“Why is that?” he blurted out.
Picking up the burger, she said, “The regular way spills all the guts out before you can even finish your food. This way you can enjoy the entire burger without making as big a mess. Plus, they usually place the pickle in the middle. That’s my favorite part, so I leave it for last.” She put her thumb into her mouth and sucked, ending with an audible pop that made him swallow for some reason. She bit into her burger and replaced the still circular mass in its box. Then she covered her mouth while chewing to ask, “So, what’s this proposal of yours?”
Seven
FOR A SECOND Caleb doubted his decision to involve Didi in all this. She intrigued him too much. Even the way she ate a fucking burger fascinated him. That was more interest than he had ever given his other girlfriends. Well, granted she would only play his fake girlfriend, but it was clear Didi stood out. She didn’t fit his usual profile. She was too open, too . . . real, for the lack of a better word. His world revolved around the fake—where everyone pretended for the sake of appearances. Could she navigate the tricky social circles? The girls he had been with knew what they were getting into because they grew up attending the same functions and interacting with the same people—his people.
He mentally shook his head. No point worrying about things he couldn’t change. Breaking up with Amber had backed him into a corner. Which had forced him to fish outside his usual pond. With time running out, he was fresh out of options. Usually he flirted his way to getting what he wanted. Unfortunately he got the distinct feeling Didi wouldn’t go for that tactic. So he went with direct.
He let her complete another eating cycle, then leaned in and came out with it. “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”
She swallowed her soda wrong and started coughing. When he moved to offer help, she shook her head emphatically at him. Placing a hand on her chest, she rode out the coughing fit by drinking some more.
After a couple more tiny coughs and a hiccup, she managed to squeak out, “I would think a good-looking guy like you wouldn’t have problems getting a girlfriend.”
He ignored the backhanded compliment. “It’s not that simple. I don’t need a girlfriend. I just need someone to pretend to be my girlfriend. I have events I must attend, and having a date will make things a hundred times easier.”
“And why is that?”
Expecting the question, he scanned through his prepared answers. He intended to be honest with Didi. He had no real secrets. If she asked, he would answer.
“Do you know who my father is?” At her slight head shake for no, he thought maybe this was a good thing. Ignorance was bliss, after all. “Simply put, he’s a high-profile lawyer. The girl I broke up with at the club is the daughter of one of his most important clients.” The words stuck to the roof of his mouth. He had to force himself to keep speaking. “She ran to daddy, and now I’m in this mess. To make up for my mistake, I need to attend all the events sponsored by my father’s firm.” He left out the internship and the need to stay out of trouble. That information had no connection to what he was asking her to do.
Her eyes narrowed. “And you need a girlfriend because . . .”
He admired the shrewd intelligence behind those burnt-caramel eyes. “Because going alone means I’ll be mobbed by matchmaking mothers, aunts, and grandmothers. Not to mention the unattached girls angling to catch my attention. Trust me. It’s like blood in the water. The sharks circle. It’s been my experience that bringing along a girlfriend—”
“Keeps the sharks away,” she interrupted, shaking her head slowly with a disbelieving smile.
Shifting in his seat slightly, he had a sinking feeling she was about to say no. “Something like that.”
She snorted. “You are so full of it. But if that’s the case, why break up with Ashley?”
The barbs in her tone deflated his ego even more.
“Her name is Amber,” he said. “And she broke my number one rule.” He waved off the obvious question based on her confused expression. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is I’m here eating junk food with you asking if you would help me . . . just until the end of the summer.”
“Then tell me”—she looked straight at him—“why me?”
For asking that question, not with any kind of hostility or suspicion, but with what seemed like genuine curiosity, he respected her more. The answer was simple. “Because you were able to walk away at the dock the other day. That tells me you know your limits. But the real question is: Are you willing to help me?”
The fry she was about to pop into her mouth remained suspended. There went the cogs working again. She had such an honest face. She hid nothing, which might be a problem, considering he was convincing her to step into a world of smoke and mirrors.