Page 5 of Fiancé for Hire

“You look perfect,” his aunt said as if reading his mind. She stood and nodded toward the door. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

Drevon grumbled under his breath. “Let me make a quick phone call, and I’ll be there shortly.”

Viola narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about sneaking out of here, because I’ll find you.” With that she left, closing the door behind her.

What the hell was he doing?

Had his life really come to this—a paid escort?

ChapterThree

Antika paced the length of Mrs. Ross’s office, an average-sized space that was beautifully decorated. With the calming gray wall color, and the comfortable looking sofa and reading chair in the far corner, Antika should’ve been soaking up the peacefulness of the space.

Instead, she couldn’t stop asking herself:What the hell was I thinking signing up forAt Your Service?

She huffed out a weary breath and shook her head. Her footsteps might’ve been quiet against the plush carpet, but her heart was pounding loud enough to be heard down the hall. She wasn’t a hasty person. Hell, she overthought everything in her life—but she had been too quick to jump on the idea of hiring a man to be her date.

I’m paying someone to go out with me.

“How pathetic is that?” she mumbled, then growled aloud into the quietness of the room.

She had completed the questionnaire the night before, and it had been a simple process. The questions centered around basic details like her age, height, gender preference, annual income, and level of education.

The last part of the questionnaire contained questions that made her think long and hard before responding. They delved deeper into her personality, asking questions that she never thought about, such as: How did you handle your last failure? What is your first memory of yourself as a child? What would your last meal be?

She assumed the responses would determine who in their database might be compatible with her. But the unfortunate thing about her responses to the questions was, if she was asked the same questions on a different day, her answers would probably be different. They were subjective questions about her feelings on a topic, or her attitude regarding a subject.

Despite all the time it took to complete the questionnaire, Antika was having second thoughts about it all.

“I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it,” she admitted to herself, then moved to the sofa where’d she’d been sitting, and grabbed her handbag.

Unfortunately, she’d always been one of those people who cared what others thought of her. What would people think if they found out that she hired someone to be her plus-one?

Yet, here she was, hiring a man to escort her to a few events. All because she didn’t want family, friends, and her stupid ex-boyfriend—Edward—to think that she was too pathetic to get a date.

“So much for living on my own terms,” she murmured.

Before Antika could leave the office, the door flew open, startling her.

“I am so sorry for the delay,” Mrs. Ross said as she blew into the room and moved around to the other side of her desk. “Please forgive me. I needed to handle a situation that couldn’t wait. Now, where were we?”

“Actually, I changed my mind,” Antika said as she slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience this might cause, but I no longer need your services.”

“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Ross interrupted while glancing around Antika.

Antika turned to find a tall, handsome man standing in the doorway. He was all matchy-matchy in an ugly outfit, but it looked as if it had been tailored specifically for his physique. Considering how well-groomed and put together he was, he looked as if he had just finished a photo shoot for a men’s fashion magazine.

She hoped this wasn’t the guy Mrs. Ross was trying to set her up with. He was good-looking with skin the color of honey, and a five o’clock shadow covering his cheeks and chin. Actually, he looked familiar, but he was everything she didn’t want in a man. Preppy. Tidy. A slave to fashion, and he was too damn pretty.

Antika preferred her men thick, dark, and rugged. This guy might’ve been a little muscular, but he was too nerdy-looking for her. Well, maybe not nerdy. He did kind of give off Drake—the singer—vibes with his swag, dark eyes, and facial hair. Still, he was too…polished.

Nope. Not my type.

He did have one thing going for him—he was tall. At five-eleven in her bare feet, she preferred men who were at least six-three or taller, and this guy fit the bill.

But that was it.

“He’s not my type,” Antika blurted before she could pull the words back.

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