Page 29 of Matched with Her Fake Fiance

I’m at work on Wednesday morning, trying to wade through the list of other alumni to invite to the mixer. And all I can do is think back to the night before.

It’s been three days since we began our arrangement, and my heart didn’t get the memo that it’s all fake. But everything Miles does gets analyzed on loop, wondering if men like him are made in a factory somewhere and kept hidden from women like me or what.

He hasn’t flaunted his wealth in extreme ways. When Clay bought his Mustang during our freshman year of college, it took at least six months for him to acknowledge that he was always trying to get the conversation on his car. Add that to the red flags I should’ve counted long ago.

And Miles opens every door and pulls out chairs for me every time we’ve gone anywhere.

I mean, the guy is making it hard to remember this is all fake. It could’ve just been on my end, but his hug at the end of the night had been charged with all the good feelings, meaning my stomach was basically taking off for space with all the excitement.

“Dani,” my boss’s voice calls from the desktop phone on my desk.

I jump, wondering how long I’d been daydreaming, and pick up the receiver. “Yes, Sharon?”

“How’s it coming? I haven’t seen any new names on the guest list.”

I grimace, trying to keep my irritation under control. “I did manage to get one of Boston’s richest bachelors, though.”

Silence for several seconds and then Sharon says, “Miles Clark is a good find, but we need more like him.” She pauses and says, “He’s never been to any of our events before. How did you manage that?”

She makes him seem like some ogre who’d rather stay holed up in a forest lodge than communicate with people. And yet, I’ve found he’s more the opposite.

“We’ve met a few times and I happened to convince him.” More like negotiate with his strange request. But that’s beside the point.

“Good work. Let me know if you can get any others. We need to have some more names to get people into the party.”

For some reason, the image of people standing outside the doors to the arena, as if waiting for the Black Friday shopping sales to commence pops into my mind.

“Will do, Sharon.”

I press the button to end the call and dial the next number, trying to smile as I listen to the dial tone. I’m still not convinced the fake happiness works like people say because I’m already sick of calling people. There’s got to be a better way.

The caller doesn’t answer and I put the phone down, deciding to search in my internet browser for something more efficient.

Miles: How’s work going?

I smile like a schoolgirl when I see the text from Miles.

Me: It’s Wednesday and I’m still breathing. So, I would say I’m alive. How are you today?

Miles: You might want to check out this link.

It doesn’t come through in a quick amount of time, so I type out:

Are you trying to commit fraud with my bank accounts?

The link comes through after and then a large smiley emoji appears on my screen.

Miles: I’m not sure you’re the type to fall for those, are you?

Swoon goes my heart. Focus, Dani. Fake relationship.

Me: Of course, I am. I mean, I almost clicked on a link to my bank the other day. But my mom had that happen a year ago and the bank had to replace fifteen grand.

Miles: Oh wow. Does your mom live close?

I bite my lip, knowing I need to get work done while I’m on the clock. But I really like talking to Miles. He gives me a good shot of serotonin.

Me: Yeah, over in Brookline.

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