He grinned back over at me and gave me a small hug. “Thanks. It really means a lot to me that you came to my show. How was work?”
My heart sank just a bit as I thought about my day. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I decided I would be friendly and courteous. “Well, I had a really rough day. Hopefully it will get better, though. It was just challenging.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
I stuck out my fingers and started counting through all the tough events. “First, Alessandra didn’t show up because she got hospitalized. Then, I had to fill in for her and do the speech with Franca. I didn’t have time to come home and change. The real icing on the cake is that a guy conned me into going on a date with him.”
James slightly parted open his mouth and I could see a little bit of his tongue. It was obvious that he didn’t know what I was talking about. “He conned you into a date? I don’t get it.”
I held my head against my palm because I felt silly for telling him, but I opened my mouth. I had to finish. “He said that he would approve the decorating contract with my workplace only on the condition that I travel out of town and pretend to be his girlfriend.”
He stopped and starting laughing loudly because he couldn’t believe his ears. “I’ve heard some whoppers in my day, but that tops them all. And you actually agreed? Why the hell did you do that?”
I didn’t quite know why I did it. I guess that I was just put on the spot and pressured into it. I had to keep my employer happy, and not sacrifice too much self-respect. If I didn’t have to instantly make a decision about it, I probably could have come up with something better.
Chapter 7 - Tyler
It was a normal Wednesday, sort of. This time around, I would be taking a trip to Las Vegas and would bring a fake girlfriend with me. In that respect it was different.
In other ways, it was ordinary. I would be travelling out of town for business reasons. Normal. I would have to make good impressions. Normal. I would have to try and land huge business deals. Very normal.
I didn’t get a lot of sleep, either. Sometimes when I have a lot of things that I want to accomplish, it eats away at my mind and I have problems dozing off. I’ve told my semi-useless doctor about it before, but there is still no solution at hand.
I thought about Maya – my fake girlfriend. I didn’t hate her, but I wasn’t emotionally attracted to her, either. I just think she’s polite and has a nice ass. I was in a tight spot, and knew that I needed a saving grace like her to come to my rescue.
I plopped down into my Mercedes S and closed the door stiffly. It was time for action – phase one. I would need to go and pick up Maya.
I started moving down the road and I thought about Vegas. In most cases, I’m not a big gambler – but I do have a fetish for Blackjack. It’s fun.
In my view, Blackjack is one of those games that is fairly easy to understand, and win at. If you’ve got a good hand – say seventeen or higher – don’t try to overdo it. Just hold and wait to see what the dealer has.
Mix it up, too. If you’ve lost four games in a row, start betting more money. A winning hand has to come eventually. There is no such thing as someone who loses one hundred percent of the time – not in Blackjack. Then after you’ve won a hand, cheap out your betting because a losing hand is probably coming.
We pulled into her place – which wasn’t very attractive. It was an apartment in a complex that was plain and ordinary. The parking lot had a lot of old and battered cars. It wasn’t poverty-stricken, but it was arguably middle-lower class.
I opened my door and looked right in front of me. She was standing in the distance beside a maple tree, and looked like shit. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. She looked like a person who had just got done exercising.
She had on baggy sweatpants, sneakers, and a sweatshirt. Maybe she was just trying to dress to make herself comfortable for the flight. Or, maybe this is what she looked like when she wasn’t at work. Was she a slob?
The more I thought about it, the less angry I got. What did the board of directors want to see? They wanted to see a real relationship. Real relationships sometimes have sloppiness and flaws. That’s what she had. She looked a little sloppy and unclean.
She looked exactly like what the board wanted to see. In fact, I think I nailed it and found the perfect woman. It was at least worth a try. If it didn’t work, I could then go to bed at night without having any regrets about not trying to possibly save my job.
I don’t think she saw me, because I waved over at her and hollered. “Hey! Maya! Over here!”
She turned her head just a little bit and spotted me. She started walking over to the car without saying anything back. She found me, but I wasn’t sure about how she was perceiving me.
She didn’t wave back at me, nor did she smile. She didn’t verbalize anything, either. She looked a bit sloppy and didn’t look very excited, enthusiastic, or even happy. Doubts started to fester in my mind. Did I make a mistake by picking her? Would she make my life miserable the whole time?
When she finally got up close to me, I greeted her and opened the trunk for her to toss her bags in.
I looked at Maya who was standing there with crossed arms. Sometimes, the human body can talk. Hers was saying: “I’m here just because you’re forcing me. I really don’t want to be here. Let’s just get this over with.”
I can’t really explain it, but I find her to be fascinating. She just seems to have the right amount of spunk, bitchiness, assertiveness, and shyness to her. She’s got a good blend. I’ll explain what I mean.
She was bitchy enough to keep a man on his toes, but not totally get turned off.
She was assertive, too. When I told her that I would give her company the contract under one condition, she waved me away because she thought I wanted sex with her. Many women are so easy, that they give me sex just because I ask. That wasn’t her. She is a challenge and I would have to work for it.
She was a little shy, too. When Franca gave the presentation, Maya stayed quiet and tucked herself to the side. Then when I approached and talked to her, I saw her lower lip trembling about. She didn’t always make eye contact, and doesn’t seem like the type of person who would initiate important things.
“Are you ready to roll?” I said to her with vigor and held my breath as I waited for her to answer me.
“Roll? I’m ready” she said goofily. Right after she said that, she tightly shut her eyes and very slightly rotated her head from left to right. I think she was stating: “that was a stupid comment, Maya.”
I looked over at her small packing bag, and that was a mess, too. Nothing was neatly folded. It looked like she took it out of a washing machine, rolled it into a ball, and crammed everything into a bag. For good measure, it looked like she threw it from an overpass onto the expressway, where it was run over a few hundred times from semi trucks. I decided not to say anything. If we’re going to pull this off, I suppose it is better if we get along.
Not only was her bag sloppily thrown together, but it was missing a few things – a few formal things. I made an oversight when I didn’t specifically explain to her what she needed to wear. No matter, because I knew I could fix it. “We need to get you some clothes.”
She turned her cute little bushy head and looked at me. She scrunched her eyebrows closer together. “What do you mean? I’ve already packed quite a bit of clothes.”
“Do you have any cocktail dresses or an evening dress?” I said to her as I looked over and listened carefully. It was an important matter.
“What is the difference between a cocktail dress, and an evening dress?” she asked in a manner that sounded serious, and not sarcastic. Maybe she grew up as a country girl or something. She really didn’t know the difference between the two.
I held my breath – and a little laughter because I thought it was funny. Many women tend to be prissy and proper. They would know the difference between a cocktail dress and an evening dress. Even if they didn
’t, most would never admit it. I liked her honesty, too. “I’ll explain more later. No worries though. I’ll get you hooked up with someone who I know is a good personal shopper.”
When we got over to the airport, I tried to take her bag, but she wouldn’t let me. She was more interested in being independent. Many women I know would want a man to pamper and spoil them. They would demand money, want someone to help them with bags. They would be snobby and rude, and stick their noses in the air and walk past anyone they didn’t approve of.
Maya isn’t like that. She pulled her bag all the way to my private jet. It was a big bag, and she didn’t struggle with it, either. She must have some muscle that can get things done. I jokingly wondered what it would be like if I arm-wrestled her.
I started climbing up the collapsible staircase so we could board the plane. When we got about four steps up, she screamed and slipped as she fell right back onto me. I caught her, so I breathed a sigh of relief.
I started quickly realizing that she was a clumsy girl. I hadn’t know her that long, but she had already fallen on me twice. Maybe she was doing that on purpose? I quickly ruled out that thought. She was more direct and frank. If she wanted to be in my arms, she probably would have just said something. “Well, this is a fun return to this position for us, isn’t it? You’re doing a great job with the rehearsal to pose as my girlfriend.”
I didn’t say anything to her, but I think it was hot how she fell into my arms like that. Other than making a wisecrack, I kept most of my feelings to myself. I could already tell that she wasn’t the type of person who would go for a threesome. Besides, I already had promised her that our business arrangement would be sex free. In a way, I wish that I hadn’t promised her that. Alas, because I did.
Chapter 8 - Maya
I grimly went to speak to Franca because I needed to ask for time off. She normally wouldn’t be so harsh about giving time off, but this time around might be different. Not only would she be temporarily losing me, she had already temporarily lost Alessandra.
That meant that from a staffing standpoint, she might find herself cut down to the minimum for at least a week or so, possibly even longer. When that is tied in with the fact that a possibly huge deal was pending, it was nerve-wracking.
I stood right behind the door to her office. I knew that she was in there. She didn’t say anything to me, but I saw her rush in when she was carrying a burrito. That was often her lunch. It was usually something filling that was quick to heat – a burrito, slice of pizza, or TV dinner. That’s how she sustained herself.
I lifted my hand right up to her door and let out a deep exhale. I knocked three times, and heard her in the office. “Hello?”
Now, this was a tricky game to play. Try to imagine this. I had to leave town to go on a business trip with a guy who was mostly a stranger. My company wouldn’t get the huge contract unless I did that. I had to pull that off, when one of three of our employees was seriously hurt.
There’s more to the picture, though. I had to do it in a manner where my boss and Alessandra would not come to the conclusion that I was sleeping with him. I’m willing to be flexible and work, but I’m not willing to be denoted as a slut.
In fact, it was probably better that they didn’t even know where I was going or what I was doing. So, here’s the recap: I would ask for time off, for a confidential reason, to go to a secret place, for a matter that I can’t discuss – while my boss was already short one third of her staff. Needless to say, that’s a hard sale.
And this so-called ‘sale’ would come from a lady who is shy and has never professionally sold anything before. There is a big difference between being the assistant to a company that sells, and being the actual person that sells. An assistant is a supporter who helps. A seller is an initiator who charges and leads.
I slowly and delicately opened the door. I presented myself by smiling as I looked over at her.
Her desk was a mess, and so was she. She is normally the type of woman who has a folder, which gets put into a binder, which gets put in the filing cabinet. She’s that organized and thorough. As psycho as it sounds, she even has her full day planned out – from lunch breaks, and even bathroom breaks. Everything has a schedule and a place.
She looked horrible and I took pity on her. She had large and bulged bags under her eyes. I could see the capillary veins sticking out, too. Her hair wasn’t brushed or combed into place – sort of like how someone looks when they get out of bed in the morning.
Her company shirt that she was wearing had huge wrinkles in it. At least it looked clean. I don’t think she had any makeup on. I can usually see her cheeks that have a blush, along with lightly colored cheeks. There was no eyeliner.
I always notice the eyes, too. They were bloodshot and tired. My poor boss had been through hell lately. It might not sound bad to lose just one employee, but with our company, that was one third of the workforce. That’s huge.
I gave a small wave to her by just flicking my palm at her. “Hey Franca. How are you holding out?”
She gave her eyes a long, and slow blink as she looked over at me. “Well, I’ve been better but I think I’ll survive. Alessandra has been having physical therapy and other treatments a lot, but she’ll come around eventually. In the meantime, we’ll just have to make do.”
I slowly and carefully nodded my head as I listened to her. If I was in her shoes, I would be a nervous wreck, too. It’s times like these when I take great comfort in the fact that I’m an assistant, and not the owner of such a business.
I remember a story Franca had told me about when she first started her business. She said that she didn’t have any employees, and could not afford them. She had a venture capital loan that needed to be paid. She needed sales, and pushed herself to near death to make them.
She told me about her first big contract with a company called Hess Hotels. It was a contract to decorate their six hotels in the area, and the deal was just over $50,000. She said that back then, it felt like a gold mine to her.
Needless to say, she had to work around the clock just to make it happen. She told me that at one point, she worked a thirty six hour shift just so she could make a deadline. “Thank God for coffee.” she would say with a laugh after retelling the story many years later.
Anyway, that wasn’t the primary focal point for me. We needed to talk about me going out of town. There’s an old saying that with some situations ‘less is more’. Basically, that means that the less information one gives, the better off they will be. “Can I talk to you about something?”
She pushed a binder aside and looked right over at me. Her tired eyes were focused – as horrible and tired as they looked. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you’re quitting, or pregnant, then sure. Otherwise, I’ll take a rain check” she said with a quipping laugh.
I snickered a few times and laid that concern to rest. “No, no. I don’t have anything like that. I needed to talk to you about a business trip that I need to take. It’s very important.”
She leaned back in her chair and hummed pointedly. “A business trip? I wasn’t aware of any business trip. What exactly are you doing?”
So, the questions would be asked and the details would be demanded. Great. So, I did just one thing – I lied. I lied my ass off because I really needed to leave town, and I couldn’t tell her why. I would have looked like a true idiot if I told her that I had to leave town to go to Las Vegas and pretend to be someone’s girlfriend. “I need to go to Vegas because my brother owns a restaurant and was asking about décor” I said as I dishonestly put forward the fake agenda.
She rose her eyes and titled her head just a little bit. I think she bought it. I think so, but I’m not certain. “Well, that’s obviously not a bad thing. What restaurant chain does he run?”
Now I was in a pickle. I could give her a real restaurant chain, but if she did just a little homework, she would easily discover that I was lying. I had to concoct a story that was believable a
nd sensible. “He’s opened a couple of buffet places, and needs some wall décor” I said as I tried to change over the subject. “I told him that visiting him would be better than watching football, eh?”
I knew that would strike a nerve with her, because she hates football. She just doesn’t understand how the brutal sport could be so fun or interesting. “Well, you’ve got a good point there. So, when do you need to go?”
“Wednesday” I said. I was relieved that she was buying my story. She hates liars, though. I quietly hoped that she would never find out about what I really did.
She took a sip of her coffee and firmly clashed the coffee cup onto the table. I don’t think she was mad at me. As far as she could tell, I was doing the trip to make money. In actuality, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was just doing it…differently. “Okay, well, you better get packed and ready to go. I’m going to need more of this coffee – not because I’m angry, but because I need something to keep me fueled as I bust my butt. I guess that’s business – sometimes it is very tough.”
I had only spent one day on the trip thus far, but it was breathtaking and amazing. I was beginning to wonder if money really could buy happiness. I came to just one conclusion: even if money did not buy happiness, it sure went a long way toward relieving stress.
I’ll start by describing the plane we flew on. It was a private jet that was owned by him. We left when we wanted, and landed when we wanted – pending aviation regulations and approval of course. We made our own schedule, and that was just plain cool.
Then there was the comfort. It was so much better than economy class in a commercial plane. The seats were larger, leather, and much more spacious. I even had a little bit of reclining room.
A Fake: A Pretend Girlfriend Billionaire Romance Page 5