Page 59 of Mr. Big Shot

He leans forward and drops his hands on the table, lowering his voice. “Listen, it’s my mom’s birthday in two weeks. I want you to come to the house with me and play along.”

“So I just show up and pretend to be your date? Your girlfriend? Wife?”

He grins. “Easy there. Girlfriend will do. You’ll smile and act like you absolutely adore me. Sing to my mom, eat cake, yada yada—then we’ll be on our merry way.”

I shake my head as I mull it over. “I’m not sure I’m the best woman for the job. I have a terrible poker face.”

“Okay, just sit there and smile. No talking required. I’ll tell her you’re shy.”

I frown, not sure I believe him on this. “And if I do that, you’ll do the thing I want?”

He stands back up, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. He brushes invisible lint off his shoulder. “Yes. Fine. Whatever.”

“Even if it’ll jeopardize everything?”

His jaw tightens and he looks back at me with an unyielding, stern expression. “It won’t. You convinced me of that. It’ll be one time, and we’ll take the secret to our graves.”

I grin. “Fun. Okay. When?”

“What about tomorrow?”

I scrunch my nose. “On a work night?”

I’d barely have any time to get ready, and I desperately need to wax.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Saturday. You come to my place.”

“Fine. Okay.”

“Should we shake on it?”

“No. Eat your salad.”

I shimmy my shoulders. “I’m excited.”

His mouth is a terse line. He’s really sucking all the joy out of this little arrangement of ours. “You shouldn’t be. You have no idea how much my mom is going to hound you.”

“I’m really good with moms. They love me. Well…Jasper’s mom didn’t love me, but the feeling was mutual there so who cares.” Then my smile falls. “Wait—what’s going to happen when she asks about me after the birthday party?”

He shrugs. “I’ll play it off, tell her you’re busy. Then in a few months, I’ll tell her we broke up.”

“Because you were incapable of giving me the emotional support I needed.”

His brows arch. “Wow, you just think of that on the fly?”

“It’s perfect. Your mom will buy it right away.”

“Why can’t we say it was your fault?”

I rear back. “No. I don’t want your mom to be mad at me.”

“She doesn’t even know you.”

“Promise,” I insist.

He sighs. “Whatever. We’ll come up with some excuse you agree with when the time comes, okay? How’s that?”

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