“Offer’s good until Friday. Then you’re on your own,” I mimicked under my breath, easing my SUV out of the Starbucks drive-through. “Asshole.”
Doing a quick shoulder check, I pulled onto the main road that led to the flagship location of Lace & Grace, on the south side of town. With our third store due to open in four months, I needed to find a more efficient way to track orders and inventory. We also planned to float employees between the three stores, which required tweaks to our payroll system. Between the two tasks, I had a full day of work ahead of me.
Unfortunately, not even the fresh black coffee sitting in my cupholder could take the edge off my sour mood.
My mind was reeling, full of a thousand conflicting thoughts per minute. A fake relationship? Really, what was Bennett thinking? No one would believe a womanizer like him would settle down. The guy had more skeletons in his closet than a graveyard. I’d never known someone less suited for a second date, let alone a serious relationship. And I certainly wasn’t the only one who shared that opinion.
Even more ludicrous would be trying to sell the idea that I would get involved with Bennett. I mean, please. I was picky—and everyone knew it. He would never even have a shot.
Sure, most people got hung up on his superficial appeal, like his broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, and earth-stopping-smile. The packaging was pretty. But there were flaws beneath his shiny exterior that ran right down to the foundation. Bennett was a master manipulator; he could make you feel like you were the only one in a crowded room, but if you crossed him, he could make you feel like you didn’t even exist. Or in my case, sometimes he did that even if you didn’t cross him and he just deemed you unworthy of his time.
Moreover, I wasn’t stupid, which was what you’d have to be to believe someone like Bennett could be monogamous, even just for show.
But if everyone else believed it, it would solve my self-inflicted problem.
When I pulled into the parking lot in front of Lace & Grace ten minutes later, Quinn’s silver BMW coupe was conspicuously absent. My grip on the tan leather-clad steering wheel tightened, a flicker of irritation sparking in my belly. She was supposed to be here, preparing to open in ten minutes. If I hadn’t come in and a customer had shown up, we would have lost a sale. Hell, if a customer showed up now, we still might lose a sale. There was a reason my role was relegated to the back office: I couldn’t close to save my life. If anything, I tended to inadvertently talk people out of purchases.
Why was it so difficult for everyone else to be on time? Exasperating. I should buy them all watches for Christmas.
My phone lit up from the charging station in the center console. Dread surged as I reached for it, praying it wasn’t Bennett again. Then I regretted thinking that, because what I found was worse.
Mom: Will your boyfriend be joining us for Sunday dinner this weekend?
Thayer: Let me just make sure he’s free.
Mom: Please let me know so Henrietta can plan accordingly. Or we can reschedule for a day when he’s available.
Thayer: I’ll let you know.
I shook my head, sliding the phone into my bag and climbing out of my car. Sadly, I couldn’t even begin to think of a solution that didn’t involve Bennett.
Speed walking up to the storefront, I jabbed my keys into the lock and shoved the glass door open with my hip, flipping on the LED track lights. My mood softened as I drank in the sight of the blond hardwood floors, clean white walls, and recently changed-up displays. Our fall inventory had arrived, and the racks were full of satin-trimmed robes, cozy waffle-knit sets, and lace negligees. The entire retail floor was bedecked in rich, inviting hues like burgundy, forest green, and a gorgeous shade of navy.
Though Quinn’s work ethic left much to be desired, she had a brilliant eye. Specifically, she had a knack for predicting trends and a gift for arranging merchandise. Most of our new items would sell out within a week.
Leaving the front unattended wasn’t an option, so I stashed my wool coat and handbag in the back office, praying we didn’t have any customers until Quinn arrived. Then I perched at the front desk with my laptop and began to pore over my spreadsheet. I couldn’t balance the tax deduction figures for this quarter to save my life and I wasn’t sure if it was the program or my brain that was glitching.
Usually, I enjoyed math and took comfort in the black-and-white aspect of it. Either it was right or wrong, and if it was wrong, then you simply had to find out why and fix it. The solution was eluding me today—a perfect metaphor for my life.
At a quarter past ten, just as I’d started to make progress untangling the web of numbers, Quinn bustled through the door in a blur of balayage and pink. I glanced up, debating whether to call her out for being late. But adding a fight with her to my list of problems didn’t seem like a wise decision. Quinn didn’t accept criticism well, no matter how legitimate, and she held grudges like our mother. That was how I’d gotten sucked into still working here four years later, while my MBA applications gathered dust.
“Did the new shipment of corsets come in?” Quinn adjusted her dusty rose shift dress and smoothed her hair, which was flat-ironed bolt straight.
Unlike Lola, whose time management skills were genuinely lacking, Quinn was usually punctual. But while I didn’t mind working mornings, she secretly—or not-so-secretly—resented it. This, combined with her immaculate hair and makeup, made the timing of her arrival seem intentional. Quinn’s interest in our company took a sharp nosedive the moment she got engaged.
Unfortunately for my sister, she would be working the morning shift for a while because our lead sales associate recently quit, leaving us short-staffed, and I was an abysmal salesperson.
“I think so,” I said. “There are a few boxes in the storage room, but I didn’t open them yet.”
“Great. I’ll go check.” Instead of heading to the back, Quinn lingered by the rack of white terrycloth spa robes. She tilted her head, studying me—trying to use her twin telepathy powers to probe into my brain. But after over twenty years of practice, I was Fort Knox.
I kept my gaze fixed on the screen. “What?”
“Nothing.” Quinn shrugged, fighting a sly smile in my peripheral vision. “When Kaitlyn arrives after lunch, I’ll get her started unpacking the boxes and doing an inventory check.”
“Sounds good,” I muttered, saving and closing the program. I rebooted the computer before I unplugged it, moving into the back office. If only I could reboot myself.
BY THE END of the day, the spreadsheet was more of a mess than when I began. I was fairly certain I’d have to scrap everything I’d done and restore from an old version, starting over. An entire day’s worth of work down the drain. It didn’t help that I was starving. All I wanted was to hit the shawarma shop a few minutes away, order a Greek salad with pita the size of my head, and lose myself in my new book. But there was one minor problem: I was trapped, a hostage in the office.
Laughter floated from the front end of the store where a bride-to-be and her friends lingered, chatting with Quinn and squealing over boring wedding-related things. Objectively, this was a good thing—we made some of our biggest sales with brides and bridal parties—but I didn’t want to get roped into a conversation about wedding night ‘attire’ with my sister. Way TMI, considering it involved my ex-boyfriend.
Sighing, I re-opened the original file and started over, but I couldn’t focus and all the numbers turned to a blur. It was like being a contestant on some twisted TV game show: Wheel of Misfortune. All of my options were horrific.
Door Number 1: A pact with the player. Enough said.
Door Number 2: Pretend I broke up with my imaginary boyfriend and pray no one else finds out the truth.
Door Number 3: Come clean about my little white lie.
Scratch that. The third option wasn’t even remotely an option. Even I knew that. That left the first two: fake it or break it.
People didn’t actually fake relationships…did they?
It didn’t fit with the picture of myself in my head—it wasn’t something an upstanding, principled person would do. I’d always prided myself on having a strong moral compass and for doing the right thing even when it was difficult, which made the lie I told even more bothersome. If I went along with Bennett’s charade, I had to face myself in the mirror every day knowing that.
But it might be better than getting caught and having to face everyone else.
When I finally heard the door chime, followed by a lingering silence that confirmed our customers had left, I grabbed my laptop and my purse and headed for the front. Quinn stood by the retail display near the window, frowning at the wall with one hand on her hip. She’d taken the satin camisole and short sets from the bottom rack and put them at the top, replacing them with the new jewel-toned fuzzy robes that arrived last week.
I thought it looked appealing enough, but she could spend all day rearranging the merchandise displays. And she probably would. Possibly—I often thought—to get out of doing other tasks, like paperwork. Somehow, all the boring responsibilities got delegated to me because I was ‘better with details.’ Convenient.
“Hey,” I said, giving her a little wave. “I’m going to head out for the night.”
Quinn turned to face me, brow furrowed. “Wait. Do you think that bra display looks okay?” She pointed to the merchandise stand in the middle of the room, covered with lacy black and nude bras. Each was arranged in a neat row, with a circle of matching thongs and bikinis on the lower shelf.
Generally speaking, it was hit-or-miss as to whether I liked the things she brought in. While we may have looked alike, our tastes were polar opposites. Quinn favored bright colors, and I lived exclusively in monochromatic neutrals. The high-heeled pink pompom slippers from last month weren’t my style, though to her credit, they’d flown off the shelves almost immediately. But these lace sets were delicate and understated; sexy but classy. The kind of thing you’d wear under your clothes like a secret for yourself.
“It looks great,” I said. “I’ll probably cave and grab a set later.”
Being able to obtain pretty little things at cost had turned out to be dangerous for my shopping budget. Since starting our business four years ago, my lingerie collection had grown extensively, though I wasn’t sure why I continued to acquire fancy items no one else would see.
Her eyes danced. “For your new boyfriend?”
Oh God. Let’s not go there right now. Or ever.
“Exactly.” I shifted my weight. “Anyway, I should get going. This spreadsheet is a real mess. I mean, it’s a disaster. There are ones where there should be zeroes, and—.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to grab some dinner together?” She stepped away from the rack, coming to stand beside me. “If we wait until Kaitlyn gets back from her break, I can go with you. I was hoping we could catch up a little.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
“Uh…” I tried to come with an excuse on the spot. Normally, I’d have said yes, but right now I couldn’t risk slipping up with Quinn like I had with Bennett. “Yeah, I’d like to. But our accountant is going to have my head if I don’t straighten these numbers out for our quarterly report.” In fact, I was ahead of schedule on delivering this, but Quinn didn’t need to know that.
Quinn narrowed her eyes. She hated anything to do with numbers or money, so as long as I handled them, she wasn’t inclined to argue with me.
“Fine,” she said. “Come over for wine night later.”
I fished around in my purse for my keys, hitting the remote start button. My phone buzzed against my fingers, and I slid it out, revealing another text from my mother. Great. Exactly what I needed right now.
Locking my phone without reading the message, I glanced back up at Quinn. “Oh. Uh, maybe.”
“Adam is working late again. We can watch The Bachelor,” she added.
I suppressed a shudder. I never understood what she saw in those cheesy dating shows. Thirty women throwing themselves at some guy they wouldn’t look at twice if they saw him in a Walmart? Hard pass.
And Adam sure seemed to work late a lot.
“We’ll see,” I said. “I’m supposed to talk to Dad later, but I’ll text you if it’s not too late after I’m done.”
When Quinn and I were three, our father moved overseas to accept a high-level position with an international bank. I didn’t see him much outside of major holidays, when I usually went to see him, but we had weekly video chats and always had a game of Scrabble going remotely. Somehow, the idea of lying to him bothered me more than my mother.
The store’s entry bell chimed, interrupting us. A brown-clad delivery courier poked his head inside. “Good afternoon. I have a delivery for Thayer? Thayer Montgomery?”
Quinn shot me an inquisitive look, but I was as lost as she was. I hadn’t ordered anything to the store and wasn’t expecting any deliveries. If anything, I’d been trying to curb my shopping habit.
I walked over to meet him at the front. “That’s me.”
“Sign here, please.” The courier handed me an electronic tablet and pen, heading back outside to retrieve the item from his white delivery truck. A moment later, he returned with a pale lilac cone-shaped parcel and handed it to me, retrieving the tablet. “Have a nice day, miss.”
“Thanks. You too.” I cradled the paper package in my arm, gently lifting up the piece of tape securing the top. Inside were a dozen flawless, long-stemmed, deep purple calla lilies.
Generally, I wasn’t a big fan of flowers; they only lasted a couple of days, which seemed pointless, and most bouquets verged on tacky. This was anything but tacky, however. It was the most stunning bouquet I’d ever seen.
“Ooh.” Quinn sashayed over, studying the parcel in my hands. “Is that from lover boy? Can I see?”
“Um, it’s—” I faltered, cheeks heating. “It’s kind of private.”
“Too late!” She plucked the small envelope from its clear plastic holder and darted away behind the counter. My heart hit full throttle while I waited, wondering what the card might say. If it mentioned the words, ‘fake’ or ‘deal’, I was sunk like the Titanic.
Quinn slid out the card and read aloud, “Can’t stop thinking about you. -xx.” She held the card to her chest, pretending to swoon. “Thay! That is so sweet.”
“It’s something, all right.”
I was going to kill Bennett. Then I was going to resurrect him and kill him again. He did this to trap me. So other people would see the flowers and think my boyfriend was still in the picture—not just still in the picture, that things were going well. To make it that much harder for me to break things off with ‘him’ and get myself out of this predicament.
Judging by the look on my sister’s face, it was working, too.
“Mom is going to die when she sees these,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm.” I forced a smile. “I’m going to let him know I got them.” I set the paper package down on the counter, retrieving my cell from my handbag.
Quinn leaned over, taking a photo of the flowers with her phone. Millie would know about this within the next fifteen minutes, Quinn would loop in our mother shortly after that, and the entire town would hear by the end of the day.
Scrolling furiously, I found my conversation with Bennett and composed a new message.
Thayer: Flowers? Really?
Three little grey dots appeared, because Satan was nothing if not speedy in his replies.
Bennett: You’re welcome.
Thayer: I didn’t thank you.
Bennett: You should.
My unread message notification popped up again and I backed out of Bennett’s thread, navigating to my mother’s.
Mom: Does Sunday work for the two of you, or should we pick a different day?
I stared at the screen, unblinking. What if Bennett was right? Even if people did give our fauxlationship the side-eye, the alternative was even worse. One that surpassed being linked to Bennett: my falsehood being revealed. I could already see how that would play out. I would be the laughingstock of all my friends, my mother would practically disown me, and I’d never get a real date again.
Glancing down, I composed a quick reply to Bennett and hit send before I could think twice.
Thayer: Fine. I’m in. But I have conditions.
