She’s about as useless as a toddler in a game of chess.

But that title lets her show up whenever she wants and throw Gramps' name around to control me.

The bag is not the only thing she brought. There's the boyfriend as well. Apparently, he’s one of Gramps’ managers — a tall redhead man who hasn’t uttered two sentences since he walked in beside Fiona. A silent supporter, or maybe he’s just scared of her.

I look at the empty space beside me.

Breathe, Claire. Deep breaths. He's coming to save you.

I steal another glance at Fiona. She's meticulously removing a nonexistent speck of dust from her boyfriend's tailored suit, whining about the unbearable crowd and dust of New York.

"So why even visit?" I blurt out.

Fiona looks up at me and rolls her eyes. "Oh, honey," she coos, voice dripping with condescension. "I wouldn't be here if Gramps and Mimi hadn't specifically requested I tell you to come home next week."

There’s something about her icy composure that makes me feel like a peasant.

"Really? Last time I checked, these marvels of modern technology," I raise my phone, "are still operational. Text, email, carrier pigeon…there are at least twenty ways you could’ve avoided subjecting yourself to the horrors of the Big Apple."

She scoffs and flicks back her platinum blonde hair that’s the signature trait of most Carter children, except me. I sport my mom’s bland brown hair, and it has always made me stand out in an uncomfortable way since I was a kid.

While other kids who had rotten luck of the odds, like me, dye their hair to fit in, I rebelliously refused. I don’t need the Carter identity as long as I’m free to spend their money.

"If I did that, then I wouldn't get to introduce you to my sexy boyfriend," Fiona’s entitled voice continues as she turns to the man beside her, batting her eyelashes. He responds with a tight mannequin-like smile which only fuels my annoyance.

Like I wanted to meet the man? I can't even remember his name. Fiona wouldn't care if I didn't though, she's just here to dangle him like a dazzling Christmas ornament in front of me.

“Claire,” she turns to me. "You wouldn't understand, darling. You clearly don't have a special someone... still, I might add."

And there it is. That barb sparks a dull ache in my chest, but before I can retort, Fiona continues rambling, her voice rising excitedly.

"Gramps and Mimi are thinking of gifting an estate to the next couple in the family. I think that would be us." She turns back to her boyfriend, her eyes sparkling. "Aren't you excited about that, honey?"

He gives a barely perceptible nod.

Couple schmouple . The poor man is just a high-priced escort.

"You’re not winning that estate, Fiona," I declare with a trite smile.

Her perfect eyebrows shoot up. "And why not?"

"Because I will," I lift my chin. "For your information, I have a boyfriend. If you stopped talking about yourself for one minute, maybe I’d get the chance to tell you."

Fiona laughs sharply. "You're so bluffing, Claire. As usual."

There’s no beating her with words. Maybe I should just throw my entire plate at her now.

"Claire?"

A warm, baritone voice cuts through the tension.

I whip around, a surge of relief crashing over me like a mighty wave.

My knight in shining armor. Just in time!

There, standing a few feet behind us, is Robert Sawyer—my Bobby—my best friend, and the only stable man in my life.

I have to hand it to Bobby; the man knows how to make an entrance. He struts in like he owns the place, sporting a grin on his face that says, 'I'm here to save the day, ladies.’

Fiona's perfectly manicured hand flies to her mouth with a gasp. “Is that your boyfriend?" She stammers, her eyes widening. "He's…handsome."

Bobby beams brightly at me, and he steps up to us—Fiona’s right. I’ve forgotten just how good-looking he is. Bobby is absolutely gorgeous. I’ve just never paid attention to him… like that .

Piercing blue eyes shine brightly under thick, wavy, brown hair that falls just above his bushy eyebrows. He’s slim and toned and moves confidently. He’s always had that irresistible charm and seductive aura that drives most women wild—except me. It’s the dimples and the way his eyes look deep into your soul.

The shock on Fiona’s face brings a grin to my face. This is my time. Sorry, Bobby . He deserves better than being dragged into this mess. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Baby!" I plaster a fake smile on my face and throw my arms wide open for a hug.

Please play along, Bobby. Please, please.

Bobby steps forward cautiously, a furrow etched between his brows. "Baby?"

C’mon man, read the room. I flash him a desperate wink. He looks from me to Fiona, and his eyes swell with recognition. Yes! He finally gets it. I’ve whined about Fiona to him enough times for him to spot her at first sight.

Time to double down.

I lunge toward him with a little more force than necessary, and my foot catches awkwardly on the table leg, making me stumble toward Bobby. Thankfully, his reflexes are quick. He catches me quickly, his arms wrapping securely around my waist.

Perfect!

"You owe me one," he whispers in my ear before straightening to face Fiona and her bewildered boyfriend. "Claire's boyfriend," he announces with a dazzling smile. “Name's Robert Sawyer."

Fiona's frown deepens. Her eyes dart between me and Bobby, her smug superiority now replaced by a mixture of shock and suspicion as she takes his extended hand.

“Fiona Carter. Nice to meet you, Robert. What do you do?”

“You can call me Bob. I’m a doctor at TenderCare.”

“He’s a founding partner,” I add with a smile, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.

Good thing Bobby’s hospital is one of the best in New York because I know Fiona will get her phone out to Google him the first chance she gets. She’s still grasping his hand—a little too firmly, holding on as she stares into his face.

I know that look. I often see it from ladies spellbound by my best friend’s good looks.

I grin in satisfaction as I saunter forward, inserting myself between them and unlinking their hands. Fiona’s mouth drops open in chagrin as I twine my fingers with Bobby's possessively. I lead him to my seat, keeping our linked hands on my lap.

"Fiona, darling, do you think Gramps and Mimi prefer a…self-made man to those who rely on their connections for success?"

Bobby stiffens beside me, pinching my arm discreetly as he hisses, "That’s not very nice, Claire.”

I ignore him, focusing on Fiona’s gritted teeth and red face. Her date also shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Good. All is fair in love and war—and what I’ve got going with Fiona is an absolute war.

“They might prefer the couple who’s closer to marrying," she smiles sweetly. "Are you two ready to settle down?"

"Absolute—"

“Not really," Bobby chimes in.

I whip my head toward Bobby, who clears his throat hastily.

Fiona’s gaze settles on him. “You two don’t seem to quite be on the same page there.”

"I, uh, meant," Bobby stammers. "We haven't really discussed it yet."

My eyes narrow. "Right," I smile again. "But we love each other, so there’s really only one way this ends. We already talked about moving in with each other so…."

“Really?” Fiona’s eyebrows arch.

“Of course. It’s the natural next step.” I squeeze Bobby’s hand tightly and snuggle closer to him.

“For sure,” he echoes, planting a kiss on my cheek.

I nod at my cousin. The tension in the air is thick enough that I can take my knife and fork to it.

"Well, this was fun, Fiona! Safe trip back home.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, sorry. We wanted to spend our afternoon together. Your unexpected arrival kinda interrupted our plans.”

Fiona’s lips round in a soft, “Oh.”

It’s clear I’ve won this round, thanks to Bobby. Before she can react, I wave, stand up, and practically drag Bobby out of the restaurant.

As soon as we're at a safe distance, Bobby stops dead in his tracks and pulls me in front of him.

"What the heck was that, Claire?" His voice is low and serious.

I grin at him. "Thanks, Bobby. You are a lifesaver."

"Don't even try buttering me up, Carter.”

Arms crossed, calling me by my last name. Yeah, that’s classic ‘Bobby needs an explanation’ pose. Unfortunately, I don’t think there are any rational words to describe my feud with Fiona.

“I needed to get one over on Fiona. You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And I don’t need you dragging me into your business. You owe me big time for this."

"I'll pay you back, I swear. Big time."

"Big time better be more than a lousy dinner, too," he grumbles. “I’m talking tickets to the next Knicks game or something.”

Maybe he’ll settle for a movie night with a bottle of wine. Bobby’s a softie when it comes to me.

"Okay, okay," I sigh dramatically, raising my hands in mock surrender. "How about one more favor?"

“No way!” He shakes his head. “I gotta get back to work.”

“It’s part of today’s package. Pretty please.” I grab an arm, blinking up at him.

“ Ugh! Fiiiiine. What?”

I can see the smile behind the serious mask he’s trying to don.

“Fiona could still be watching us. Can you to drive me to Fifth Avenue?”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Please. You know how much I need to de-stress after seeing her.”

He shakes his head. “People drink, go to the gym, or eat to help them deal with stress. You blow money, money that you don’t even have.”

“That was yesterday. Fiona showing up here means Gramps probably updated my allowance for this month.”

“Get in the car,” he growls.

I grin as I climb into his silver Porsche Panamera, waving toward the expansive restaurant windows, where I see a flash of Fiona’s red suit.

***

Bob’s sleek car rolls to a stop on Fifth Avenue, flanked by a glittering parade of flagship stores lining the street — Louis Vuitton, Tiffany & Co., Fendi, Prada — the air here smells of excessive luxury.

This is one of the few advantages that being born into the Carter family offers me, and I intend to indulge until I can’t indulge anymore. I hit pause on Rihana’s upbeat rhythm.

“You coming in?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head quickly and leans back into his seat. “Last time I followed you around, you ripped me off of five grand. Not making that mistake again.”

“That’s unfair!” I scoff. “You told me you wanted to buy that bracelet for me.”

"Well, I was, until I got the debit out of my checking. I mean, I got money, but I’m not a trust fund kid like you.”

I roll my eyes. “You could be if you get on good terms with your dad.”

“Whatever. Get outta my car,” he reaches over to unbuckle my seatbelt. “You got ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

I push open the car door and step out onto the bustling sidewalk, making my way towards the iconic storefront. The familiar chime of the door opening announces my arrival, and an attendant materializes at my side.

We go through the familiar dance — a murmured greeting, a knowing glance at the display case. This has become a monthly ritual that I can re-enact with my eyes closed.

Minutes later, I’m holding a Chanel diamond necklace in my hands. Just as I'm about to swipe my card, my phone buzzes.

It’s a text from Bobby. He’s saved under ‘Bobsicle’ on my phone.

Bobsicle: Five minutes, Carter. Or I'm leaving you to Uber your spoiled self back home.

I roll my eyes and hand over my card to the salesgirl. She swipes my card, the machine whirrs, and a red light flashes on the screen, with a bold ‘Transaction Declined’ message.

No way. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I mumble an apology to the salesgirl.

"Can I use the restroom?"

I didn’t wait for her response before escaping. I close the bathroom stall and dial Gramps' number.

“Hello, Claire, my dear.”

"Gramps…you want to throw me out of the family just because I don't fit the perfect Carter image, right?"

“Nonsense.” His gruff voice meets my outburst. “You’re the one who hasn’t even called for over two months. Your Mimi and I are worried about you.”

“If you’re worried, you shouldn’t cut off my funding.”

“And then you wouldn’t have a reason to call or come home.”

“Come home?” I gasp. “Gramps—”

“Claire, dear,” Gramps' calm voice cut through the tension. "Don’t be so dramatic. Fiona just told me about your new boyfriend. I’d love to meet him."

I grit my teeth. Of course, Fiona wastes no time spreading her poison. "Boyfriend?" I repeat. "Gramps, that’s not why I’m calling. My cards are declining. I can't even afford a decent meal anymore!"

"That's unfortunate," his tone devoid of his usual sympathy.

That can only mean one thing—Gramps’ treating this as a business deal. He wants something.

“What do you want, Gramps.”

"I always knew you were smart, Claire. Family gathering next week. Bring your boyfriend. Then we can discuss lifting the temporary spending embargo."

I choke back a sob. "You'd rather I come home with a guy than actually support your granddaughter?"

Why does having a partner have any bearing on what Gramps gives me? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. What did Fiona really say to him?

"There’s more to it than that, and you know it. The choice is yours, Claire. You have to do something with your life. No more handouts."

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, a bitter taste in my mouth. There's no reasoning with Gramps when he’s like this. It's his way or the highway.

Wiping away my fake stray tear, I exit the stall angry.

This is all Fiona's fault. I storm back to the counter where the Chanel box is sitting.

"I won't be needing this today," I tell the salesgirl curtly. "I'll pick it up later."