Page 16 of The Plus One Pact

With a non-client? Well, that is one side-effect of sex work. It limits your pool of potential girlfriends. Most people aren't open to dating a hooker. "You can have the ring if you look at the proposal."

"Fine." He just stops himself from rolling his eyes.

A victory. Almost. I pull the business plan up on my phone and hand it to my brother while I fetch the ring from the safe.

He gives it a cursory glance, then insists he'll look more closely from his email Inbox later. "I've got a meeting."

"Sure."

"I do hope you see someone—"

"I am seeing someone."

"You don't have tampons in your bathroom," he says.

What? I return his raised brow gesture.

"You should get some. If you have a girlfriend. Or pads. Whatever she uses. And extra toilet paper. And start leaving the seat down."

"I always leave the seat down. I'm not an animal." I close the lid, every time. Who wants to look at the toilet bowl?

"Are you bringing her to the wedding?"

Right. That little thing. The small moment in their lives. People do bring their partners to weddings, don’t they? And this one is in two and a half weeks. If I had a girlfriend, we would have discussed this. "I thought it was family only."

"I can spare a plus-one."

"Of course."

"Can't wait."

"Perfect."

He leaves with the smug superiority of a person sure his little brother is about to get caught in a lie.

Great. I need to find a fake date for my brother's wedding. And it can't be Sasha. They already know her as my best friend, from college.

Where the hell am I going to find someone?

I'm more likely to find someone on Tinder than my next call.

But I play the message on my work voicemail anyway. Business first. Then whatever I have to do to deal with this.

"Hello, this is Ivy. I was recommended by a friend of a friend. I believe you know her as Juliette. She thought that was cute, since your name is Romeo. I'm sure you get that a lot."

I do.

She speaks with a steady voice. "I'm recently divorced. Well, maybe not that recently. But enough I haven't had good sex in a while. Not that I did then. I should know all this stuff. I'm a professional too. A therapist. But I can't seem to get out of my head. Or enjoy something casual. So, my friend recommended you. I, uh, I'm available nights, and I have the budget for three hours, if the rates she shared are correct."

A sex therapist.

Mom would love that.

The divorce—

I could spin it.

No. What the hell am I thinking. There's no way I'm asking a client to play my girlfriend. Besides, if Ivy is my average client, she's in her 50s, and no one is going to believe my new girlfriend is almost twice my age.