Page 1 of Fake It For Love (Faux Love)
1
CLAIRE
“Crap!” I pulled the casserole from the oven and studied the appearance. It didn’t look too bad.
“Alexa, you suck. I told you thirty minutes.”
The lights lit up and I just knew she was going to have a witty comeback. I shut her down before she could. I grabbed the box of aluminum foil and covered the casserole to keep it warm. My parents would be arriving anytime. This was my chance to cook for them. I was looking forward to spending some time with them before I left for the Caribbean.
The fancy private school I’d gone to was having our reunion on a little tropical island. I wouldn’t normally spend so much money just to attend a reunion, but my best friend from high school had decided to have her wedding there as well, since so many old friends would be around.
Even then, the expense would be too much for me, but I’d managed to line up a job while I would be on the island.
A job I couldn’t tell my parents about.
While I waited for them to show up, I grabbed the shopping bags and carried them into my room. I didn’t want my parents to know I had treated myself to a little shopping spree.
It wasn’t really a want but a need. A necessity for the job. And it wasn’t like I’d spent my money. I had been given a wardrobe budget as part of the job. I still needed to buy a couple more dresses but I was dreading it.
As a real-sized thirty-three-year-old woman, it wasn’t always easy to find cute, yet sexy dresses that didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. I wanted to look good, but I wasn’t trying to show off the extra love I carried on my hips and thighs. And boobs. If I was going to wear spaghetti-strap anything, there better be some support for my girls.
Della Fontenot, my boss but not my boss, told me her clients liked upscale. They wanted their dates in designer clothing. As it turned out, most designers looked at the runway models as the normal body size. I might have looked like that at twelve but not anymore.
Therefore, I was going back to the boutique Della recommended. The saleswoman was super nice and promised she would have some outfits for me tomorrow. I hoped so because I had to be in the Caribbean the day after tomorrow.
That was when I would meet my client. Was he my client or Della’s client? I didn’t know. It was all new to me.
When I was growing up and busting ass in my privileged high school, I never imagined me becoming an escort at thirty-three. Things changed. Shit happened. I needed money.
My fourth-grade schoolteacher salary was never going to get me out of debt. I could get a second and third job to try and make it happen, but even then, it was unlikely.
Which brought me to Faux’s.
It was a dating agency. Not anything like Tinder but an actual escort service. I was going to be an escort. I had to say that over and over because I still didn’t quite believe it.
I had signed up on a whim. I truly never expected to get a call about a job. I wasn’t exactly supermodel hot, and if someone was going to buy a woman for the night, it would make sense they would want a woman they could never dream of actually dating in real life.
At least, that had been my opinion. Della almost laughed in my face. She explained men, and occasionally women, paid for dates for a number of reasons. She also reassured me I was beautiful, and she just knew I would get hired.
And here I was. I had a date. A gig. I was going to be paid to be some rich dude’s date while I was on the island. That meant I could go to the reunion and Norah’s wedding and come out with more money than I’d started with. Two birds, one stone.
I was going to see all the snobs I went to school with and get paid to do it. Paid a lot! The money would pay off my student loans and give me some breathing room. I wanted a house someday, and this job would be a step in the right direction.
This was my chance to be free from the stress of being weighed down by debt I didn’t feel like I should have had to begin with. That wasn’t the thoughts of a spoiled, entitled person. Those were the facts. My life was not supposed to be riddled with debt. I understood I had taken on the responsibility of the student loans and credit card debt, but dammit, it didn’t have to be that way.
The doorbell rang, pulling me from my thoughts. I went to answer the door. “Hi, guys,” I said.
“Something smells good,” Mom exclaimed.
“I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” I said. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, Claire,” he said and gave me a weak hug.
“Come in, come in,” I said. “Dinner is done.”
Mom picked up the information about the Caribbean island I was going to. She made a tsking sound. “This looks very extravagant. Are you sure you can afford something like that?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said with a tight smile.
