The Fake Date Agreement (Awkward Arrangements Book 1)

by Tanya Gallagher

  I’d raised my hands in self-defense. “Do what?”

  Eden fixed me with a bullshit-cutting gaze. “Give Greer a chance to make her own impressions in the company before you become too much of an influence, okay?”

  I pretended not to know what Eden was talking about, but I backed off a little. By the time Greer got up and running, too much time had passed, and we’d fallen into the swing of things. Despite how much we seem to like each other as humans, after a few months with neither of us making a move, I figured it was time to stop holding my breath.

  I still think Greer’s hot. But her friendship’s too important to lose, so there’s no way I’m going to tell her that.

  “Never mind,” I say. I wave my hand in her direction. “Anyway, you’re too good for him.”

  She smiles weakly. “Thanks.”

  It’s not just blowing smoke, though. Greer’s not as tall as other girls, and she wears these dorky-cute glasses that hide just how pretty her eyes are. But she quotes fiction like the characters are her friends, is fiercely loyal to the people she cares about, and she’s really fucking smart. And funny. There’s something effervescent about her—like life’s a game that she can’t lose, and she’ll buoy you up along with her.

  I get why Damien wanted her.

  I just don’t like it.

  Eden strides past us on her way to her desk at the back of the room, and Greer and I both fall silent. I take a sip of my coffee and watch out of the corner of my eye as Greer turns back to her computer and frowns.

  “You okay?” I venture.

  She sighs. “What if he thinks I’m redundant?” she whispers to me.

  I lean forward and set down my mug. “Nope. No. You’re the backbone of the entire AI project. Without you, there would be no Wanda.”

  “But”—her chin trembles—“he’s the one who broke up with me.”

  Asshole.

  My hands clench, and I try to smooth them on the surface of my desk so they don’t feel so much like fists. “That has nothing to do with the quality of your work. Anyway, who did what isn’t important.”

  Greer’s forehead furrows, and little spots of color rise on her cheeks. “It’s just so damn embarrassing. Like something about me wasn’t good enough. And now I have to be reminded of it every day.”

  “Hey,” I say firmly. “Don’t start that. Everything about you is good enough.”

  She looks down quickly and blushes. “Thank you,” she says.

  “It’ll all be okay.” I lean forward conspiratorially. “We’ll just ignore him.”

  She sighs and swings her gaze back to me. “I wish it were that easy. With this re-org, it looks like we’ll have to deal with him a lot more, and now there are all of these extra holiday work parties to go to. Alone.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with going solo.”

  She gives a self-deprecating laugh. “I still have a little pride, Locke. It would be excellent to maintain a shred of dignity.”

  Something inside me empathizes with her, and the words fly out of my mouth before I consider what they might mean. “I’ll help.”

  Greer raises an eyebrow, and the first hint of a smile dances on her lips. “How exactly are you going to do that?”

  I shrug at her. “I’ll go as your plus one, or whatever. To the parties.” At this point, Eden can’t claim I’m getting in Greer’s way, and anyway, Greer’s smart enough to make her own decisions. “What do we have? A Secret Santa office party and then some fancy thing, right? No big deal.”

  Greer just blinks at me for a minute with pink cheeks and an unreadable expression.

  Oh god. Did I ruin it?

  “It’ll be an even trade,” I hurry to add. “You can come to a few of my family things. My mom throws a big holiday party, and I can’t go another year with my grandma asking me why I’ll still single.”

  Actually, the more I say it, the more I realize it’s true. Holidays are their own form of torture for me, especially in the five years since my dad passed away. My grandparents, my parents, and my sister have all had these perfect relationships, and since I never have, I feel like every year I show up solo is another year I disappoint them. If I bring a date, though, maybe I can slip through this season unscathed.

  The spell breaks, and Greer tilts her head. Her eyes flash with amusement. “Why are you still single?”

  Loaded question.

  I don’t talk about my love life much with Greer because it feels too much like acknowledging that I’m not with her. But I’ve danced around the topic enough that she knows that single and celibate aren’t the same things for me. I’m great at going on dates. I’m not so great at dating a single person. So while I’m able to satisfy my more base desires, I don’t exactly have someone I can bring home to grandma.

  My voice comes out kind of strangled. “Just haven’t convinced the right girl to fall for me yet.”

  Greer snorts and blows her bangs off her forehead. “You sure this isn’t just a pity invite?”

  “Oh no. My family’s vicious.” I smile so she knows I’m teasing.

  “I’ll think about it,” she hedges.

  I tap the surface of my desk. “So that’s a yes.”

  “That’s a maybe, Locke. I need a minute to contemplate my impending spinsterhood.” Her lower lip pouts out in a way that makes me think a little too much about what else her lips might do.

  I drag my glance back up to her eyes before I get carried away. “Spinsterhoodlessness.”

  Greer laughs, and my chest feels warm. “That’s not a word.”

  “I just said it, therefore it’s a word.”

  She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she turns back to her computer.

  Mission accomplished.

  I lean back in my chair and don’t even try to hide my grin. “I’ll text you the date. Grandma’s going to love you.”

  3

  Greer

  I drop into my office chair on Wednesday on time and bolstered with more caffeine than normal to help me face the day.

  “Happy Hump Day, bitches.”

  Working on Wanda’s dialogue means part of my job is looking through all the things that people say to the bot, which means looking at lots of the scum of the internet. I’m often a little more loosey-goosey in my language than people in other departments get to be, but hey—my entire job is not safe for work, so it comes with the territory.

  It also makes my job really freaking fun.

  Locke smirks at me. “Someone’s feeling feisty for today’s meet and greet with the new boss.”

  Yesterday, the unfortunate news came in that any employees in a department affected by the re-org would be required to have one-on-one meetings with their new managers. Meaning I’ll have to face Damien for the first time since Birthday Breakupgate. At least my pity pimple has calmed down.

  I raise my coffee mug to my lips in defiance. “Someone’s determined not to let her less-than-favorable schedule bring her down.” I take a swig of coffee, then lean forward and lower my voice. “You know, you should be running the writing team. You’ve been with the company longer than Damien, and you know way more about what the writers actually do.”

  A frown flashes over Locke’s face, but then he smooths it away and shrugs. “I’d love to help shape the direction of the writing team, but there are lots of ways to do that. And there wasn’t actually an open position here. We just got shifted around.”

  “No.” I shake my head. Locke is talented and good at his job, and he cares about the customer experience more than almost anyone I know. “That sounds like a cop-out.”

  He lifts an eyebrow at the challenge in my voice. “It does?”

  I blush under his scrutiny. “Curt’s been behind you ever since you asked him for the job you have now. I bet if you really wanted a management job, he’d at least listen to your position.”

  Locke nods in consideration, but my computer calendar sends me a meeting reminder before he can respond.

  Crap.


  I stand up and smooth my hand over my pencil skirt. “Discussion to be continued. I’ve gotta go.”

  Locke keeps his eyes carefully trained on my face. “Good luck.”

  I’ll need it.

  Damien’s office sits on the second floor of the building, an area untouched by Curt’s open-space initiative. His door looks like every other door lining the long hallway, with blond wood and a small silver plaque bearing his name and the room number, but nerves gather in my stomach and my palms sweat as I knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Damien calls from inside.

  I smooth on a fake smile and push open the door.

  Inside, Damien sits behind his desk, his handsome face turned toward me, impassive.

  “Greer.”

  Breathe.

  I hadn’t fully prepared myself for seeing him, and my head fills with a complicated mess of emotions—discomfort and embarrassment and regret.

  He still looks good. I know what he feels like under that button-down shirt. I know what he kisses like, alone at night.

  I take a seat and try to remind myself that he’s just a blueberry muffin. Tasty and fun, but you can get the same thing on every corner. He might have seemed like a good idea at the time, but afterward, all I felt was empty and unsatisfied. And still hungry.

  Damien speaks first. “I wanted to start by saying that whatever happened between us shouldn’t have an effect on our relationship going forward.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He drones on for another minute, and I bring my gaze to the shelves behind his head so I look like I’m looking at him while I’m actually spying. Books on design principles and user interfaces line the simple, white shelves, and a spider plant in a cracked green pot sends out baby plants in a futile attempt at continued existence.

  Go! Live!

  “Can I have your assurance that we can keep this professional?” Damien asks.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I’ve missed something important in his monologue. I bring my gaze to his blue eyes, challenging myself not to look away.

  “Greer.” His tone is placating and exasperated, like he’s explaining something to a child. “No matter what feelings might still linger—”

  “Excuse me?” The only feelings that linger are of my own stupidity.

  “—I can’t have you distracting me from what needs to be accomplished here.”

  Correction. There are no more lingering feelings of my own stupidity. Just a growing sense of anger and astonishment.

  He thinks I still want him.

  Good lord.

  I should have known better than to underestimate the ego of a man whose face appears on a third of the busses in the Seattle public transit system.

  “What are you trying to say?” I whisper.

  He sighs. “There’s just a difference in what we’re doing here, Greer. A difference in scale. In impact. And I can’t have you undercut my impact by getting too emotional.”

  Damien’s voice sounds exactly like the voice in my head that jeers, You’re not meant to be here, and I feel rooted to my chair, paralyzed.

  I force myself out of my seat with trembling limbs, then drop my hands onto my hips, trying to make myself portray the kind of confidence I don’t feel. Damien’s eyes follow the curves highlighted by my skirt, and a frown tugs my lips.

  I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “Let’s revisit this conversation when you’re ready to discuss the caliber of work I bring to this company instead of our past relationship.”

  He pauses as if momentarily stunned.

  Shit.

  I’m the kind of emotional that’s exactly proving his point, and at the end of the day, he’s still the one writing my paychecks.

  My face heats, but there’s no going back. “I’ll be more than happy to discuss the bot project and how it’s surpassing its objectives. If you have specific questions, feel free to reach out.”

  He closes his mouth and nods. “Very good then.”

  “Thank you.” I spin on my heel and stride out the door, and I don’t let my body shake with frustration until I’m already down the hall. The holiday season looms before me, filled with playacting happy in front of Damien. I don’t know how much I’m willing to take.

  Molly waves a tortilla chip in my direction and smiles. “You should do it.”

  “Do what?” I swallow a mouthful of my Nauti Gal cocktail too fast at that one.

  Over her shoulder, the Octopus Bar bustles with its happy hour crowd, the not-quite-drunk patrons milling about the nautical decor while the pink lights of the bar cast a rosy glow on everyone’s faces. A strand of holiday string lights weaves between the bottles displayed on the back wall behind the bar, an extra nod to the festive season.

  Molly and I have a standing Wednesday happy hour date at Octopus, where you can get fancy drinks at low prices along with killer nachos, but I’m too busy eying Molly’s satisfied smile to pay much attention to the food in front of me.

  “You should let Locke be your date to your work parties.” She shoves the food in her face with a wink.

  That’s what I get for mentioning his proposal to her after my debrief about Damien’s self-centered assumptions. I should have stopped after my first vodka, seltzer, and blackberry-syrup cocktail to keep from spilling all the details about Locke’s solution, but hey, it was a tough day.

  I frown at Molly and set my glass on the bar. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “He’s offering you a chance to partner up and have some fun. Why not get a little enjoyment out of the situation?” She shrugs at me. “You’ve crushed on him since practically day one.”

  My feelings for Locke are exactly the problem. I’m worried if I agree to his plan, I’m going to like it too much. I’m going to want things I’m not allowed to have.

  I shake my head. “There’s a reason I haven’t acted on how I feel.”

  There are a million reasons, actually. Protecting my heart is one of them.

  Molly reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Because you’re scared.”

  “I, well—” Damn. “Of course I’m scared,” I sputter back. The thing is, I’m not alone in crushing on Locke. Every woman in the office between ages eighteen and sixty has probably ogled him at one time or another. Between his big heart and soulful eyes, he’s a freaking catch. It’s just that Locke seems to know it too. I’ve caught enough glimpses at his personal calendar to know how date nights and happy hours fill his weekends. And I can’t be another woman in the rotation. If something ever happened to our friendship, my heart couldn’t handle losing him.

  “We have a good thing going,” I explain to Molly. “And I see him every day. Why would I want to ruin it?”

  She frowns at me. “First of all, not every relationship you have is doomed to fail.”

  “Need I remind you that my current ex is now my boss?” I sigh, and my voice comes out a little shaky. “I feel like I lucked into almost everything in my life. My job”—I throw a smile her way—“my kick-ass roommate. What if relationships are the one place I’m not as lucky?”

  Molly frowns at me. “No, don’t do that, Greer.”

  “Do what?”

  “Believe that you don’t deserve every happiness. You absolutely do.” She waves another tortilla chip at me. “Did you ever consider that Locke feels the same way about you?”

  I shut my mouth. Wishing for it to be true and having it be true aren’t the same thing. I know better than to get my hopes up.

  “Another drink, ladies?” Brad, the bartender, interrupts, giving me a second to collect my thoughts.

  I place a hand over my glass and shake my head. “I’m going to call it,” I say with a smile. The more I drink, the more Locke’s proposal seems like a good idea.

  When Brad spins back to the other patrons, I turn to Molly. “This isn’t even real. It’s just two friends helping each other out.”

  She nods sagely. “All the more reason to do it.”

&
nbsp; “Or it could be a fast track to misunderstandings and a ruined friendship.”

  Molly sighs and squeezes my hand. “You are one amazing woman, Greer Lively. This will be a safe way to show Locke just what he’s missing.”

  When she puts it like that, it almost makes sense.

  4

  Locke

  Damien Price leans on the podium at the front of WanderWell’s largest meeting room, his all-American hair swept back from his face as he rallies the crowd for our all-hands kickoff meeting. After the last fifty minutes of describing the company Kool-Aide, he’s now vigorously petitioning the design team to drink it with him.

  “The integration of the writing team into Design is a step toward creating products that are inherently stronger, meaning less reliance on our customer support center and help articles. The goal is to drive a reduced support cost and increase customer satisfaction within the product.”

  “See?” I nudge Greer’s side, breathing in the smell of her perfume. “It’s actually a really good move for us. They’re elevating our importance.”

  She nods, but she looks even more pale than when we entered the room.

  “Starting immediately, my ask is for the designers and engineers to pull your partner writers in earlier in the product planning process. This goes for Wanda and services alike.”

  Damien cuts a glance in our direction, and something in his cool gaze makes me bristle. Greer’s assessment yesterday wasn’t wrong—for the amount of time I’ve put in at WanderWell, I’d love to be considered for a management role. Not only would it help solidify my impact at the company, it would also give me a chance to travel more since managers represent the company at conferences around the world. The five years I’ve been at WanderWell have been the longest I’ve stayed at one place in my career, and a little fresh air would do me good.

  My slight bitterness about the manager role makes me want to compare everything Damien does to the way I would do it if I were in his shoes. I can’t help disliking him just a little, but it’s also possible I feel that way because of his past with Greer.