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Alot?

What does that even say about me?

I don’t know.

But I definitely don’t tell Dani that he blackmailed me into this. Just that he ordered me to do it. Fine line.

I know I wasn’t supposed to tell her anything. NDA and all. But come on. I tell my besties everything. I’ll tell Nicole, too, when I see her in person; some things just don’t belong in a text.

And like the ride-or-die friend she is, Dani proceeds to calmly assist me in procuring a new dress, shoes, lipstick, liquideyeliner, a satin handbag, and finally, when she realizes we have almost five grand left, a diamond tennis bracelet.

I personally think the bracelet is a bit much. But when I express this to Dani she replies, deadpan, “Well, I think that your boss ordering you to lie to his family that you’re his woman because he doesn’t have one is a bit much.”

We spend the remaining balance on a blow out for each of us, the two smoothies we slurp at the salon, and an Uber back to Crave bakery, which is now closed but conveniently close to Vance Tower.

Dani puts on “Love Is a Battlefield” courtesy of myLorraine Foreverplaylist and does my makeup; while Dani couldn’t give a crap about eighties music, if any woman truly believes love is a battlefield, it’s her.

Then I get dressed in the cramped staff washroom.

When I step out for the big reveal, she looks triumphant. “You look gorgeous. Way too good for some spoiled billionaire boss.” She takes me by the shoulders and instructs me, “Make sure he works for it before you serve up any sugar. You’re too sweet for your own good, Quinn Monroe.”

I roll my eyes a little, way more nervous than I want to let on. “I’m still in a relationship with Justin. Technically. There will be no serving of sugar.”

Now Dani rolls her eyes.

I am in a relationship, but only because I haven’t told Justin yet that the relationship is over. He didn’t ask me how I’m doing, or how Mom is doing, the last time I saw him. Or the time before that. Or any of the times before, in weeks. I barely see him. He rarely takes me out.

All he does is call me over to his bed in the middle of the night, when he feels like it.

Harlan was right. We are sleeping together.

Rarely are we actually dating.

I used to tell myself he just doesn’t have time because he’s so focused on making a success of his bakery business. That used to be a good thing. Admirable.

I don’t have much time for a relationship, either.

I keep telling myself I don’t want anything serious. And Justin was the perfect casual boyfriend. Successful in my field, easy on the eyes, and he doesn’t judge my music preferences.

But Justin has never given me a hot flash with just a look in his eyes or a lowering of his voice.

I’ve never lusted after him.

Suddenly, I don’t know why I thought that was okay.

When did I set the bar so damn low?

I mean, maybe it’s still low if I’m now lusting after a man who would blackmail me into a fake date with him, but we’ll sort that out later.

I retrieve the cake I stored in one of the fridges, ready to go, then Dani walks me over to Vance Tower, hugs me goodbye, and says, “Remember. Don’t let him win.” Then she turns me by the shoulders and sends me off toward the gleaming entrance.

She definitely thinks I’m going to fuck him.

That this dinner is just a ruse. Foreplay. That he’s inviting me to dinner with this fake-date scheme just to get me into bed.

I guess that’s more believable than the real explanation.

As I approach the giant gold VANCE sign, a driver mobilizes from his post near the valet stand, and strides over to a black Mercedes SUV that’s parked in front of the entrance. He opens the rear door and nods at me.