Page 6 of The Fake Dating Plan

Try harder. I’m not telling you anything. “Mind your own business,” I said, and left him in my office. He might be my best friend, but it didn’t mean he had to know every detail about my life. At least not this part, not yet anyway.

I went into the waiting elevator. My phone buzzed as the doors closed.

Caiden:She’s got you that rattled, huh?

I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother to respond. I wasn’t rattled, just surprised, that’s all. When I reached the basement, Eddie, my chauffeur, looked a little frazzled. “Mr. Reid,” he said as he opened the door to the town car, “I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

“Less work today,” I said, even though I had left piles outstanding.

He went to the driver's seat and after he started the car, he looked into the rearview mirror and asked, “Headed home?”

I nodded. Eddie drove the car straight into the rush hour traffic. Great. I rarely finish work when everyone finishes, and I wasn’t expecting this much congestion. No wonder Caiden takes the helicopter sometimes.

“Is there another route?”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s peak hour.”

I was feeling restless and didn’t understand where the extra energy was coming from. I took out my phone and nothing on it interested me except for a few messages from Gia.

Gia:Why aren’t you picking up?

Gia:Are you mad at me? ?

Gia:Pick up your fucking phone!

The last one was book-ended with three angry face emojis. There were four other texts from her, but didn’t bother reading the rest. She wasn’t this needy when we first met. She was cool to be around and acted like she was aloof. I guess I should have known better; it was time to end things. It’s not as if there was anything more to our relationship than sex anyway. Which was fine. Things sour when fuck buddies see themselves as girlfriends.

My mother had sent a few texts of her own as well. She sent me an image of her and some young, sophisticated looking woman. They appeared to be at a polo match. They both looked great.

Mom:Remember Tinsley? You both went to high school together.

I could barely recall her.

Mom:You two should meet. There’s something about her that reminded me of you. I gave her your number. I hope you don’t mind!

What! No! I furiously typed.

Me:What did I say about setting me up? Don’t!

Three dots quickly appeared.

Mom:Are you mad?

Me:Stop setting me up! This is the third person this month. I have a girlfriend, remember?

Mom: Can I meet her?

She got me there. She knew I would never let her see Gia. Our quickly souring relationship never met those heights. It was the same with all of my previous relationships. I called them girlfriends, the press called them girlfriends, but at most, their were fuck buddies. And I think my mom knew that. All of them except… I shut off the messaging app in frustration and my finger hovered on the browser app. Don’t do it? I told myself. Don’t do it. It’s stalkerish and creepy. But she was a potential business associate. The best I could do is to look into what she was about. I tapped the browser app and typed Emilia Harris.

Articles about her popped up.Jewelry designer Emilia Harris wins the Carther award for best young designer.One article read. This one I knew about. We were dating when she won it. Another was a thirty under thirty Forbes article. And so on and so on. I went to the images like the not stalker that I was and scrolled down. Some of them were of her at fashion events and other similar red-carpet events. Nothing big, but stuff to make a parent proud. Most of them were from her Instagram account. I clicked on one. Five hundred thousand followers. I whistled, attracting Eddie’s attention. She had done well for herself.

With a quick glance, it was easy to see why she was popular. All her posts looked perfect and well thought out. They had one motive, I noticed, to showcase her designs. And they were beautiful designs. I scrolled further down to the earlier posts. They were less eye-catching than the earlier ones. I went to her tagged pics. A lot of images of her at industry events and parties. One image, however, caught my eye. Huh, she had been withholding certain information. I saved it, ignoring the simmering feeling that was burning inside me. I got off Instagram and went back to my search.

She was doing well for herself, and as much as I hated to admit it, she had gone from a poor girl from the Bronx to a rising star in jewelry design. One article was a profile on her and her company. I had to read it, of course. I mean, it was research, after all.

It mentioned her road to success; her struggles in an industry that was male-dominated even though its primary demographic were women. How her company had garnered a loyal customer base that was more like a fan base. All the markers of a fluff piece. Then came to the question about her jewelry designs and the names:

Your jewelry is edgy and unique. It’s all very sharp and industrial, but also elegant and soft. That’s not all that sets you apart. It’s also how you name the pieces. The Axe Can F* necklace, your bestselling piece, has a unique name and a lot of your customers are curious to know. Where did the name come from?

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