Page 35 of The Player's Obsession

“Mm. Let’s hold off on posting anything until I read the rules in the NDA.”

“The one you haven’t seen?”

“Yep.” My phone pings. I tell Lucinda to hang on so I can check my app, and when I see the amount of money in my account, I scream, “What the hell?”

“What is it??” she asks.

“He sent me an obscene amount of money.”

“He’s so getting laid,” she murmurs.

“You really think that’s why he’s doing this? He told me this is just a job assignment.”

“Have you asked yourself why he needs a fake fiancée?”

“No... Wait! He was engaged.” I might not get out much, but I do keep up with internet gossip. He’s well known in Maine because everyone watches hockey or football in New England.

“I’m looking at old photos of his engagement earlier this year. Did he mention the name of the woman getting married this weekend?” she asks.

“No.”

“Well, honey, I just solved the Rubik's cube,” Lucinda brags.

“What do you mean?”

“His ex-fiancée is getting married, and you’re going to the wedding.”

“No way. Send me the link,” I demand.

“Sent.”

My phone pings, and I almost drop my phone fumbling with it. I recover nicely and click on the link. Sure enough, there’s a picture of the two of them, and she’s everything I’m not.

"She's so pretty," I find myself murmuring, unable to mask the tinge of discouragement coloring my voice.

“Get over it, you’re gorgeous.”

“Well, I have more boob-age.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re more than just boobs. You’re smart and witty. Your only problem is that you love too much. Is that so terrible?”

I think of my brother and sigh, “No.”

“That’s right. Let’s talk about shopping.”

“I don’t know where to go, and we leave Friday.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, we’re cutting it close. Take the day off.”

* * *

I payoff a few credit cards and still have plenty left over for crazy expensive shopping. I read over the non-disclosure agreement. It seems fine. I should probably have an attorney read the contract, but it’s straightforward. There are to be public displays of affection— we’re to act like a happy couple, and yada, yada. Gag me.

Additionally, I can’t let anyone know what we’re doing. I feel guilty for telling Lucinda, but I had to tell someone. What if I disappear over the weekend?

My parents rarely call. I could be dead in my bed, and they’d never know.

Spending time alone is actually liberating. If I want to go foraging for Roman coins along the river embankments in Italy, I don’t have to worry about someone making fun of me while I get my shoes dirty looking for an antique relic. I don’t have to worry about fitting in with others when I’m alone.

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