by Amber Nox
His Fake Girlfriend
Fake Romance Series
Amber Nox
Copyright © 2020 by Amber Nox
https://ambernoxauthor.wixsite.com/books
His Fake Girlfriend is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Editing by Charisse Sayers
Proofreading by Word Bunnies
Cover design by Desire Premade Covers
Cover image copyright © 2020
Please note this book contains material aimed at an adult audience, including sex, violence and bad language.
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under Copyright Act 1911 and the Copyright Act 1988, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.
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To my parents, who believe in me when I don’t
Contents
1. Scarlett
2. Scarlett
3. Scarlett
4. Jacob
5. Scarlett
6. Scarlett
7. Scarlett
8. Scarlett
9. Jacob
10. Scarlett
11. Jacob
12. Scarlett
13. Jacob
14. Scarlett
15. Scarlett
16. Jake
17. Scarlett
18. Scarlett
19. Scarlett
20. Jake
21. Scarlett
Epilogue
Enjoyed this book?
About the Author
1
Scarlett
Smile, nod, look interested.
It’s a game I play and it’s one I excel at. When you’re paid by the hour to look enthralled by what people say, you do it with finesse, and if there’s one thing I don’t lack, it’s finesse.
I was trained by the most sophisticated escort in the industry, Francesca De Luca. I don’t know if it’s her real name; I’ve never asked, but it’s the only name I know her by. Scarlett Haversham is the name on my birth certificate, but it’s not the identity I’m using this evening. Like an actor on the stage, I’m cast in a role, and I know my lines well. I don’t rehearse them; I don’t need to. I know the format, I know the expectations and I know how to please my client. And I’m more than certain I’m pleasing him.
Tonight, I’m escorting Jack Greer, a middle-aged businessman in his mid-fifties. He’s good-looking for an older man, but he’s certainly in the throes of a midlife crisis. His divorce from wife number three is common knowledge among his peers, and although he’s not on the lookout for wife number four, he wasn’t keen on turning up to this black-tie event alone—or so he told Francesca. That’s where I come in. I provide a unique service. For a price, I act as Mr Greer’s… well, whatever he desires. Tonight, he’s requested a partner. This means subtle touches, laughing at his jokes, soft looks. I pretend to be completely and utterly in love with the man all evening, although I’m careful not to overdo it. Natural is key here. I have to sell the lie—for the next seven and a half minutes at least. That is how long our contract has left. Then, like Cinderella, the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, the gowns and finery disappear, and so do I. I get the impression Mr Greer has bought into the fantasy of the evening a little too much, though. He’s paraded me around the room all night like a prized trophy, showing me off to all his compadres as if he’s won the award for best partner. Considering the amount of beautiful women here this evening, I’m not sure that’s the case. There are many attractive people here, and I’m sure Mr Greer could win over any of the women if he wanted to—apart from me.
I’m not someone he can have. I am absolutely unavailable to him. There is a line between me and my clients that I will not and have not ever crossed. He is a job, nothing more. I may flirt, even drop a kiss on his cheek or mouth for the sake of appearances, but it is an act. I feel nothing for him, or any of the clients I work with. Usually, this is not a problem, but I get the impression I may have to give Mr Greer a shove back to reality when the clock strikes midnight.
“I had a fabulous evening tonight,” he says as we step out onto the street.
Most of the guests have started leaving already, finding their cars or drivers to head home. Mr Greer and I will not leave together. Here, at the kerbside, we part ways. I may see him again, I may not. That will depend on him and if he requires, or hires, me again. He may choose not to use Francesca’s services; he may not pick me next time if he does. I’m not the only one on her books.
My heels click against the pavement as we head for the kerb line and towards the black Mercedes waiting for me. Francesca always sends a car at the end of the night. She has a way of doing things, and it ensures our safety. It’s one of the reasons I was so pleased to join the agency in the first place. My previous escort work was high risk. I got hurt on more occasions than I’d like to admit. Francesca was my guardian angel. In the three years I’ve been with her, I’ve always been safe. Clients are thoroughly vetted, and every precaution is taken. Safety is paramount, and the pay is high. I live a good life because of Francesca. The work itself isn’t difficult either. Eat good food, go to functions, parties—whatever is required. It’s a few hours out of my evening or day. I know there are people who would look down on me because of my profession, but it’s an honest living, and I’m not hurting anyone.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Victoria?” He uses the moniker I adopted for this evening.
I don’t give him an answer. He’s getting attached. This is not allowed.
“My ride’s here,” I tell him, indicating the car.
His hands slide to my hips. “We could continue this back at my hotel. I’m not ready for the evening to be over yet.”
I step back and out of his touch, giving him a polite, but aloof smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t, Mr Greer. Our contract… I’m sure you understand.”
He doesn’t seem pleased with my response, but Nathan, my driver for the evening, steps out of the car. He’s a large man, at least six-foot-five with shoulders like an ox, and a fuzz of dark blond hair. I suspect he was special forces in one of the military branches in a previous life, because he moves silently.
“Victoria?” He uses my name for the evening, even though he knows my real name. “It’s time to go, love.”
I nod and turn back to a pouting Mr Greer. “Goodnight, Jack.”
“But we had such a good evening,” he complains.
I smile at him and break the illusion he’s building with a, “It’s what I’m paid to do.”
I turn and walk over to the car. Nathan pulls the back door open for me and I slide in, smoothing my dress down as I settle on the seat. Nathan gets into the driver’s side as I pull my seat belt on and slide my phone out of my clutch bag. I send a quick text message to Francesca to let her know how the evening went as the car pulls out into traffic.
“He seemed keen,” Nathan notes.
“Sometimes I have to break a few hearts,” I joke as I tuck my phone away.
“Well, you do look gorgeous
tonight, sweetheart,” he says, his thick London accent coming through. “You’d be hard to resist.”
“You always did know how to sweet talk the ladies, Nate. Why aren’t you married again?”
“Franny keeps me too busy.”
Speaking of ‘Franny’…
My phone pings with a message. Four words: ‘come to the office’.
I almost groan. It’s nearly one a.m. I was looking forward to a shower and crawling into bed. That is not on the cards, clearly.
“Change of plans, Nate. Francesca wants to see me. Can you swing by the office?”
His eyes slide to the rear-view mirror. “Problem?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. Maybe I’m in trouble.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
He grunts, which I think in Nate speak means ‘doubtful’.
I watch the city pass by out of the side window of the car. There’s something magical about London at night. The lights, the bustle. I love it.
Francesca’s offices are in the Clerkenwell area of the city. Nate pulls up at the kerb outside and comes around to open the door—ever the gentleman. I smooth my dress down as I stand and head into the building with Nathan on my heel.
The office is lit up, accentuating the elegant decor inside. It’s all sleek lines and beautiful dark wood furnishings.
“I’ll wait out here,” Nate says.
“Thanks, Nathan.”
I head through the foyer and to the back office where Francesca meets clients. It’s an informal sitting area, although she does have a desk at the back of the room.
Tonight, I find her sitting behind it, her dark hair piled on top of her head, her glasses inching down her nose.
“Oh, Scarlett. I’m so sorry calling you in like this.” She pulls her glasses off and places them on the stack of paper on her desk. “I realise you’re probably tired and would love nothing more than to go home to bed.”
“It’s fine.” I take the huge comfy armchair at the side of the desk and sink into it. “I’m not going to lie, though, I am slightly worried about why you asked me here so late. Is it because of what I told you about Mr Greer?”
I did, of course, tell her about his pushiness in the text I sent her. You never know when a client might complain. I wanted her to be forewarned.
Francesca shakes her head. “Oh, God, no. He’s not even a blip on my radar. Darling, I’ve had a rather unusual request for a job this evening. I couldn’t wait until the morning to tell you, although I probably should have, given the hour.”
I wave this off. “I was awake anyway.” Doing it now means I can sleep in tomorrow.
Francesca’s bowed lips purse together. “The client requested you, but I’m not sure if you’ll want this one.”
I frown at her. I can’t imagine why I would turn down work, but if Francesca is wary, that makes me on edge.
“To be honest, Scarlett, I’m hesitant to even take it, but the remuneration is not to be sniffed at, and I didn’t want to turn it down without talking to you first.”
I shift in my seat. “You’re scaring me a little. What’s the job?”
“The client needs an escort for a long-term position.”
“How long-term?”
“A fortnight.”
My eyes flare wide. I’ve never done a job that long before. Usually, it’s an evening, a day, potentially overnight. I’ve even done a weekend before, but two weeks?
“I’m guessing that’s a full fortnight, no off the clock.”
“There may be downtime but, essentially, you’d need to be at his beck and call when needed.” Francesca sighs. “Darling, I really wouldn’t blame you for turning this down. It’s a long game to play, even for someone as experienced as you are.”
It is, but it’s not beyond my skills either.
“What does the client require?”
“Someone to go to events with him during the fortnight, to act as a partner. The usual—just on a long-term scale. I have a full briefing of what is needed, if you want to take the job.”
She hands me the sheet and I glance over it. It looks fairly standard: dinners out, events as required, act as a partner in front of friends and family—the usual stuff. But it’s at the pay package that my eyes flare. It’s spectacular. I’ve never seen so many zeroes. There are also further bonuses including a full wardrobe for the time I’m there, chosen by him, but I’ll get to keep afterwards, and access to a brand new Audi, if I’m able to drive, which I can. Unfortunately, I don’t get to keep that.
I glance up at Francesca.
“This is really beyond generous.”
“It’s a lot of time out of your life, Scarlett, and it’s a big ask. It needs to be generous.”
I want to ask who the client is, but I know she won’t tell me unless I accept the job.
“It is a big ask, but it’s a lot of money for two weeks of my life.”
She nods. “There is that, too.”
“Did the client seem… bearable?”
Francesca smiles. “Darling, they’re all difficult, but you just have to decide whether you can get through two weeks of difficult.”
I stare at the figure on the paper. It would set me up for a long time. A very long time. Two weeks… In the grand scheme of the things, it’s nothing.
“I’ll do it.”
“You don’t want to sleep on it?”
I shake my head. “Send me the contract when you have it.”
There are usually non-disclosures and other things that have to be signed before a client can be taken on. It offers them protection, although I would never break confidentially, but having the paper trail offers reassurance.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Scarlett.”
“So, do I.” I push up from the chair.
2
Scarlett
Nerves are not something I usually suffer with, but I have to admit, I’m anxious about this job. The contracts and paperwork were filed last week, all the checks have been done, payments have been made, and everything is ready to go. For two weeks I’ll lock the door on my Islington flat and move to Cornwall in the south west of England with one Mr Jacob Hansen.
Francesca gave me a file on him as soon as the contracts were completed, so I’ve spent as much time as I can learning everything about him in preparation for the role I’ll be expected to fill. The file has information on his upbringing, his education, siblings, parents, friends—everything I might need to know if I’m questioned. It’s like briefing for an exam and the topic is him. There’s also information on his favourite foods, movies he likes, wines he drinks, little touches that will make it seem we’re together as a couple for the time I’m with him. Additionally, the file contained details on his past relationships, in case it comes up in conversation. It’s normal, after all, for partners to have some discussion about previous lovers. Mr Hansen mentioned only two when he was questioned by Francesca—a woman he was engaged to in his twenties called Serena, and Anna, his last girlfriend, who left him some seven months ago for another man.
There’s a lot of details in the file, probably too much for most people to digest. Luckily, I have a great memory, so a couple of read-throughs is all I need to commit it to mine. It’s a good thing as well, because being able to recall little facts is one of the things that sells my position as a fake… well… whatever I’m needed to be.
I feel prepared with the information I have about my client, but even so, unease unfurls in my belly as Nathan drives me towards Francesca’s office. I’ve never been on the clock for such a long time. Keeping up an act for a matter of hours is one thing. For a fortnight, it might be even beyond me. I know I won’t be on the clock twenty-four-seven, but even so, it’s a long job to pull off.
“How you feeling, love?” Nate’s eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror before sliding back to the windscreen.
“Nervous. Weird, right? I don’t think I’ve ever been nervous before.”
I fidget with the hem of my dress. I opted for a
light summer dress. It’s pretty, pale yellow with little flowers on, and I’ve coupled it with a pair of sandals. My short blonde hair is styled in loose waves and I’ve put on natural makeup. I did this expecting he’ll want me to change my appearance when we meet, and I don’t want to have to take my makeup back off again.
“I think that’s normal, given the length of this job. What’s going to be weird, darlin’, is not having you around.”
Nathan will not be coming with me. In fact, none of Francesca’s security team will be, and I’m not entirely sure he’s happy about the fact, but given the duration of my stay in Cornwall, it was decided it would be inappropriate. Whomever goes with me would have nothing to do for vast amounts of time. Here, they are kept busy with the other escorts on Francesca’s books in between picking us up and running us around. It wouldn’t make sense to have one of the guys sitting around in a Cornish village for a fortnight watching me. Fran was not too happy about sending me alone, but I managed to convince her I will be fine. I’m sure Mr Hansen is not a serial killer nor a psychopath. His background check certainly did not throw up anything we need to worry about.
Still, I perfect my smile and say, “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Nate pulls the car up outside the office and lets the engine idle at the kerb while he gets out to open the back door for me. Always the gentleman. He gives me a once over as I straighten out of the vehicle, his mouth pulling into a tight line.
“I don’t like this, Scar. I don’t like it one bit.”
My hand goes to his beefy bicep. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Francesca wouldn’t have allowed me to take the job if she thought I couldn’t handle it.”