Page 10 of The Purest Fake
I swallow nervously. “No, uh…” I fumble for words.
She laughs. “I’m messing with you.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“Come on, even I know a wrestling podcast isn’t the norm for most women. I’ve been watching professional wrestling with my dad since I was a small child. It was the one thing we bonded over, and it’ll forever be one of my favorite things.”
“How long have you been doing the podcast for?”
“Three years.”
“How many subscribers do you have?”
“One million.”
“Whaaat?” I don’t even try to keep my surprise under wraps.
She smiles. “You heard right.”
“That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. It’s not as popular as I want it to be, but I’m slowly getting there. So I’m assuming you didn’t come over to discuss my work.”
“No. I was thinking about yesterday at the restaurant and how you stepped in to help me out.” Pausing, I nervously thrust my fingers through my hair. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to do that more often.”
“How often?” She sips on her coffee, looking at me over the rim.
“Until the end of the season?”
She sets the mug on the island, keeping both hands wrapped around it. “Tell me exactly what you’re looking for.”
I nod. “ I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend. You and I both want to focus on our careers and not get distracted, so I was thinking if we pretended to be in a relationship, it could benefit both of us.”
Her contemplative gaze feels heavy on me. “How would this arrangement benefit me?”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. “Okay, it doesn’t really benefit you. But you’d get to come to some interesting events with me. Maybe even make some connections for your podcast.”
When she doesn’t reply, my thoughts spin like a tornado, leaving me sorting through the leftover wreckage for something positive to say. “I’d pay you for your time.”
“How much?”
“Whatever you want.” Now that I’ve broached the topic, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get her to agree.
“Ten thousand dollars for each month,” she says without missing a beat.
Holy shit.“Okay.”
She giggles and slaps a hand over her mouth to contain the sound. Her torso shakes from the effort of restraining herself, but it’s no use. She finally gives in and lets the guffaws rip while I stand here feeling like a jackass.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps out between bouts of laughter. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“Right,” I droll. It sure as hell feels like I’m the brunt of a joke.
She wipes the outer corners of her eyes. “No, really. I’m laughing because I’m totally screwing with you. I would never take your money.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re friends and that’s enough for me.”
