Page 58 of Role Play
Before I can ask what she’s planning, Daphne darts off, weaving through the crowd with determined purpose. I watch as she approaches several other author tables, gesturinganimatedly, pointing in our direction. To my surprise, the authors—all women—nod and smile, handing her various items.
She returns moments later, arms loaded down with…props?
“What’s all this?” I ask as she dumps a cowboy hat, a motorcycle helmet, and a sequined bow tie onto our table.
“Our salvation.” Her eyes glint with mischief. “Take off your shirt.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me. Shirt off, pants unbuttoned—but zipper up.” She glances around the ballroom, then grabs a blank piece of poster board from her tote bag and a marker. “We’re going to give these readers something Tila can’t.”
“Daphne, I don’t think?—”
“Look,” she cuts me off, her face suddenly serious. “Sora is about to come back here, probably still crying, to an empty table while the woman who humiliated her is five feet away with a line around the block. Do you want to help her or not?”
Put like that, there’s only one answer. I unbutton my shirt, ignoring the curious glances from nearby attendees. “What exactly is the plan here?”
Daphne scribbles rapidly on the poster board, her handwriting surprisingly elegant despite her speed. “We’re going to use you as bait.”
“Bait,” I repeat flatly.
“Book-boyfriend bait,” she clarifies, holding up the completed sign with a flourish:Buy a book, take a photo with your choice of book boyfriend! Cowboys, bikers, CEOs—we’ve got ’em all!
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re devious.”
“I prefer resourceful,” she counters, arranging the props on the table. “Now, lose the shirt and give me your best smolder. We’ve probably got about sixty seconds before Sora comes back, and I want a line formed by then.”
Shaking my head in amused disbelief, I pull my shirt overhead and toss it onto Sora’s chair. Following Daphne’s instructions, I unbutton my jeans, leaving them hanging low on my hips. The cowboy hat feels ridiculous perched on my head; I haven’t worn one of these in years, but the small crowd already gathering suggests it’s having the desired effect.
“Ladies,” Daphne calls out, her voice carrying across the nearby tables. “Special promotion at Sora Cho’s table! Purchase any book and get a photo with our live book-boyfriend model—your choice of theme!”
The response is immediate and shocking. Women from Tila’s line begin to peel away, drawn by curiosity and, let’s be honest, the novelty of a half-naked man. A group of twentysomethings giggle as they approach, pointing not-so-subtly in my direction.
“Is this for real?” one of them asks Daphne.
“One hundred percent,” Daphne confirms. “Buy any book, take any photo—within reason.” She gives me a wink. “Our model is very accommodating.”
And just like that, they’re sold. One after another, they grab copies of Sora’s books, barely glancing at the covers before handing over credit cards and cash to Daphne, who’s seamlessly taken on the role of cashier.
“Perfect promo idea, right?” Daphne whispers to me between sales. “Sora’s boyfriend helps boost her career. That’s serious relationship goals.”
I nod, not trusting myself to respond. If only she knew the truth—that I’m not Sora’s boyfriend, that our entire relationship is built on a lie that started with a mistaken proposition and ten thousand dollars.
By the time Sora emerges from the bathroom, red-eyed but composed, a line has formed at our table that almost rivals Tila’s. The look of confused shock on her face would be comical if it weren’t so heartbreaking.
“What…what’s happening?” she asks, her voice small as she approaches.
“Your fanbase is growing,” I respond, adjusting the ridiculous cowboy hat. “Better get signing.”
To my surprise, an elderly woman thrusts a copy of Sora’s book at her. “Oh my god, you’re the author? Your boyfriend is hot!”
Sora blinks, then looks at me, her confusion slowly giving way to understanding. “My…boyfriend?”
“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” I offer her a wink. “See? Bells on like I promised.”
For a moment, I think she might be angry. Then, by a miracle of miracles, she laughs—a genuine, unexpected sound that transforms her face. The tension in my chest eases at the sight of her smile.
“Sign my book?” the woman prompts, pulling Sora’s attention back.
