"When you say you don't have experience," Merritt says slowly, "do you mean you're…"
She trails off. Katelyn's eyes go wide.
"Are you a virgin?" Barbie asks.
The washing machine downstairs starts filling for a new cycle. The pipes clang. I focus on that sound instead of the heat crawling up my neck.
"That's not relevant," I say.
"That's extremely relevant," Sloane counters. "We're asking you to seduce a man. A playboy at that. If you've never—"
"I didn't say I've never," the lie comes fast and desperate. "I’m just saying I don't have a lot of practice. There's a difference."
I’m going to burn in purgatory. But they don't need to know that the sum total of my romantic experience involves one boyfriend in college who dumped me when he realized I was more interested in studying than putting out, and a series of almost-dates that fizzled because I kept canceling to deal with Grace's school emergencies.
Merritt leans back, reassessing. "Can you fake it?"
"Fake what?"
"Confidence. Experience. The kind of sexual energy that makes a man forget he's about to get married."
I think about the self-defense seminar I took last year where the instructor said confidence is ninety percent posture and ten percent volume.
I think about every rom-com I've ever watched and read where the awkward girl gets a makeover and suddenly knows how to flirt.
I think about the fact that fifty thousand dollars is sitting on the table, and all I have to do is lie convincingly for a week.
"I can fake it," I say.
"You're sure?" Merritt presses.
"I've been faking confidence my entire life," I reply. "This is just a different audience."
Barbie grins. "I like her."
Wait.
Did they just… did they just play me?
I've officially argued myself into a trap. I want out. I want to tell them this is insane.
But I just spent three minutes defending my ability to fake-seduce a billionaire, so backing out now makes me look like a cowardandincompetent.
My pride is going to get me arrested.
I stare at Barbie's grin. At the way they're all watching me.
Their satisfied smiles.
Oh. Oh, they'regood.
I just got hustled by a bunch of Park Avenue bridesmaids.
Barbie pulls out her phone, tapping rapidly. "The wedding is January thirty-first. You fly out January twenty-fourth to arrive for the welcome events. That gives us four days to prep you before you fly out. Wardrobe fitting. Hair appointment. Etiquette briefing. Background on the guest list so you don't accidentally reveal you have no idea who anyone is."
"Four days," I repeat.
"Is that a problem?"
