Page 17 of Fake it For Good
Ididn’t even know how to date anymore. It had been almost ten years since I had a first date. This date should have been easier, but it felt just as awkward. Was I expected to make small talk? Did we get right down to business? If I took one look at her and got bad vibes, would it be rude if I walked out?
To say I had cold feet was an understatement. My feet felt like they were stuffed into ice blocks instead of my Gucci’s.
I straightened the tie and took a second look at my suit. The tailored suit was just a little nicer than the one I wore to work. Even though this was essentially a business meeting, I still felt like I needed to put my best foot forward. If I showed up and looked or acted like an ogre, the woman might decline the job. I couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. I doubted the women who worked as paid dates regularly turned down job offers—me being the job in this case.
I told myself to stop fussing. I was putting way too much effort into my looks. I wasn’t trying to sell me. I was meeting the woman to see if she would suit my needs, not the other way around. It didn’t matter what I looked like if I was the one writing the checks and paying her to spend time with me.
On my way to the restaurant, I considered canceling the meeting. Did I really need to pay someone to go out with me? Wasn’t that a little desperate? My company wasn’t failing. Yet. There had to be another gimmick we could come up with. Instead of making the call and turning around, I sucked it up and showed up. When I gave my name to the hostess, she showed me to a table where a woman was already seated.
“Hi,” she said with a nervous smile as she got to her feet.
It took me about two seconds to decide she would work. She was beautiful but not like someone you would see on a billboard wearing lingerie or some of the latest designs. Her long blonde hair had a gentle wave to it. It hung around her shoulders, resting on her very full chest.
“I’m Noelle,” she said and extended her hand. “Are we supposed to use our real names?”
I looked into the prettiest green eyes I had ever seen. They were a dark green, not the typical light green that gave a person a cat-like appearance. “I think real names would probably be the best,” I said with a small laugh. “I’m Cane.”
“Cane,” she said and pulled her hand back.
We both stayed standing before I realized what I was doing and gestured for her to take a seat. She sat down before I took my own seat. “Have you been here long?” I asked.
“No, just a couple of minutes.”
I nodded and took another look at her while she reached for her water. She was pretty. In my head, I had pictured myself meeting one of the women I occasionally saw walking along the street. I expected someone unhealthy and possibly a junkie. It was a naïve assumption, but it was what I had pictured. I had psyched myself up to not like the woman so I could back out without feeling guilty for letting Denton down.
“Thanks for meeting me tonight,” I said, choosing to skip the small talk. This wasn’t a date. Even if it was, I wouldn’t know what to say. Ask about the weather?
“Sure,” she said and met my eyes once again.
I saw intelligence, wisdom. She was sizing me up just the same as I was trying to figure her out. I couldn’t understand why a woman like her would be meeting me like this. She seemednormal.
“We should probably talk about the job,” I said and skipped right over the getting to know one another thing.
“Okay,” she said.
I had a feeling I was bombing this. There wasn’t exactly a handbook on how to hire an escort. I reached for my water, nearly spilling the glass. I gulped down too much and choked. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“I own a toy company,” I started.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I was told.”
“I need someone who will attend a couple of events with me. The last event, you would need to dress as Mrs. Claus. It’s for a toy giveaway. Nothing weird.” I realized that me saying it was nothing weird actually made it weird. This was not working out. I was totally bombing this. I should have had Denton set the whole thing up instead of trying to do it myself.
“Like a short skirt Mrs. Claus?” she asked. I could see her looking for a quick exit. I had freaked her out.
“No,” I said. “Nothing weird or sexy. Just a normal red dress and whatever. It’s nothing, you know—”
“I don’t think I do know,” she replied. “I was told this was a dating service, nothing more.”
“It is,” I blurted out. “I don’t expect you to wear anything skimpy. It’s an upscale event. I just need a Mrs. Claus.”
She seemed to be mulling it over. “Will you be Mr. Claus?”
That made me smile. “No.”
“Is there going to be a Santa?”
“Yes,” I said.
