Page 1 of One and Only

Chapter1

Greer

In my own defense, the decision to hire a husband wasn’tactuallya bad one. It was the execution where I stumbled.

Yes, I could’ve thought things through better (my tendency to act first and think secondwasone of my personality flaws) and sure, I could have tried to do it the old-fashioned way (really though, who has the time).

The truth was that I never should have scheduledinterview possible husband candidatesandlast-minute design consultationfor my stupid brother’s teammateon the same night.

Convenience—the location of the restaurant to my hotel, getting both of these things out of the way at once—and cravings—I would fight someone over baked ziti—were the drivers for that decision, and no doubt, I could look back on my desire for cheesy carbs as the thing that caused my downfall.

The walk from my hotel to the restaurant didn’t take as long as I thought, so I showed up plenty early and paused before I told her my reservation name.

In hindsight, this would’ve been the moment to call the entire thing off.

Before giving her my name, I was the only person involved.

Before sitting down in that booth, no one knew what I was attempting. In my mind, I could see the proverbial door of my escape sliding shut.

My chest went a little tight at the ramifications, but instead of walking away, I hitched my chin higher and approached the host stand.

“Reservation for Greer Wilder,” I told her.

She gave me a polite smile and grabbed two menus. “Of course. Follow me, please.”

The booth I requested was in the farthest corner from the entrance, curved for privacy. In the center of the table was a tasteful arrangement of short, squat candles flickering with warm light and a bud vase filled with a single rose.

Perfect.

I gave her a frank look and pulled a fifty out of my purse. “I will need this table all evening,” I told her.

She arched some seriously perfect eyebrows. “Okay?”

“I’ve allotted a very specific amount of time for each guy I’m meeting, and as long as no one shows early, it should be just fine.”

Her mouth fell open. “How many dates do you have tonight?”

First, they weren’tactuallydates, and for a moment, I considered explaining that to her. But then there would be questions and judgment, and I really didn’t feel like pausing for either option.

Second, whatever they were called, I had way too many of them to be considered sane.

“A few,” I hedged. “I have something very specific I’m looking for.”

A nice smile.

Taller than me.

Relatively sane.

Moderately attractive.

Willing to fake marry a stranger for money.

I didn’tsayany of that, of course. But nonetheless, when she gave me a wide-eyed look that straddled the line between worry and awe, I felt a hysterical bubble claw its way up the back of my throat.

The front of the restaurant was a long uninterrupted stretch of windows, so I specifically chose a seat in the booth that had me completely hidden from view. Normally, I’d want the opportunity to study any approaching male specimen—especially given my current situation—but for the sake of any early arrivals, I wanted to make sure they couldn’t see me from the host stand.

A server approached with two glasses of water and a speculative gleam in his eye.

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