“No! I did it!”
I draw back. “You punched yourself in the face?” I’m incredulous.
“No, I dropped my phone on my face.” She wrinkles her nose.
Relief floods me. I don’t want to think about what it means.
“Cupcake.” I sit back down, needing the desk between us.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby!”
“In my car…”
“Leather seats are comfy.”
I set down my pen. “Living in a car is not comfortable.”
“I’m low-maintenance.”
“What about when you have your period?”
“I’ll just bleed in your car.”
“No, you won’t. You like bubble baths. I can’t believe I’m even arguing with you about this.”
“I grew up on an island compound. I have free bled in a yurt. I will be fine.”
“You always do this. You just twist everything anyone says into an argument because you just can’t admit that I’m right,” I snap.
“If you ask me if I’m PMSing, I’m going to punch you in the face.”
I open a drawer. “So you don’t want this chocolate bar?” I wave it at her.
Her mouth turns down, then she snatches it from me.
“You’re a thirteen-year-old boy shitposting on the internet.” She unwraps the chocolate, takes a big bite, then freezes when she finally notices the wall with names and photos of her fiancés.
“Which one is she responding to the most?” I ask aloud.
Jenna stares straight ahead, another crack in her bubbly mask.
“Since you didn’t pick a fake girlfriend, I’m setting up dates for you.” She takes a deep breath and sets a binder on my desk. “You can try them out over the next few days and pick someone that you connect with. The girls are all beauty queens or ballet dancers or models. All of them are very socially minded.” She rattles all this off, trying to ignore the photos of her potential stalkers.
“I’m offended, Cupcake. It’s like you don’t even know me.” I flip through the photos of pretty but bland women. “I want someone who will go eat a steak with me.”
“You’re not falling in love with them! We just need someone who will make you look like a normal human being,” she snaps.
I hold up a photo. “This one’s not planning on bringing that mangy ferret, is she?”
“That ferret has a very lucrative social media presence.”
“How long do I have to fake date her?” I toss the photo on the desk.
“A few months.”
I grimace. “Then you need to find someone else.”
