His Fake Girlfriend

by Amber Nox

  At this, Nate relaxes slightly. He’s known Francesca a long time, and he trusts her judgement. We all do. She’s been good to us all over the years, collecting us like waifs and strays and making us something from nothing. Nate was the same. He came out of the military and he was, from what I’ve gleaned, a mess. Francesca gave him focus, a purpose. She gave him a second chance. At times, he looks at her like she’s his saviour. I know because it’s the same feelings I have for her. Francesca saved my life too. I was in a bad place when she found me.

  “You get into even the slightest hint of trouble, you call. I don’t care what time it is—you call. I’ll be there as fast as I can, you hear?”

  This warms me, and I smile at him. “You’re too good to me, Nate. I’ll be fine, though. I’ve done this a hundred times.”

  “Never for this long.”

  “No, never for this long, but it’s all the same process, the same mechanics.”

  He glances down at the pavement, his hands dropping to his hips, which rucks up the jacket of his suit over his thick pectorals.

  I wait for him to speak, and he does eventually, but the words are not what I expect. He simply says, “You’d best get inside before he arrives. I’ll bring your bag in.”

  “I can carry it.”

  It’s just one small bag with my bare essentials in that I can’t live without. Mostly, it’s my makeup, the perfume I use, my toiletries and a few other bits.

  “Inside, darlin’.”

  Since arguing with Nate when he’s this obstinate is pointless, I let it go and head inside. I find Francesca getting things ready for our client’s arrival. She’s perfectly turned out, as always—business ready.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks as I step into the room.

  “A little on edge,” I admit.

  She gives me a smile. “You need to check in with me every day, darling. That’s a must. A call as well, not just a message. I need to speak to you. I need to hear your voice and ensure you’re physically and mentally coping.”

  “Of course.”

  Her eyes roam across my face. “You’ll do spectacularly.”

  I know Francesca took a risk hiring me. After all, I was an escort previously for a less than reputable firm. I don’t know what she saw in me that day she spoke to me. I was sitting in a bar, just outside the London Bridge area of the city. I’d finished up with a client who hadn’t adhered to any of the no-touching rules without payment and I had to get a little rough with him to get him to stop. A stiff drink had been in order. Francesca came out of nowhere. She knew what I was, what I did for a living. I had no idea how she knew; she never divulged and I never asked, but she offered me a position in her agency.

  At first, I thought she was joking. Then I wondered if she was undercover police. I refused her offer. It took me a good week and a half to accept, and I’ve never looked back. Francesca has a select client base and a select group of employees on her books. It means she only deals with the best and it’s this that makes working for her so wonderful.

  So, hearing the belief she has in me makes me swell with pride. “Thank you.”

  We take a seat and she makes me a tea while we wait. I’m not sure what to expect. I know vaguely what he’ll look like from the descriptions Francesca has given me, but that’s all. She merely said tall, dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard, which conjures up a million images in my mind.

  Nate pops his head around the door. “He’s here.”

  “Show him through please, darling,” Francesca says.

  Nate nods, although I can see by the set of his jaw he’s not happy about this arrangement at all. I smile internally at his over-protectiveness. It’s quite endearing, even if it is misplaced.

  Sliding my mug on the edge of the small coffee table, I push out of the armchair and smooth down my dress. I quickly check my hair with my hand to make sure it remains in place, and look towards the door, ready for him. I shouldn’t be anxious. He picked me, after all, out of Francesca’s catalogue. He had a choice of numerous women and he chose me, so I’m sure I’ll look as he expects, but I feel like I’m waiting to be judged.

  Confidence is not something I usually lack, so this is a foreign feeling for me, and I have to force myself not to fidget as he steps inside the room, and when he does, my world stops for a moment, because Jacob Hansen might be the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  I’m used to being around good-looking men, but he’s something else entirely. He’s tall with dark brown hair that is just long enough to run fingers through. His skin is tanned and seems darker because of the beard covering his jaw and running over the top of his full mouth—a very kissable and sensual mouth. He’s wearing a T-shirt that is pulled tight over a clearly well-defined chest. It encircles the top of his biceps, telling me he’s a man who spends much of his free time in the gym. He takes care of his body, both physically but also in how he dresses. His style is sharp, sleek and designer. The trousers he’s coupled with his tee look tailored and although he’s wearing canvas shoes, they’re not supermarket knock-offs. They’re branded. The entire outfit looks like it walked off a glossy magazine shoot, and I wonder if he chose it himself, or if it was picked out for him. Does he have this much style?

  “Francesca.”

  He says her name in a deeply masculine voice that has my stomach filling with butterflies.

  “Ah, Mr Hansen.” Francesca moves towards him, playing the ever dutiful hostess. “I hope your journey here wasn’t too strenuous.”

  “No, it was fine.”

  That voice… It does funny things to the apex between my legs. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a client before. It’s concerning.

  He’s just an attractive man. It’s okay to find him attractive, Scarlett.

  As long as I don’t act on it, it’s perfectly fine.

  Then eyes so brown they look like chocolate land on me, and my heart skips several beats.

  Oh. God.

  He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. I try to school my features, maintain my professionalism. Acting as if I’m this man’s devoted partner will not be difficult; I’m smitten already.

  Somehow, I manage to speak, although it’s a difficult thing. “Mr Hansen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I mean this sincerely. It is an absolute pleasure.

  His gaze moves over my face, taking in every inch of me, and I feel my cheeks warm under his scrutiny.

  Then, he says, “Francesca told you about my situation?”

  “She did.”

  “And you’re okay with being called by the name I suggested?”

  He asked Francesca if I could be called Evelyn Michaelson.

  “It’s perfectly fine.”

  I’ve already built a profile for her. In fact, Evelyn has fast become one of my favourite personas. She is less uptight than Victoria, who went for dinner with Mr Greer a few weeks ago. She’s more down to earth, more girl next door, but can switch up the charm where needed. I carefully crafted a background for her, based on what parameters Mr Hansen asked for: a university graduate, likes animals, works in fashion, loves fresh flowers and long walks along the beach.

  You see, this is what I do; I play roles. I’m an actress, a piece on a chessboard. Evelyn, Victoria, Claire and Holly—they each bring something different to the table. Evelyn is sunny and bright, but demure as well. She’s funny, witty even, and I think she’ll fit well with Mr Hansen.

  Until we leave this room, however, I’m still Scarlett Haversham. It’s a strange dynamic world I live in, and it can get confusing if I don’t keep the boundaries in check. I have to always remember the client-escort line, even when the client looks like an Adonis.

  “Everything is in place then?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Francesca says. “If you require anything, you can, of course, call me. Or speak to Evelyn. She’ll be able to assist.”

  He stares at me for a beat and then says, “You understand the
arrangement?”

  I nod. “Your parents are in the country for two weeks, visiting the vineyards you own in Cornwall. They run your main base in Australia, but you also have operations in France. The Hansen Company make several types of wine, including a very beautiful pinot blanc that I’m actually quite partial to. You’re presenting me during the stay as your girlfriend.”

  He doesn’t speak for a moment, then says, “We’ve got a long drive. We’d better get going.”

  He turns and heads for the door. I give Francesca a look and head after him, snagging my bag from near the door on my way out.

  3

  Scarlett

  Mr Hansen—Jacob—has been driving for about forty-five minutes before he finally speaks. I tried to make small talk when I first got into the car. I didn’t get much beyond the odd few grunts and monosyllabic responses. I gave up after that. I surmised he wasn’t interested in conversing, and I’ve learnt in this job the customer always knows best—particularly given the amount of money being exchanged in this business.

  So, he takes me by surprise when he finally speaks.

  “How’d you get into… this?”

  “Into this?” I shoot for dumb, even though I know what he’s asking. They all want to know, they all get curious. How does a small, blonde woman who looks like butter wouldn’t melt end up escorting businessmen to functions and whatever else for money?

  “You know what I’m asking,” he grumbles, his gaze going back to the windscreen and the road beyond it. “Don’t play coy.”

  I smile, and glance out of the side window, watching the cars and world pass by. “How does anyone get into anything? I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Does it matter?” I slide my eyes towards him, watching as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “In two weeks’ time we’ll part ways, never to see each other again. Why complicate things? This is just a business arrangement, Mr Hansen.”

  He lets out a huff. “You’re not going to call me that all fortnight, are you? It’s odd. People might talk.”

  I resist from rolling my eyes like a petulant teenager. “No, I’ll call you Jacob, or Jake. Your file said you prefer the latter.”

  “File…” He chews the word out. “It sounds so clinical.”

  He’s unsettled, I understand why. This is not a normal situation, but he was the one who instigated it, so he should be more at ease with his decision than he is.

  “It’s just how we find out about you. There’s no other easy way to do it. I had to learn about you somehow. Although, your file didn’t explain why you need a girlfriend for two weeks.”

  He doesn’t speak, so I surmise I’m not getting an answer to this question. Brilliant. Forewarned is forearmed, but I guess I’m going in dark with this one. I’ll just have to keep my wits about me. What a riddle Mr Jacob Hansen is.

  I try a different tact. “Your parents are visiting for two weeks?”

  “Yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s going to be a long visit. I’m hoping you will act as a buffer between me and my mother especially. She can be a nightmare.”

  Considering the less than stellar relationship I had with my mother, I’m not sure I’m the best advocate of maternal happiness. Even so, I smile and say, “Whatever you need.”

  He makes a noise low in his throat. “You may regret saying that.”

  Possibly, but my job is to keep him happy, so I get the rest of the agreed payment when the two weeks is up. “I doubt it, Jacob. My role here is to make things as easy as possible.”

  “There’ll be no easy with her. She’ll be pushy, insistent and probably difficult. She’s going to want to know everything about us.”

  “I can handle her,” I assure him.

  “She doesn’t believe I settled down so suddenly.”

  “Why did you say you were in a relationship? Why the lie?” It’s none of my business, but I’m curious. “You don’t have to answer,” I tell him.

  He shifts in the seat which pulls the shirt over his chest, accentuating the lines of muscles over his pectorals. I have to look away, so I don’t drool.

  “It’s fine. You’re right to be worried about what you’re walking into.” He goes quiet for a moment, then says, “Because my father retires in a year and a half and my mother is a first-class meddler. She thinks she needs to see me happily settled down. Before she booked her flights here, she’d already set up about half a dozen dates with suitable women. I don’t need, nor want, a partner. I like my life as it is. I just need to survive two weeks with her here and then I can go back to the way things were.”

  I’m starting to see a picture here. “So, you told your mother you’re dating to avoid a line of potential dates?”

  “Something like that, except by doing that I now have to present this mythical woman to my naysaying mother.”

  “I see. Quite the predicament.”

  “It would be, if it wasn’t for Francesca’s services.” He glances at me. “She’s only here for two weeks, then she’ll return to Australia for another six months and I can go back to my life in peace.”

  And continue living a lie.

  I don’t say this, even though I think it.

  “Don’t worry, Jacob. It’s in my interest to sell the lie, but there’s a line. I’m sure Francesca explained everything to you.”

  “In detail.”

  “So, you know even though we’re posing as boyfriend and girlfriend beyond kissing and some PG-rated touching there’s no other sexual contact.”

  “Yes.”

  “We sleep separately.”

  “Of course. I’m not going to jump your bones, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re not even my type.”

  I stare at him across the car. “You picked someone to take home to meet your parents who isn’t even your type? They have to buy into it as well.”

  This elicits a scowl. “I figured it would be easier this way. You don’t have to worry anyway. I can control myself. I’m not some randy sex pest.”

  I choose to ignore that he said that and instead ask, “Tell me about your parents.”

  Mostly, I’m interested in why he feels the need to lie about having a partner at his age. It seems strange.

  “Not much to tell. They’re typical Type A personalities. They’ve always worked hard, played harder. They got the first vineyard up and running when Dad was barely twenty. It’s the same vineyard I’m taking you to now. It was three vines and they made less than three dozen bottles in the first year. The second year, they did much better. Eventually, they expanded. They bought the vineyards in France and built a second base over there. Then about five years ago, we moved over to Australia. My parents have been there ever since running operations, leaving me to handle the UK side of things, while my sister and brother see to the French business arm. It works spectacularly, but it doesn’t stop them sticking their noses in from afar.”

  A pushy mother might make things difficult. I don’t usually deal with family dynamics, although I have done jobs that involve family elements. This is a whole other ball game. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

  “You could just tell them to keep their noses out,” I say. I probably shouldn’t offer this advice, but I can’t help myself.

  He snorts. “If I thought it would work, I would. My mother especially doesn’t listen. I told her a hundred times I wasn’t interested in dating, but if I hadn’t said I was with someone, I can guarantee she’d turn up at the vineyard with suitable candidates in tow, looking to matchmake.”

  “You mother sounds… interesting.”

  “She’s a nightmare. You can say it. I love her, but God, she’s hard work. It was almost a blessing when she moved to Australia.”

  “She just wants to see you happy.” I have no idea why I’m defending a woman I don’t know.

  “I am happy. I don’t need her to meddle.”

  “It must be ni
ce to have a mother who cares enough to meddle.”

  I realise instantly I’ve broken my first rule: I’ve given away something personal about myself. I have no idea what it is about this man, but he seems to have me on a back foot already. I’m offering insight, breaking my code, doing things I don’t normally do, and we’re not even technically on the clock yet.

  “Your mother’s a nightmare?”

  “Hmm.” I make the non-committal sound, hoping he’ll drop it.

  He doesn’t.

  “How so?”

  “We’re not here to discuss my issues,” I tell him. “This fortnight is about you.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t talk about you as well. It’ll get pretty boring pretty fast if it’s all me, me, me. Come on, I can’t be the only one with crazy parents.”

  I laugh a little. “My parents aren’t crazy. They’d have to care for that.”

  I curse myself again. What is going on? My tongue is running away with itself. I can’t stop from spilling secrets to this man.

  “You don’t have a good relationship with them?” he asks.

  I have the kind of relationship that is best described as hellishly bad. The less said the better.

  “Tell me a little about the vineyard.” It’s not just a blatant change of topic, it’s a complete swerve to avoid oncoming traffic.

  He doesn’t comment, though. He just shifts his attention back to the road and taps his fingers against the steering wheel before he says, “There’s not much to tell. It’s been in the family since about the mid-eighties. I grew up there, so it’s pretty much the only home I’ve ever known.”

  “It must be nice to live there still.”

  “Yeah, it is. There was a bit of a scuffle between me and my siblings over who would stay and run it after Mum and Dad decided to move over to Victoria to run the vineyard there, but I’m the eldest, so I pulled rank.”

  “Oh, did that work? Pulling that card?”

  He shrugs. “I’m here, they’re in the Loire Valley. Although, sometimes I wonder if they got the better deal.”