“Right. Let me check the fine print.” Bree pulls out her phone.
We spend the next twenty minutes going through the terms and conditions we both apparently agreed to without reading carefully. Well, the guys supposedly did and Bree’s friend Nina encouraged her to sign up, so surely she did, too.
Shaking her head with incredulity, she says, “This isn’t just a dating service, it’s a full commitment contract.”
“With financial penalties and,” I squint at the screen, “a minimum thirty-day trial period?”
“That would take us through Christmas,” Bree confirms, looking stunned.
I double-check and she’s correct.
“If we back out early, not only is there the cancellation fee, but we have to reimburse any benefits received.”
“Benefits?” I ask.
She bites her lip as if hesitant to admit something. “I got an advance stipend. It’ll solve my immediate money problems—credit card balance, holiday gifts, and give me time to finish my book.”
I grunt. “The guys said that if I followed through, they’d donate ten grand each to the children’s charity. They didn’t mention any pocket money. But it’s part of our team’s holiday initiative, so it’s for a good cause.”
Bree sets her phone down. “So we’re both stuck.”
“It seems that way. Unless ...”
“Unless?”
I take a lungful of air. “Unless we go through with it. Just for thirty days, which brings us into the new year,” I reiterate for her sake.
Jaw lowering, Bree stares at me. “You can’t be serious. Pretend to be in a relationship? With each other? That’s?—”
“Nuttier than a fruitcake?” I lean forward. “Is it though?We already know each other. We’re both stuck in this contract. And it’s only for what—just about four weeks?”
I can see her thinking it over, weighing her options. I hold my breath, but I’m not sure why. I could handle the expense for both of us if it came down to it and dip into savings, which is substantial, but with the unknown about when Badaszek will let me back on the ice, I’m feeling uncertain about my financial future. Plus, if I were going to do that, I’d want it to be for a worthwhile investment, like a house.
“I suppose it would be valuable first-hand research to see how these arrangements work ...”
“Exactly. And we’d be helping those kids through the toy drive.”
“My mother would be thrilled. She’s been after me to find someone for years,” Bree adds, almost to herself.
“And the guys would finally stop trying to fix my love life.”
We look at each other, the realization settling between us that we’re actually considering this insane plan.
Breaking the spell, I pull out my phone. “I should call my lawyer. Make sure there’s nothing else we’re missing.”
Twenty minutes, and one slightly amused attorney offering legal consultation later, we’re both sitting in stunned silence on a bench as carolers pass by, singing “Ding Dong Merrily on High.”
Bree lets out a long-held breath. “It’s settled. We’re doing this.”
“Pretending to be matched by the mail-order bride service.”
“For research and financial reasons only,” she clarifies.
“Absolutely.”
“With clear boundaries.”
“Of course.”
