Page 3 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

“I think the linebackers are the big guys?” Claire shrugged. “Built like a bear, then.”

“So we’re talking bulk, not definition?”

Claire considered this. “Power, I think. I’m less about the look and more about the—technique, if you know what I mean. I want a guy who could throw me twenty feet without breaking a sweat. Not one that actuallywould,” she added quickly.

“Right.”

“Not that I’m opposed to a little bit of consensual throwing-around—”

“Claire Daniels, you scandalous minx.” Suzanne’s grin had taken over her face and her eyes were glowing with delight as she tapped at her phone screen. “And do we care what this Adonis does to make his ample living?”

“Not particularly,” she said, leaning into the fantasy. “I mean, something worthwhile and important would be good. I don’t want some oil executive or one of those unscrupulous tech billionaires who make all their money from sweatshops.”

Suzanne was nodding hearty agreement. “You’re describing half my old client base, and you’re absolutely right to steer clear.”

“Someone in politics, maybe? But nobody too high-up. I don’t want my kids to grow up barely seeing their dad. I want him around. Like, local government, or something.” She grimaced. “I suppose there aren’t many millionaires working in local government—”

“No realism,” Suzanne said firmly. “We’re in fantasy land here, Claire. You of all people should be comfortable with this.”

“Realism’s an important part of building a fantasy, actually,” Claire pointed out. “If I wrote some impossible, flawless demigod, my readers would lose interest. Fantasy’s one thing, but realism is what gets you invested in the world. He’s got to have flaws,” she said firmly, pointing at Suzanne’s phone. “Put that in.”

“There’s no drop-down menu for ‘flaws’, shockingly enough,” Suzanne said drily.

Claire frowned. “Drop-down menu? Aren’t we just—writing a shopping list?”

“No way, babe. I’m at the store.” Suzanne held her phone up, and Claire realized with a shock that her friend was scrolling through photos of men on an app she didn’t recognize. “It’s amazing how many euphemisms these guys come up with for inheriting a bunch of money from their parents—”

“Suzanne, I told you I’m not doing dating apps.”

“This isn’t a dating app,” Suzanne grinned. “I’m not finding you a boyfriend, I’m finding you a husband. Relax,” she added when she saw the look on Claire’s face. “I’m using one of my sock puppets.”

“Oh, your army of fake women?”

Suzanne was an absolute magician when it came to the world of social media—she had at least a dozen entirely fictional alter-egos that she’d been using for years to keep tabs on her sugar daddies and make sure they were who they said they were. More recently, she’d used them to test her fiancé’s loyalty. James had firmly rebuffed even the steamiest of advances from every last one of her fake accounts—and even more promising, he’d told her about every single one as soon as they’d happened.

“Jolene wants a man,” Suzanne said, pointing at the display picture on her phone screen. It showed a bright-eyed woman with curly black hair. Claire put her hand automatically to her own curls, a little unnerved by how similar the cut and color were, but the woman in the picture had blue eyes and a long, elegant face that stood in contrast to Claire’s round face and dark brown eyes. “You two have a lot in common.”

“Whatisthis app?” Curious despite herself, Claire leaned forward to scrutinize the men Suzanne was flicking past. “It’s not one I recognize.”

“I’d be surprised if you did. Mail-order brides aren’t exactly the kind of thing you find on the app store.”

“Mail order—Suzanne, what are you signing me up for?”

“Not you, Jolene. Remember?” She grinned. “Jolene was the last one I went after James with. He was so worried I was going to think he was lying when he told me about her that I had to come clean.”

“About all of them?”

“Yeah, almost all of them.” Suzanne smiled with her trademark calculated innocence, a smile that had won and then broken dozens of hearts, if not hundreds. “A girl’s gotta keep a few tricks up her sleeve on the way to the altar, doesn’t she?”

“I guess so.” Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was her reluctance to revisit the subject of her own trainwreck of a life, but Claire couldn’t bring herself to object too strenuously to the absolutely absurd suggestion her friend was making. Signing up as a mail order bride didn’t really seem much more ridiculous than any other course of action right now. She leaned over Suzanne’s shoulder and watched as she scrolled through profile after profile, fascinated despite herself by this glimpse of a world Suzanne had always kept reasonably private from her.

“Some of these guys are pretty hot,” she said, raising an eyebrow as Suzanne lingered on the profile of a silver fox in a tailored suit. “Do billionaires really have this much trouble meeting women in real life?”

“Sometimes,” Suzanne said with a shrug. “I mean, this stuff is all a fair bit beyond my level. Mail-order bride versus sugar baby…I’m an amateur compared to the women who do this kind of thing.”

“I’ve heard your stories,” Claire objected. “You’re far from an amateur.”

“I just bat my eyes at rich men for an evening and get my rent paid,” Suzanne said, shaking her head. “This is something else altogether. This kind of agreement …I mean, you know me, I’m a calculating bitch deep down. I could never do something this…romantic.”

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