Pretend To Be Mine

by C. Morgan

  My phone chimed and I fished it out from where it had fallen between the sofa cushions. It was a ping from the group chat I had with the girls in the office called “Staying Safe.” I read the text from Anya, who was one of the girls with a date tonight.

  “Anya is getting in the limo and on her way to her event,” I said. “Moira will be leaving in another hour. We’ll have to make sure we don’t drink too much wine. I want to stay on top of them and make sure they’re texting every hour.”

  “Safety first,” Victoria agreed as she closed the link and opened the final apartment. “Ooh, look! This one has shag carpets.” She snickered and jabbed her elbow into my ribs. “It’s just your style, Nat.”

  Chapter 6

  Rylen

  As per most Friday nights, I was late leaving the clinic. Kelly had been there, staring morosely at me from over the top of her computer screen while I indulged the last patient of the day with endless small talk. She had places to be, seeing that it was Friday night and all and my customer service was cutting into those precious hours that only rolled around once a week. She couldn’t leave until I was leaving, so she’d puttered around and tided behind the reception desk while Cora sat cross-legged on the floor beside me playing with the cat of the customer I was talking to.

  We got out of there at quarter to six.

  Friday nights were a tradition in my house. Well, every second Friday when it was my turn to have Cora. We’d race home from the clinic and tell each other all about our days. While I was working, I never had time to pause and take a breather and listen to Cora while she told me about school. This had been something that bothered us both and we made a plan to talk about it on the drive home.

  Today she told me all about how one of the boys in her class had begged their teacher to let him bring his lizard into class for show and tell, but she’d steadfastly refused due to what sounded to me like a paralyzing phobia of reptiles. Cora didn’t understand, so I broke it down for her.

  Some people just didn’t like all animals and they didn’t have to because there were people in the world like my daughter who loved them all equally, even spiders and creepy crawly things.

  When we got home, I took a hot shower while Cora watched a cartoon. Next, it was her time to have a warm bath. Afterward, she picked out her favorite pair of jammies and we ordered pizza. By six thirty, we were cuddled up on the sofa just like every second Friday night. She was the boss lady with the remote control in one hand and her stuffed teddy bear in the other.

  She scrolled through the movie options one after another.

  “Can we watch a Christmas movie, Daddy?”

  I considered it but shook my head. “Let’s wait until our next Friday night. It will be December and we can put the tree up and everything. Christmas will be here before you know it, sweetheart.”

  Cora pouted but only for a moment, after which she happened upon an animated movie we’d both watched a thousand times over, announced delightedly that we were going to watch it, and hit play.

  My mind started to wander after we finished eating our pizza.

  Maybe Drew had a good point about needing to take a vacation to reset and recharge. In theory, it sounded like a great idea. The execution of it all though? I was strapped with work and overbooked straight through until the end of March, possibly longer. Who knew how many more appointments Kelly had booked since I last saw the schedule two weeks ago?

  I’d hardly settled into this new place, either. For the longest time, I was living out of my office at the clinic. It hadn’t been a good look for me. When the guys found out, they’d been all over my ass about finding a place. Grady had offered to throw me a bone. I refused.

  The last thing I wanted was a handout.

  I knew my life was falling to pieces all around me and so did my friends. I could hear the pity in their voices whenever we spoke on the phone and I saw it in their eyes the last time I saw them in Monaco and Vegas. They felt sorry for me. They were angry with Mona for what she’d done, and so was I, but truth be told, I was also ashamed that my wife had been able to fool around behind my back for two whole years without me having a damn clue about it.

  I’d lain next to her at night, kissed her cheeks, woke her up with coffee, shared all of my hopes and dreams with her—and meanwhile she was getting cozy with the owners of one of the dogs I treated at my clinic.

  Logan, I thought sourly as Cora cuddled up against me.

  He’d seemed like a nice enough guy to me. He had a friendly smile, a successful carpentry business he’d taken over from his father, and a dumb oaf of an old Labrador named Bruce that he’d rescued from an abusive owner in the nick of time. Logan and I had built a plan to keep that dog alive and bring him back to the land of the living. I’d kept him in my clinic for weeks to hydrate him and put some meat on his bones. Logan hadn’t blinked at the price of medications and surgeries. He’d done everything in his power to save the dog and we’d succeeded. Bruce was now a fun-loving, stocky, dopey dog with a playful spirit who loved anyone and everyone—especially Cora.

  If it hadn’t been for saving that poor dog, my marriage might never have fallen apart.

  Mona might never have bumped into Logan that day she came into the clinic with lunch for me. She might never have locked eyes with him, never exchanged words out in the parking lot when they were both driving away, never lain awake in bed all night wondering what things might have been like if she were with him instead of with me.

  I gritted my teeth and cleared my throat as the thoughts started to consume me. Friday nights were supposed to be good nights. I didn’t want to think about Mona.

  She probably didn’t spend any time thinking about me.

  I tried to think about other things as Cora dozed off slumped against me. I ran my hand over her back in slow figure eights while I looked around at my barren living room. I had no art on the walls. No distinctions that this place was mine. It was full of furniture, sure, but that was all.

  The place Mona and I shared had felt like a home. Lamps, candles, picture frames, artwork, throw rugs, decorative pillows. She’d brought all those kinds of things into our space and I hadn’t realized the kind of difference it made until all of that was gone. More than anything, I wanted to create a home like that for Cora. It terrified me to think that one day she might come to feel like the house she stayed at with Mona and Logan was more of a home than the one she shared with me.

  What if she drifted? What if she left her old man behind? What if she was happier living with them?

  I turned the movie off.

  Cora made soft cooing sounds in her sleep as I gathered her up in my arms. Her bear dangled from the tips of her fingers but she managed to hold on to it as I carried her to her bedroom and tucked her under her blankets. I flicked on the little nightlight beside her bed, which cast an array of pink stars onto the ceiling over her bed.

  She snuggled into her pillow as I pulled her blankets up under her chin and tucked them all around her. She loved being all cozy and tightly wrapped up. I watched her sleep for a moment before stroking her hair, leaning over, and kissing her forehead.

  “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  I left her bedroom door open two inches, just how she liked it, and went down the hall to my home office, where I turned on my desk lamp and settled into my chair. The screen of my laptop glared at me when I flipped it open and lit up the screen I’d left it on.

  Email inbox.

  The email from Mona still sat there daring me to reply.

  I tried and failed.

  That was when I noticed another email that had rolled in later this afternoon. It was from Grady. Frowning, I opened it up. There was a quick note in the email and an attachment of forms from a business called On His Arm. The message from Grady was simple and to the point.

  I told you I had your back. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you.

  Worried because Grady had been known to do some pretty reckless things, I opened the att
achments to figure out what the hell On His Arm was. Upon further inspection, it became quite clear that it was a business I wanted no part of.

  Grady had signed me up for an escort service.

  It was nine o’clock. Part of me didn’t expect him to answer.

  He did, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

  “So you got my email?”

  “Yes,” I said dryly. “What the hell are you doing signing me up for an escort service? I got divorced. I’m not dying. I don’t need—”

  “Did you read the whole thing?”

  “I read enough to know I’m not interested.”

  Grady chuckled. “Don’t be a stubborn mule, Rylen. I’m trying to help you. The company is owned by a friend of mine. She’s a professional woman who runs a professional business. Trust me, you won’t be showing up with a girl who looks like an escort. You’ll be showing up with a woman who looks like she could be your fiancée one day.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Grady sighed into the line. “I wanted to do something nice for you so I’m going to hire a girl from On His Arm to go to Mona’s stupid wedding with you.”

  “Come again?”

  “As your date. Come on, man. Let’s be real. The last thing you want is to show up to that damn wedding single. Everyone from your old life is going to be there, your in-laws included. The old friends whose houses you and Mona used to go to dinner parties at. People who gave speeches at your wedding, man. Do you really want to have all those eyes on you wondering how you’re doing while you sit through another fucking wedding?”

  “Thanks, Grady. All of that hasn’t already been nagging at me for weeks. I’d just managed to convince myself nobody was going to care whether or not I showed up and they’d leave me well enough alone.”

  “You’re delusional if you think they won’t be on you like flies to shit, buddy. You’ll be the kicked puppy dog they’ll all want to see with their own eyes. Sure, you might score a drunken bridesmaid who feels sorry for you at the end of the night if you show up solo, but let’s be honest. You can do better than that. Although I do feel like that would be a nice jab at Mona.”

  “I’m not hooking up with any of those girls. I never liked those girls in the first place. They knew she was cheating on me the whole time.”

  “Case in point. You need a proper date. And I want to give that to you. Merry early Christmas.”

  I frowned. Was I really going to be the guy who took an escort to my ex-wife’s wedding?

  Grady sighed again, sensing uncertainty in my silence. “Listen, man, just think about it, all right? I’m not saying you have to do it but you gotta admit, there’s something compelling about showing up with a beautiful woman on your arm. It’ll make Mona’s head spin and everyone in that room won’t get the satisfaction of thinking you’re still grieving your failed marriage.”

  “Even if I am?”

  “Even if you are, buddy. Let me do this for you. It’ll be my way of saying fuck you to Mona. Just review the attachments and reach out to Natalie, okay? She’ll take care of you.”

  “Natalie.” I clicked on the first attachment and watched the download bar fill up. “Fine, but I’m not making any promises. I can handle this wedding by myself.”

  “Never said you couldn’t. But personally, I’d have no interest in attending my ex’s glamorous winter wonderland wedding in Paris one week before Christmas unless I was planning on getting so wasted I blacked out, forgot the whole evening, and made a complete ass of myself and ruined at least one wedding tradition. Like the cake cutting. Yeah, I could get some satisfaction out of that.”

  “I’m going to hang up now.”

  Chapter 7

  Natalie

  On His Arm was open six days a week, so I found myself back at my desk on Saturday morning with another peppermint mocha in one hand and the office phone in the other. We had more voicemails from the night before from men looking to hire girls. I took their names and numbers, jotted down what they were looking for, and started calling them back.

  The first caller was a man named Clark. He sounded young to me, probably no more than his mid twenties, and he sounded nervous.

  “I’ve never done this before,” Clark said, “but I’m graduating college in a few months and I’ve told my classmates that I have a smoking-hot girlfriend who lives out of country and she’s flying in for my graduation.”

  I smiled. “What country did you tell them all she was from?”

  “Sweden.”

  “Oh. You aim high, don’t you?”

  “It was the first thing that popped into my head,” he groaned. I could hear his misery seeping through the line. He was in anguish over this little white lie. I wondered if any of these classmates were his friends at all or just people he’d desperately wished he could impress. Why else tell such a bald-faced lie? “I need a blonde girl with blue eyes. Someone tall. You know, someone who looks—”

  “Like they’re from Sweden?”

  He exhaled. “Yeah. Yeah, you get it.”

  “Of course, I get it, honey. That’s my job. Let’s go over some quick basics just to make sure you’re qualified to be a client, okay? How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  Wow. He was just a baby. “We don’t accept credit and our time isn’t cheap, Clark. How many hours are you going to need a girl for?”

  He hemmed and hawed on the line. “The ceremony is probably two hours. Then there are pictures. Then there’s the dinner. I don’t know… maybe eight?”

  “I have one girl who could pass for a Swedish girl,” I said, worried about breaking the news to him about our prices. “Her average rate is about eight hundred dollars.”

  “Really? That’s all?”

  “An hour.”

  “Oh.”

  I felt for him. It couldn’t be easy being the guy nobody took seriously. I waited for him to speak again.

  “Do you have anyone cheaper?” he asked thinly.

  “My lowest rate girl charges six hundred an hour. She’s five foot three with brown hair and green eyes.”

  “Well, I could make that work if I—”

  “She’s Hispanic.”

  “Oh.”

  “Listen, Clark,” I said slowly. “I know this might seem like the best solution to your problem, and I’m not usually one to turn good business away, but I think the best course of action is to be honest. So what if you don’t have a girlfriend right now? You’re about to graduate and step into the career field you’ve worked hard for. What is that, by the way?”

  “Diving Business and Technology.”

  “Come again?”

  “I’m working my way up to be a Scuba Rescuer. I’ve studied marine biology, oceanography, emergency medicine, underwater photography…” He trailed off. “I know. It’s nerdy.”

  “It’s nerdy in the best way, Clark. Seriously. You’re about to embark on something incredible. Scuba Rescue? I mean come on! Give yourself a couple of years. Girls are going to gravitate to you. Forget the cocky airhead guys in your classes who might be making you think you have to be like that to land a good girl. You don’t. Give everyone time to catch up to you. Things will change. You’ll find a girl worth waiting for and she’ll find you. You don’t have to pay almost seven thousand dollars for a stand in for one day just to convince people you don’t even care about that you’re someone you aren’t.”

  Clark was quiet for a minute. “I’ve never had someone talk me out of giving them money before.”

  I laughed. “Yes, well, I believe in ethical business. And you are not the sort of man who needs to hire a fake girlfriend, Clark. Trust me.”

  “If I change my mind and call you back in the new year?”

  “After thinking about it, if you still want to throw thousands of dollars my way, I will accept your business.”

  Clark chuckled. “All right. Thank you, Natalie.”

  I hung up the phone just as Victoria poked her head out
from behind the velvet curtains behind me. She wore a cheeky grin and a long done-up black blazer dress with black nylons underneath. “Well, aren’t you just a big old softie this morning?”

  I waved her off. “It’s the PMS. You know I only have empathy when I’m bleeding.”

  Victoria snorted. “Oh please, you felt sorry for him.”

  “He was sweet. And way too young to be paying for an escort. Poor kid.”

  The front door swung open as I sipped my coffee.

  Victoria looked up and smiled as a middle-aged man in a sports coat and freakishly white sneakers came in. He blinked around and we waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim, ambient lighting of the office.

  His steely gaze landed on me. “I need to hire a girl.”

  I invited him to come up to my desk with a wave of my arm. He sat.

  “You came to the right place,” I told him. Victoria hovered over my shoulder. It wasn’t too often we had clients come in for a face-to-face meeting. Usually, they preferred to have all points of contact done over the phone or by email. Some men found it unsettling hiring an escort in person. “What sort of event do you require a companion for?”

  “That’s my business,” he said stiffly.

  I studied him as Victoria tensed up beside me.

  Red flag.

  I leaned back in my chair with my peppermint mocha in hand and gazed at him. He looked clean cut and respectable. He was clean shaven, his hair looked to have been recently trimmed, and he wore an expensive watch on his left wrist. His pants were freshly pressed. He had no tattoos that I could see. Everything about him looked like he was the exact kind of guy my operation would want to bring on as a client.

  But there was something dark and stormy in those eyes of his that warned me something was up. That and his dismissive answer.

  I crossed one leg over the other. “Sir, this isn’t a whore house. This is a high-end escort service. I do not book my girls to accompany any clients to undisclosed locations.”