Free My Fake Fiancé by Lisa Scott Page B

What’ll you have?”
    “A beer would be great. What can I get you,
Samantha?”
    Nice, he’s thoughtful to boot . “I’ll
have another white Russian.” With no time to waste, I got busy.
“So, you’re a waiter?”
    “It’s one of my many jobs. I’m a waiter, a
model, and an actor.” He shrugged.
    One eyebrow shot up. “An actor?” Was fate
finally playing along? “You’re an actor?”
    Untying his bow tie, he nodded. “Just bit
parts in commercials and industrial videos. Only because it pays
the bills. I’ve got bigger plans, but for now, I’m juggling a few
different things.”
    I tilted my head, examining him. “Ever do any
live acting?”
    “Like theater?”
    “Sort of.” I chewed on my lip, wondering
exactly how to pose the question, when Micki arrived with our
drinks.
    “Justin here is an actor,” I told her.
    She clapped. “Perfect. Did you ask him?”
    He gave me a wary smile. “Ask me what?”
    “Geez, Micki, I wasn’t going to jump right
in.”
    “The wedding’s two weeks away. There’s no
time to lose.”
    Justin took a long drink of his beer. “I’m
intrigued.”
    I sighed. “Fine. I’ll admit upfront this is
totally pathetic, but I need a date for a wedding in two
weeks.”
    “Not just a date. She needs a fiancé,” Micki
said.
    His eyebrows shot up.
    “A fake fiancé. Who’s a successful CEO with
an Australian accent.”
    He laughed and sat on the stool next to me.
“I’m none of those things.”
    “But you are an actor.”
    He sucked in a deep breath—and then another
slug of beer.
    “I’d be willing to pay you.”
    “Let me guess, your ex is getting married? An
old boyfriend is going to be there? I won’t get the shit pounded
out of me, will I?” I got a whiff of whatever aftershave he’d been
wearing. It was nice.
    I fiddled with the straw in my drink. “No, no
it’s not my ex.”
    “Then why would you need to show up with a
rich, successful fiancé?”
    “The bride was this mean girl in school…”
    He held up a hand. “Say no more. I have a
younger sister. I once paid a buddy to take her to some big
dance.”
    “Aww, really?” Something deep inside me
hummed.
    “Of course. She’s my sister and no one’s
going to tell her she can’t land a date. Even if she couldn’t.” He
clapped his hands together. “So, what do I have to do?”
    “You’re interested?” I hadn’t expected
this.
    He shrugged. “I need the cash.”
    ”For what?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “It’s not illegal is it? Or a gambling debt?”
Didn’t want my fake fiancé getting his knees broken at the
wedding.
    He laughed. “No.”
    “Okay.” I blew my bangs off my forehead. I
hadn’t really expected to find someone. It’d seemed like more of a
lark. “It’s not that hard. Just pretend to be the perfect man who’s
engaged to me.”
    His eyes twinkled and he leaned forward.
“What’s your perfect guy like?”
    I thought about it. My perfect guy was funny,
and was passionate about his work, even if it didn’t pay well. He
was smart, liked to read, didn’t like to party too much, liked cats
more than dogs, and appreciated high thread count sheets. Weird, I
know, but it’s the little things that count, and my perfect guy
enjoys the little things. Oh, and my perfect guy is nice to his
sister. But Justin had that covered. It’s very important to see how
a man treats the other women in his life. It’s a good indicator of
things to come for you.
    However, my perfect guy was very different
from the guy I needed to make Carrie jealous. “He needs to be rich,
successful, handsome, confident, and foreign would be awesome, can
you do an accent?”
    “Aye, love,” he said in a perfect Australian
accent.
    “Nice,” I cooed. “He has to be generous and
kind and totally smitten with me.”
    “I think we can make that all happen in two
weeks.” His grin was dazzling.
    My brain fogged over for a moment. “So,
what’ll that cost me?”
    “I’ll have to give up a night