Faking It to Making It

As one Nate and Saskia said, “Grazie.”

And then they both smiled.

Saskia took a breath. “I’m…” Flabbergasted, bemused, actually considering this? “I don’t know how to put this, but I’m not sure if I can pull it off. You’re—not the kind of man I usually date.”

“You might be surprised to know you’re not the kind of woman I usually date either,” said Nate, laughing as if the world had finally found its natural order.

She kind of wanted to kick him in the shin. In fact…

“Oof!” he said, sitting up and rubbing at the spot.

“Sorry.” She shuffled on her seat, as if that had been her intention the whole time. “So how would this work, exactly?”

“It’s the first Saturday in spring. You free?”

She did the math in her head. “I believe so.”

“That’s how it’s done.” And then he smiled, as if the deal was done. Poor love. He had no idea what he was in for.

Saskia bit into her calamari, enjoyed every succulent drop, before asking, “So, what do I get out of it?”

“Hmm?”

“The deal. You’re getting a girlfriend…” She paused when the guy actually winced at the word.

“What do you want, Saskia?” he asked, charm forming between the words like mercury.

“I want what I wanted from the beginning. To get the low-down on online dating.” But if she could save time, money, by having a guinea pig do it for her…

“Here’s the low down,” said Nate. “It’s as much of a crap shoot as closing your eyes and picking someone out of the phone book. I should know. You’re my seventh.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’ve asked six other women to pretend to date you?”

His mouth kicked into a smile while his eyes came over all dark and intense, lit with that flicker of heat. “I’ve been on six dates,” he corrected. “I asked only you.”

“Oh.” Well, that was kind of nice. “But I still need first-hand experience for my study—”

He shook his head, his eyes not leaving her. “No dating between now and then. I won’t either. Goes without saying.”

“Good to know. But I was actually going to suggest that maybe you could be the subject of my piece.”

A muscle flickered in his cheek and she wondered how long it would be before he was rubbing at that temple of his again. “Saskia, I’m not talking to you about my dating habits. My private life is just that. Private.”

He looked as if he meant it. But Saskia had always found that men liked talking about themselves. So she wasn’t really worried on that score. She’d find a way to get to the heart of the man—especially if she had a few weeks to do it. At the thought of a few weeks in the company of this man the curls of sensation were back in her belly.

“So when’s our next date?” she asked.

A frown creased his brow. “The wedding.”

“But what if someone asks how we met? If they ask you about my home, my family, my friends, my work? What’s an infographic?”

“I’m sorry—a what?”

“An infographic. It’s what I am working on for the dating site.”

He looked pained.

“It’s a diagram that shows information—stats, links, comparisons—in a bright, attractive, easy-to-digest contained image. We need a little background to do this properly, Nate. I can put it together, if you’d like. Research is my thing.”

A list of dry questions, she thought, warming to the idea, with some curve balls thrown in. Classic stat-collection technique. He could tell her a lot that way without even meaning to.

“Or how long will it take for your family to think you’ve just made me up?” When his cheek twitched again she knew she had him. “We’ll need to set up a couple of meetings between now and then. Casual get-togethers. Coffee, perhaps. We both like coffee. The Art Gallery has an Impressionists exhibition. Or we could go ice-skating. I don’t mind.”

Keeping him thinking about places he clearly did not want to go with her gave her the chance for the other half of her brain to create the research project in earnest. Questions piled up inside her head with such speed it made her breathless.

And as she was getting excited by the research, the layers upon layers of information this man could provide for her love formula, she remembered the pile of red envelopes wavering on her desk.

Her excitement deflated like a pricked balloon. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Why not?”

The why was like a pain in her belly—one that was lessening by the day, but would remain till the day the last red envelope landed in her mailbox. “Time, I guess. More than anything.”

“An hour together here and there should suffice,” he said.

“Well, now, that’s about the most romantic thing a nearly pretend boyfriend has ever said to me.”

His mouth did the surprise smile thing—the one that gave a hint of straight white teeth and lit his intense eyes with genuine laughter. “What’s the problem? I’m a problem-solver. It’s what I do. Money, time, space, audience, you need it I provide it.”

“You’d be cutting into my worktime. I need to work.”

“Why?”

He was so sincere, so keen, she made a quick decision to tell him the truth. Part of it anyway. Not bend the truth, just not tell all.

“I have…debts.” Yet her chin lifted as she said it.

His long, slow breath in made her stomach hurt. Then, with a nod, he said, “I’ll take care of them.”

She shot out a laugh so loud the table shook. “Just like that? A blank cheque?” When he didn’t laugh back she realised. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“But I haven’t even said what I owe!”

He gave a slight lift of the shoulder, as if she could name her price. “Consider this negotiation, Miss Bloom.”

Miss Bloom now, was it?