Page 23 of Dr. Billionaire's Fake Marriage

I stand at the same spot, watching it move out of sight. I drive to the restaurant and wait for Dorothy Logan to arrive.

It is thirty minutes after five in the evening, and Dorothy has yet to show up. I look at my wristwatch nervously and decide to wait for another thirty minutes.

I call Mother's personal assistant, asking her if Dorothy is aware of the arrangement today. She said Dorothy was very aware. I hate being stood up. Now, it looks like Dorothy will ghost the arrangement.

I close my eyes, my hands covering my face, and avoid telling the waiters that my date is a little late.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up, getting ready to tell the waiter to give our table a break, but it is not the waiter: it is Dorothy smiling at me.

I raise my brows at her; she comes late to a date and is also here with a dog. Her assistant holds the dog in her hand.

"Hi!" Dorothy giggles, taking the dog from her assistant and rubbing the animal’s fluffy fur. "You are early," she says, still standing as she turns to dismiss her assistant.

Dorothy isn't sorry for making me wait for forty minutes; she says I am early. I should know that no girl comes to their date venue at the exact time. She strokes her dog's fur as she speaks.

Dorothy tells me that she is ordering some food for her dog too. "Dorothy" is her dog's name.

When I point out the similarity, she says it is because her French bulldog is her animal sister.

Dorothy's dog has a tiny hairband across its head, matching the pink and white hairband on her hair.

The rest of the date turns into a nightmare, not surprising. Dorothy wasn't kidding about getting food for her dog.

She created a space for her dog at our table and forced the poor dog to eat the same pasta meal that she ordered.

She talks about her dog for most of the conversation and about her ex-boyfriends leaving her because they think she is obsessed with her pet.

"What do you think, Troy?" she finally asks me the question I dread.

“What?” I raise my head, hoping she will change the question.

“Do you think I am obsessed with Dorothy?” Dorothy asks.

I clear my throat, trying to be as dishonest as I can. “No,” I say, hoping my face will maintain my lie. I don’t think she bought it. “I think you are okay.”

She nods as she reaches for her handbag. She takes out printed pictures of her dog and asks me to choose which should be used for her magazine appearance.

I look at the pictures and settle for a random one.

"Thank you," she says. "My ex-boyfriends hated picking Dorothy's magazine's pictures." I nod as she continues to speak about the damn dog.

I wish she would stop talking now, but she doesn't.

I sigh with relief when her assistant comes back into the restaurant. She says something into Dorothy's ear, and I am grateful for whatever she has told her boss.

Dorothy stands up. "I am sorry we have to leave." she says. When she says, "we," she means her and her French bulldog.

I shake my head. “You don’t have to be.” I say. “You should go whenever you want.”

I fill my lungs with hair as I watch Dorothy leave the restaurant. Whatever urgent thing she had to take care of saved me from getting bored.

My thoughts go to the night I spent with Camile on the rooftop.

She is different from Dorothy; in fact, she is different from all of them. She is calm, beautiful, and a good listener… and she doesn't have a dog she is obsessed with.

I am happy that I have the pizza thing with Camile soon. The thought of it is enough to take me through these awful dates.

I check my matchmaking list again; the next person is Valerie Donald. I sigh, trying to think of what awfulness I have to put up with on the date.

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