A picture of a blonde pops up. She's got fake everything... hair, lips, eyelashes. Her cleavage is pushed so high, there's no doubt her boobs are fake too. I'm not against implants if a woman wants them, but at least be a bit discreet about them.

She should take some pointers on being natural from Georgia.

I need to stop thinking about Georgia, I reprimand myself.

Mom: Or Jessica's available. She told me she loves Dallas and would consider moving there for the right person.

"I bet she would," I mutter.

A brunette pops up on my screen next. Everything about her resembles my last fiancée.

Not reliving that nightmare.

Mom: Of course, Carmine's really, really nice. She can't wait to have babies.

A nerdy-looking redhead fills the screen. I suppose she's good-looking, but I'm pretty sure she should marry a boring accountant or something.

I'm about to text my mom to stop when another text pops up.

Mom: What about Sarah? She's beautiful, isn't she? She's competing in the Miss Texas pageant.

A photo of a Latino woman in a glittery gown followed by one of her in her bikini with a sash over it comes through.

That's all I need. A pageant queen.

She should take lessons from Georgia on how to not overdo the makeup.

Stop thinking about Georgia!

Good God, my mother really doesn't know me at all.

I text my mom back.

Me: I told you I'm in a relationship. Stop texting me these pictures. I'm not interested in any of these women. Nor will I ever be.

Mom: Who is it? Tell me. You said that, but you didn't give me any details. I thought you were making it up, Sebastian.

Great. Even my mother can see through my lie.

I scrub my face.

What am I doing? I have to leave on Monday. There's no way I can go home alone now.

Why did I say that?

Instead of fessing up, I only go deeper.

Me: You'll meet her when I bring her home.

Mom: You're bringing her home? You must be serious, then?

The pit in my stomach grows. This is bad. I'm not dating anyone right now. I have my women who I utilize when I want to fuck, but I wouldn't bring any of them home, especially for a month.

Mom: Sebastian? Give me details!

Me: I've got important meetings. I don't have time to talk about this. I'll talk to you later. STOP YOUR MATCHMAKING.

I toss my phone on the desk upside down and press my hands to my forehead. What am I going to do?

I can't go home. It's going to drive me nuts.

If I don't, I'm not going to be CEO. I've worked too damn hard to have my father name my brother head of this corporation over me.

I need a fake fiancée. That'll appease everyone for a month.

Fiancée number five?