“More like told anyone who would listen. He’s got this whole thing going that I’m getting a reputation for being a cold-hearted bitch who can’t find a single man who will put up with me. And with this damn gala coming up, I got so mad and told him I had one.”
“Had one what?” I ask slowly, trying to hide the frustration in my voice. My jaw’s tight when I add, “And you’renota cold-hearted bitch.”
The nonchalant lift of her shoulder pisses me off more than it should. “Either way, he got to me, Finn. I told him I had a boyfriend to get him off my back, but it only made everything worse.”
“I don’t get why this matters to him.”
“Me neither. My personal life has no hold on my professional one, but he’s out for blood. He wants my job, and he wants a front-row seat to watch when I lose it,” she explains, every word heavier than the last. “Which Iwon’t.”
I inhale tightly and shake my head. “He’s a jealous idiot.”
“That’s putting it nicely.”
“You’re not losing your job. Rowena wouldn’t let that happen anyway. Have you told her that he’s harassing you?”
She scoffs, turning to take her glass again. The sight of her bright blue eyes dulling with exhaustion doesn’t sit right with me. “I’m not going to run upstairs and tattle on him. I have to take care of him myself. I just . . . took a misstep.”
“You don’t misstep, Bree.”
“Well, I did. And now, I have six weeks to find a boyfriend who can convince the firm that he finds me mildly enjoyable.”
“You can’t just find someone to pretend? That’s a thing, isn’t it?”
“No,” she answers immediately before taking a sip of wine. “It needs to be real. If anyone found out that I was pretending to have a boyfriend, especially Spencer, it would make everything ten times worse.”
“Hence the Tinder date,” I say, voice low, tense. “I don’t like you forcing yourself into doing this.”
She sighs, dropping her shoulders as she offers me a small smile. “Best friend or not, Finn, it doesn’t matter if you approve or not.”
“Bree,” I warn, shoving a hand through the unruly hair at the top of my head.
“You don’t need to approve . . . but I do need you to do something else for me.”
Anxiety crawls up my spine. “Do what?”
She takes a gulp of wine this time and points out to the living room. “Let’s sit.”
“If you’re about to ask me to help you kill Spencer, the answer is yes. You don’t have to sit me down and ask.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Just in case.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she slips past me into the living room. It’s about triple the size of hers but lacks the view. That’s what I get for buying a place with a backyard and entertaining space instead of near the water.
The house is what I spent a large sum of my salary on when I signed my first big-boy contract. Ten years for three hundred million isn’t shabby, that’s for sure. With five bedrooms, six bathrooms, and an outdoor kitchen that gets far more use than the one we were just in, it felt like an appropriate purchase. What else was I going to do with all of that money? I can’t take itto the grave with me, and my parents would slap me upside the head if I bought them a new place and tried to get them out of the one they’ve lived in for the last thirty years. I’m an only child, and while my best friend enjoys when I buy her things, she’s also too independent to take much from me.
I watch as she collapses on the dark couch and curls her bare, smooth legs beneath her. She looks so small on the massive twelve-seater that I almost laugh. Instead, I clear my throat and join her, leaving half a cushion between us.
“Yes, I’ll donate my sperm to you,” I say gently, placing a hand on her knee. “I can’t guarantee that our child will be able to throw a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball like his dad, but I can sure try to make sure you get the best batch I’ve got.”
Aubrey makes a rough noise in the back of her throat before ripping my hand off her knee and shoving me sideways. I howl a laugh as I grab the edge of the couch for balance, sending her a wink.
“Don’t say that again,” she blurts out, cheeks a fiery red colour. “You’re disgusting.”
“Is that why you don’t want me to be your fake boyfriend?” It escapes before I can stop it.
There’s a second where she doesn’t speak at all, just stares at me with a guilt-stricken expression. Then— “If I thought I could pull it off, I’d have already asked you to. Everyone at the firm knows about our friendship too much to ever buy that we suddenly fell in love. Spencer would call me out immediately.”
“Fair enough,” I say, letting that wiggle of worry go.
