Free Pretend It's Love by Stefanie London Page B

rolled her eyes.
    Paul let out a long, low whistle. “Fourth? At some point you just have to admit that something’s not working.”
    “I swear, each one gets worse than the last. It’s like he purposefully tries to find these vapid, gold-digging wenches without a brain in their head. This current one could be on one of those Real Housewives TV shows.”
    Paul cringed.
    “My mother wasn’t like that, but she has a new family now.” The sadness in her voice hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably bored to tears.”
    “Not even a little bit,” he said, motioning for her to continue.
    She picked at the hem of her dress, her brows burrowed into a deep frown. “Dad’s good at forcing people to do what he wants. It’s one of the reasons I want to make this business work. If I make my own money I can do what I like. I never really wanted to be a doctor.”
    “What did you want to be?”
    “You know, I have no idea. I poured so much energy into trying to please him I never thought about what I actually wanted. Then by the time I decided I wanted to do my own thing I had no idea which direction to take.”
    “It’s not too late, you’re still young.”
    “So are you,” she pointed out.
    He shrugged. “I’ll be fine so long as I can get the family off my back.”
    “They don’t seem that bad.”
    “It’s more the extended family. They’re old school, they think anyone who doesn’t have a degree or some form of qualification is going to be a loser their whole life.” He leaned back against the couch, reducing the space between them. “I don’t care, I do what I like.”
    “Obviously you do care, since I’m playing the role of happy girlfriend.” She paused. “Unless there’s more to the situation than you’re telling me.”
    “I’m helping you out.”
    She grinned, like a cat who’d caught the scent of a mouse. “Nah, there needs to be something in it for you. It’s not just judgment from your family, is it? Who’s going to be at the wedding that you’re so worried about?”
    He clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening until the muscles ached. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Okay.” She held up her hands in retreat. “I just thought since I poured my heart out to you that you might want to reciprocate.”
    “There’s no point talking about it. It doesn’t change the situation.” He needed to change the topic, stat. “Actually, I had an idea that I wanted to discuss with you.”
    She raised a brow. “Sure.”
    “I want to start up my own mixology school at First.”
    He sucked in a breath, annoyed at how nervous he was about sharing it with Libby. The idea had come to him like a bolt of lightning when one of the new waitresses had asked him to show her how to make a cosmopolitan. He suspected the request was a ploy to talk to him, but after he’d started teaching her about the proper way to mix cocktails she’d seemed genuinely excited to try it on her own.
    “We could run classes on how to create professional cocktails at home or for parties, teach people the theory behind mixing the perfect drink. Since you’re trying to get your product in there, we could pitch it as a branding partnership.” He tried to keep his face neutral, but waiting for her reaction was killing him.
    “I love it!” She clapped her hands together and laughed. “It’s perfect. It will make my product look more attractive, and I could include some promotional gifts as an incentive to customers…and Des.”
    The genuine excitement on her face made his blood rush. Ideas for how they could pitch the mixology school to his brother came tumbling out, their energy and creativity matched. Eventually, when the well ran dry, Libby motioned for him to follow her into the living room.
    “By the way, I wanted to say thanks for getting my dad out of here earlier. Whatever you said seemed to have worked, but you don’t have to