Page 41 of The Match Faker

And as for my face, imagine a child stole their mum’s make-up bag and decided to use every item. Three times over.

Instead of the smoky eyes I’d asked for, she’d given me two black eyes (worse than the panda eyes I’d been papped with).

The fake lashes looked like I had spider legs hanging from my lids (and I hated spiders), the bright red lip liner was wonky and the blusher hadn’t been blended properly.

And don’t get me started about the foundation. Instead of matching the red tones of my brown skin, it was at least a shade too light and looked grey and streaky.

‘It’s er… very’—awful, horrendous, an absolute shitshow—‘unique…’ I jumped up from my chair. I wasn’t lying. It really was unique. I’d never seen anyone look this bad. ‘The foundation shade is too light,’ I blurted out.

‘That was the darkest shade they do.’

‘Maybe you should try a different brand? Like Fenty Beauty, MAC, Lancôme or…’ Or literally anyone. Most decent brands recognised that they needed to cater for a wider range of skin tones.

The women looked at me like I’d just suggested they lick dog shit from my big toe. I could see I wasn’t going to get anywhere.

‘How much do I owe you?’ I grabbed my jacket.

‘Normally we’d charge two hundred, but for you, we’ll do it for one fifty. And if you do a TikTok video saying how much you love it, next time we’ll give you a bigger discount!’ She grinned.

One hundred and fifty pounds to be made to look like this? It was daylight robbery. But I didn’t have time to argue. After handing over my debit card, I left, walking as quickly as I could back to the office.

As I turned down my street, I looked at my watch again. Ten to eight. There was no way I’d be able to scrape all this crap off my face by then.

Liam would already be on his way, but maybe he could take a detour to give me some extra time. I pulled out my phone to text him.

Me

So sorry, but I’m running late.

My office building was now in sight. I hoped Trudy was still there. Making myself look half-decent was going to be a two-woman job.

My Hot Boyfriend

I’m already here.

Shit. Hopefully I could slip inside before he saw me.

But just as I approached the building, the car door of a black Mercedes swung open and Liam stepped out.

My eyes widened. Not just from the shock that he was here, metres away from me, but also because, wow. He looked so… good.

His hair was freshly cut, his square jaw looked smoother than a baby’s bottom and he was dressed in smart trousers and a crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone. I swallowed hard.

‘Mia?’ He frowned. ‘Is that you?’

At that moment I remembered I was wearing about twenty-five layers of ugly make-up and my hair so big my head might not fit through the door.

Seeing anyone right now was embarrassing, but standing in front of the guy that was voted Sexiest Man Alive twice was next-level mortification. Dancing naked along Oxford Street would be less humiliating.

‘Don’t say a word!’ I warned. ‘I need time to scrape this off and…’

‘It’s okay,’ he said softly. ‘Take all the time you need. I’ll let the restaurant know we’ve been held up.’

Oh. I knew I’d warned him not to say a word, but the way I looked right now was ripe for teasing. I thought he’d start making stupid jokes, but he actually seemed understanding.

‘Thanks. I’ll message you when I’m ready.’

He nodded, then got back in the car.

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