Page 6 of The Fake Dating War

When she catches sight of me, her brown eyes round with horror, and a certain thrill goes through me. Quickly, she regains her composure and wipes her expression clean. When she passes me on the way to the elevator, we get our shots in. The fight resets my equilibrium, and my body hums with primal satisfaction. Things are what they should be between us.

Instead of following them up, I wait.

When the lawyers pack up their lunch, they have to pass me.

I nod my head at them. “You work at McMillion-Berkeley?”

“So?” says the cherub-looking one.

“Just an observation.”

He’s not the one she liked. The other one is.

Him, I look up and down, watching him stab the elevator button repeatedly. He keeps shifting weight between his feet. That mop of hair is further mussed up. Is that her type? Seriously?

Not that it matters. I don’t fucking care.

When we enter the elevator, I stand behind them. They’re laughing about what happened with Patel.

Quietly, I step into their line of vision. “A fair warning, gentlemen.”

They stop chuckling and look at me.

“If you find yourself feeling another impulse to comment on a woman’s put-togetherness, warranted or unwarranted, asked for or not asked for, I suggest you refrain from speaking.” My voice is soft, but not weak. “Robert, the managing partner of your firm, would share this opinion. I would know. We’re old college buddies.”

Their faces blanch. Robert McMillion is a tyrant. Once he dislikes you, your career is in the pits.

“Not—no—It’s not that—” says the one she likes.

“That wasn’t an opening for more conversation.” I pull my phone out to scroll through some emails.

“Yes, but?—”

“When I say I don’t give a fuck, I really mean I don’t give a fuck.”

The doors open to their floor. When I continue ignoring their existence, they rush out.

That didn’t have anything to do with her specifically, I tell myself as the elevator rises again. It was me giving them some friendly advice.

5

JAKE

Later that day, I approach Patel at her desk.

She’s using Agent with Energetic Personality on this client to finish signing them up. What is that? Two new ones today?

A scoreboard covers the wall we share. It tracks metrics in real-time, or it should, if you enter them correctly in the system. Currently, I’m in the lead. The portfolio of my clients this year measures twenty-two million. Hers is twenty-one. Too close for comfort, considering we have two weeks to go before the bonus is decided. Or it would be, if I hadn’t stopped entering clients into the system ten days ago. My plan is simple. Bulk-add the stockpile I’ve collected right before the deadline.

She thinks it’s a tight race.

Comical, Patel.

In truth, I’m at twenty-seven million and counting. At this rate, I might even hit thirty. Either way, there’s no way she’s got a chance of catching up.

I wait for her to finish the call. That loop she keeps her hair in bounces, as if mocking me. It’s the right thickness for a man to wrap his hand around and tug. Not that I’ve considered that. I’m tapping my foot impatiently. Her cubicle mate, Leo Li, looks over his shoulder and stares at me. I raise an eyebrow at him. They’re close and he’s protective of her, so he doesn’t back down.

Not that I mind. Loyalty, I understand.

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