Free My Fake Fiancé by Lisa Scott Page A

single, right? Not having to shave every day is one of them.”
I went right for my stash of emergency chocolate in the cupboard by
the fridge, then settled for a cookie when I realized the chocolate
was long gone. I looked for the shopping list stuck on the fridge
so I could add chocolate. But chocolate was already on the list. I
grabbed the last cookie and then jotted cookies on the list.
    Micki snorted. “I guess unlimited sympathy
sweets is a perk of being single too?”
    I ignored her. Micki could eat anything and
stay a size four. “I have to bring a fabulous date and slightly
tweak the truth about my life.” I made a teeny-tiny gesture with my
fingers. “Oh, and new highlights. Botox? Should I try botox?” I
paced around the kitchen wondering if there was any way to make
Carrie LaMont squirm.
    “You could just go and wish her well.”
    I gave Micki a dirty look. “Of course I can’t
do that. Liam Streeter was all set to ask me to prom and she stole
him away once she found out I was interested. Then she dumped him a
week later. He was really into me until she came along. I could be
married with two kids if it weren’t for her.”
    “Okay. She sucks. Tell you what—I’ll help you
find the perfect date. Come to the bar Friday and we’ll find the
hottest guy, create a drool-worthy history for him, and pay him big
bucks to go with you.”
    “Micki!”
    “What, you think you’re going to find a Brad
Pitt look-a-like CEO in three weeks? For free?”
    “Three weeks?” I looked at the invitation. “I
must’ve been on the second-tier list of invites.”
    Micki wrinkled her nose. “More like third
tier, I’d say.”
    I groaned. “Wouldn’t you think I’d be first
tier so she could be certain I was there to humiliate?”
    “Maybe she forgot about you until the third
round.”
    I gritted my teeth. “A Brad Pitt look alike
CEO who’s foreign,” I said, upping the ante after such a slight.
“Who builds orphanages in Africa.”
    Micki pointed at me. “Let’s make him the guy
who dumped Angelina Jolie before she hooked up with Brad Pitt. She
used poor Brad to fill the void of your mystery man.”
    We clinked coffee mugs. “I like it.”
     
    ***
     
    Easier said than done, as it turns out. By
midnight Friday night, we’d found a guy with a lovely accent from
Ireland—who was going back to the motherland in a week. The only
guy who looked remotely like Brad Pitt—if you tilted your head and
squinted—was too drunk to stand up. He certainly couldn’t be
trusted to play along nicely at a wedding that was sure to have
open bar all night long. One guy who seemed like a good prospect
wanted seven hundred bucks to play the part. Would a night out with
me be that horrible?
    “This was a dumb idea,” I said, slumped over
the bar, nursing the remnants of my white Russian.
    Micki wiped down the bar top. “Now don’t give
up. You can always come back tomorrow night.”
    I was about to call it a night when the wait
staff from the banquet hall attached to the bar spilled out; some
retirement party having ended at midnight.
    Micki’s eyes widened and she whistled softly.
“Hold the phone. Looks like we’ve got a new waiter who might fit
the bill.”
    I followed her gaze and sucked in a breath.
He wasn’t a Brad Pitt look-a-like, but who cared. A Matthew
McConaughey look-a-like would suffice. “Introduce me,” I whispered
to Micki.
    “I don’t know him,” she whispered back. “But
we can change that.” She caught his eye and waved him over.
    He looked behind him like he wasn’t sure she
meant him, and with that, I was sold. Not that I was looking for a
relationship with a guy I was going to hire. Just that someone so
hot also being so humble was a great quality.
    “Hey, I haven’t seen you here before. I’m
Micki Keegan.”
    “I’m Justin Banks. Just started this week.”
They shook hands across the bar.
    “This is my friend, Samantha Cooper. Talk
amongst yourselves while I get you a drink.