Page 95 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

The plane is descendinginto paradise. Out the window, the coastline stretches into the blue distance, tinged by stunning white sand.

The tranquility is a stark contrast to the feeling inside me.

I tap my fingers on my legs, keeping a beat any bass drummer would be proud of. My mouth feels like it’s auditioning to be a desert.

Basically, I’m a one-man display of nerves.

I’ve never had a job this big before.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I’ve been given thorough training by Elite. I know what I’m doing.

My friend, Mark, first told me about the Elite agency. Until that point, Mark had been a mystery to me. I could never work out how he lived so large—fancy apartment, Porsche, overseas vacations—with the part-time gym instructing he did.

But then he’d asked if I would be down for some part-time work for a very discreet, very elite agency that provided dating and personal services to the uber-rich.

Mystery solved.

It was a no-brainer to say yes. I’m currently a personal trainer and hustling to save every cent I can to start my own gym.

Go on a date, pretend to like the man or woman I’m with, then pocket the cash? It’s a sweet deal if you can get it.

Especially since I’ve always been good at pretending.

I’ve only gone on a handful of dates for the agency so far, but they’ve gone well. I’ve always had a charming side I can whip out when necessary.

But this assignment is different. This is a whole week on a tropical island pretending to be someone’s boyfriend.

Technically, someone as new as me wouldn’t be given an extended gig like this. I’d been told at the training how I would start on small jobs before moving up to the big ones.

But this morning, I received a call from Erin, my contact person at the agency.

“Hi, Liam? I’m calling to ask an urgent favor.”

I’d sat upright in bed. I had never heard Erin sound anything but in control, but right then, she’d sounded off.

“What’s up?” I’d asked.

“I need someone on short notice for a job. The guy who was supposed to do it came down with a violent case of food poisoning and missed the private charter flight this morning. I need someone to jump on a commercial flight from San Francisco to Hawaii and pretend to be a CEO’s boyfriend for a week at a corporate retreat. I can offer you double the usual rate.”

Damn. Double the usual rate was a ton of cash.

I’d mentally run through my list of gym clients for the next week, trying to work out how to shift them to my assistant, Tad. It’d been doable.

“I think I can make that work.”

“Oh, thank you so much. This is a new client, and we want to impress him. We always have a contingency plan, but in this case, our backup option just broke his ankle.”

“I’ll do my best to impress the client,” I promised.

She’d sent me the job spec sheet and the client profile, and I’d reviewed the details.

Preston Harrison was in his mid-forties and the general manager of one of the largest banks in the country. A week-long job pretending to be a big shot’s boyfriend for incredible money. It wasn’t exactly a hardship.

And if I do a decent job, I’ll be hooked up for more of these jobs, which means I’ll be able to open my gym sooner. It’s a gym with a difference, a gym I hope will help people.

I can’t screw this job up.

The plane touches down with a jolt.

I switch my phone back on to find an urgent message from Erin.

Sorry, I just realized I sent you the wrong profile. I’m sending you the right one now.

My stomach does a nosedive. Great. So my client isn’t Preston. I’ve got about five minutes to quickly look over the info about my actual client.

Unfortunately, when I open the attachment, it comes up blank.

I frantically dial Erin’s number, but she doesn’t pick up.

Fuck. Looks like I’m winging it.

The nerves multiply in my stomach, and I fight them back.

I’ve got this. I can hang out at a resort and play pretend boyfriend to some loaded guy for a week. It actually doesn’t matter who the guy is. I can nail this.

The instructions on the job sheet are that I’ll be met at baggage claim by my fake boyfriend, and we’ll travel to the resort together as a chance to get to know each other. So when I step into the baggage claim area, I immediately start scanning for… Who am I actually scanning for? Not Preston. That’s all I know.

Another flight has just arrived as well, so there’s a lot of talking and laughing people.

How am I supposed to find my client? Fuck. I haven’t messed up the first step, have I?

I finally move so I can see past a large group of Australian tourists, and tucked behind them is a guy holding up a sign with my name.

Relief shoots through me.

Until my eyes drift downward, and I clock the guy holding the paper.

Then, the emotion inside me is the opposite of relief.

Holy fuck.

You’ve got to be joking.