Page 11 of Fake it For Good
Marie was checking boxes on the touch screen with a great deal of excitement. “I’d like to sign up.”
Della pulled another tablet from her drawer. Marie and I both went through the application, signed our names, and waited for fate to take over. We left the office and walked to a bar on the corner filled with executives.
“What the hell are we doing?” I groaned. “We just signed up to be escorts.”
“I know! And we are going to make lots of money. I’m going to take any job that comes my way.”
“Even if some old man wants to slap you on the ass?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said, grinning. “He can grab my ass, my boob, whatever he wants. Show me the money.”
“Not me,” I said. “I’m not selling my tits and ass.”
“Five grand,” she said. “You were trying to make a thousand dollars. Imagine what you could do with five thousand.”
“I know,” I said. “I know. It’s the only reason I signed on the dotted line.”
5
CANE
“Let’s go,” Denton said from my office doorway.
“Coming. You’re buying.”
“The hell I am,” he said. “You’re the rich one.”
“As if you aren’t,” I replied, grabbing my wallet and phone.
We walked out of the building and hailed a cab. I hated trying to drive during lunch hour. It was so much easier to just let someone else do the driving. We got to the restaurant and ordered our usual burgers and fries.
“I found a solution to the Mrs. Claus issue,” Denton announced after our Cokes were delivered.
“The Mrs. Claus issue?” I asked.
“Yes, you need one. I know where to find one.”
“Good.” I sipped my drink. “Hire someone.”
“As we talked about, it would be best if the woman playing the role was someone you could be seen with,” he said slowly. “Someone that might appear to be your, dare I say, girlfriend?”
I looked at him and tried to read between the lines. “What are you talking about?”
“I told you we need to improve upon your image,” he said with a shrug.
“My image is just fine.”
“Your image is fine, but people see you as a sad panda,” he said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked with a sigh, knowing I was going to regret asking.
He smiled mischievously, which told me he had cooked up a plan. “Everyone knows you’re single. There were plenty of rumors swirling around the divorce. You definitely came out the victor in the court of public opinion. But now, people see you as a sad panda. Cute, cuddly, and rich and all alone. People love a good story. We present you as a happy, recently romantically involved man. Nothing too obvious. Just a subtle picture and appearance here and there. It’s going to get the gossip mill churning, which just brings us some free publicity.”
“I don’t think I look like a sad panda,” I muttered. “And no one cares if I’m single.”
“Au contraire,” he said, grinning. “People are always looking for a Christmas miracle. You finding love after having your heart stomped is a miracle people can get behind. You’ve always maintained a squeaky-clean image. People like you. Customers want to root for something. Let them root for you and your new Mrs. Claus.”
“You want me to pretend to be in love with Mrs. Claus to make people feel better?”
