Page 7 of Falling for your Fake Boyfriend

It was the woman from the coffee cart. She was wearing a dark cap that hid her blonde hair, and the ill-fitting uniform hid her sweet curves. She glanced around once more and then dipped her hand into the candy bowl. Something made her startle. She pulled her hand out too fast, and the entire bowl tipped over. Hundreds of pieces of candy cascaded off the desk and exploded in a colorful hailstorm all over the floor. She covered her mouth in shock and then quickly stooped down to pick up the candy.

I walked across the office and opened the door. She spun around fast, still crouched. A blush washed over her face, and she casually stuck a handful of the fallen candy into her uniform pocket. She hopped to a stand. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ...” She glanced frantically around at the candy-dotted floor, and a smile, a fantastic one at that, appeared just before she broke out in laughter.

I laughed too. “Maybe Rosalie won’t notice,” I said.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get enough sleep, and I was hungry and I—” She shook her head. “No excuse. It’s all right. I wasn’t good at this job anyway.” She tugged at the collar on her blouse. “And this uniform is so itchy. I’ll pick up the candy while you let my boss know she needs to send someone more competent to do the job.” Her blue eyes looked glassy with tears.

“Why would I call your boss? Let’s get these picked up.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re going to help me? No, I mean, I’ll take care of it. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

I stooped down. “You work two jobs?” I asked and immediately regretted it. I grew up in ridiculous privilege, but I always tried to avoid the snobbery that came with my life and my family. I knew otherprivilegedpeople who couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t own a nice house or a boat or why someone would work forty hours a week or more. I tried to distance myself from those people as much as possible.

“Uh, something like that.” She grabbed a trash can, and we dropped the candy inside.

“You don’t usually work at the coffee cart,” I said.

She stopped her task long enough to look back at me. Her blue eyes knocked me senseless for a moment. “I was covering for my friend, Amber.”

We continued to collect the fallen candy.

“I’m saving up to start a bakery,” she said quietly.

“That’s great. People didn’t stop talking about your cakes. Even my assistant, Rosalie, and she never eats treats.”

We’d gotten most of the candy picked up. I pushed to my feet and offered her my hand. A pink blush covered her cheeks again. She didn’t take my hand but pushed herself to her feet. “I’m so sorry about this. I should never have taken the candy.”

“Rosie leaves it there for people to enjoy.” I glanced at her nametag. “Your name is Isla. I’m Luke.” I stuck my hand out again. This time she took it. The warmth of her hand stayed on my palm long after she withdrew it.

“You pronounced my name right,” she said, surprised. “You’d be amused if you heard some of the ways people say it.”

“I’m glad not to fall into that category then. Isla, I’ve got a proposition for you.” I realized I’d worded it badly the second it left my mouth.

Some of the color disappeared from her smooth cheeks, and she stepped discreetly back.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything like that. Although, it does require you to do a little acting. How are you at that?”

Her smooth brows bunched as she tried to decide exactly what the apparent madman in front of her was asking. I was usually a much better communicator. I blamed it on the distraction of her incredible blue eyes and soft pink lips.

“Acting? Uh, well, my sisters and I used to put on plays. But if I’m being totally honest, I was better at set design than acting. My sister, Layla, is the thespian.”

“Well, this won’t take thespian-level talent. We just need to convince my family, mostly my mom, that we are a legitimate couple for a long weekend. My sister is getting married. I’ll pay you five thousand.”

“Five thousand? Dollars?” she asked with wide eyes.

“No, five thousand M&M’s. Of course, dollars.”

Her lips twisted in thought and then her expression turned far more serious. “What will be expected of me?”

I shook my head. “Nothing like that. I assure you my mother will see that you have your own guest room. You just need to be polite and smile a lot. Oh, and we’ll keep you away from candy dishes.”

“Very funny. So, I smile, act polite?—”

“And pretend that you are madly in love with me.” I took her hand. It was small and got lost in mine. “And, of course, I’ll reciprocate the affection.”

She squinted an eye at me as she leaned against the front of Rosie’s desk. “Why?”

“Why what?”

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