I blinked.
“No?”
“You don’t want him back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then jealousy isn’t the goal.”
He tapped one finger against his coffee cup.
“You want him to realize that leaving you didn’t ruin you.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I looked away.
“Maybe.”
Julian smiled softly.
“That’s much easier.”
“How?”
“Because we don’t have to convince anyone you’re desirable.”
He held my gaze.
“We just have to make sure you remember it.”
For a second, I forgot this man had been hired.
Then he grinned.
“And if your ex suffers a mild existential crisis in the process, that’s included in the package.”
I laughed again.
“All right, actor. What’s our story?”
For the next hour, we invented a relationship.
We’d been dating five months.
We met at a gallery opening.
Julian worked in entertainment consulting.
We both liked old films.
He hated olives.
I loved them.
We had supposedly spent a weekend in Charleston.
“Physical affection?” he asked.
“Hand-holding is fine.”
“Arm around waist?”
“Fine.”
“Kissing?”
I nearly choked.
“Absolutely not.”
He lifted both hands.
“Professional boundaries. Understood.”
By the time we left the café, I felt strangely calm.
Saturday was supposed to be revenge.
I didn’t know it was about to become something far messier.
The afternoon of Mason’s wedding, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror wondering whether I had lost my mind.
I wore a deep emerald dress with an open back, simple gold earrings, and heels that were beautiful enough to justify the pain they would inevitably cause.
At exactly five thirty, my doorbell rang.
Julian stood outside in a black tuxedo.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Your ex is going to have an extremely difficult evening.”
I laughed.
“That’s what I’m paying you for.”
Julian offered his arm.
“No. You’re paying me to eat expensive food and lie convincingly.”
