Page 10 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

She said, “£350,000.”

“Okay,” he replied. Just like that.

Fuck. Fuck. He was a footballer, for Christ’s sake. He probably made millions. She should’ve asked for more.

Wait—what the hell was she doing? Aria shook her head sharply, the reality of her situation falling like a ton of bricks. “You can’t be serious. This is not serious. This—”

“Google me,” he sighed. “I have the money. I play for Colston City. Google me.”

“I don’t want to fucking Google you,” she hissed across the table. “I don’t care if you have all the money in the fucking world! In fact, that just makes this even worse! Worse, and incredibly weird, and frankly dangerous!”

He stared at her as if she’d just climbed on top of the table and laid an egg. “Dangerous?”

“Yes! Because you are a man, and you’re wealthy and powerful. You giving me a lot of money for an incredibly odd arrangement would create a questionable situation between us. You could probably defend yourself in court by saying we agreed upon all kinds of shit, and that’s why you paid so much—”

“Wait, wait,” he interjected, brows shooting up. “Court? What do you think I’m going to do?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” she shot back. “That’s the point! I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I wouldn’t have any guarantees in an arrangement like that!”

“First of all,” he said calmly, “you’re friends with Keynes, right? Well, so am I. He knows I’m not a secret murderer, or anything. And secondly, you would have guarantees. You’d have a contract.”

Aria sat back as her adrenaline drained away, leaving something shaky and anti-climactic in its wake. “A… contract?”

“Of course. I’m not just going to give you all that money out of nowhere. My accountant would throttle me, for one thing. This is a job. I’m totally prepared to do this aboveboard.” He paused. “Although there would be an NDA, I suppose. You have a lawyer, right?”

She almost laughed at that. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a normal person. You know, poor. Poor people don’t have lawyers.”

He appeared to be holding back a smile. “I know. I was talking about Keynes.”

Oh, yes. Their mutual friend Keynes, who was, incidentally, a solicitor. “Whatever,” she muttered. “Fine. Yes, I have a lawyer.”

“Good,” he said.

“But I’m telling you now.” Aria waved her fork threateningly. “Don’t fuck with me. You’ll regret it. My uncle is a big-time gangster, you know, back home.” Her uncle was a used car salesman with an overbite from Lowdham.

Either way, Nik didn’t appear scared. Instead he seemed… concerned. His dark eyes turned gentle, almost as if he knew why she felt the need to say all this. As if he knew something had happened to her, that she’d once been a fearless woman and now she was only ever afraid.

“I’m asking you to help me,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I’d never hurt someone who was trying to help me. And I’d rather die than hurt you.”

He looked so sweet, with those huge brown eyes, that soft, smiling mouth, and those big hands clutching a tiny mug of tea. She almost believed him.

But Aria, she reminded herself, was a terrible judge of character.

* * *

Dear Aria,

You mentioned (correctly) that we should get to know each other before we do this thing. And I thought, what better way to show you my deepest, truest self than a compilation of my favourite Vines? Please find attached.

Yours,

Nik

Dear Nik,

You are, of course, right about me being right. And I agree that Vines are an important insight to the soul.

Which is why I’m sadly disappointed to find key, iconic Vines missing from your compilation. Either your research was shoddy, or your soul is underdeveloped. Please find attached a reflection of my own soul, and a far superior offering.

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