“He looked like he wanted to murder me when I was talking to his girlfriend. I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. I gave her one compliment about her nails to be nice and Fred did not like it. So, I made up a girlfriend so he’d relax and not think I was flirting with his.”

“So, it was a little white lie. What’s the issue?” Carl asks.

“Frankie, Fred’s girlfriend, was excited and said we should do a double date. We’re going to Gallagher’s tomorrow night.” I take another sip of water, trying to wash down the doubt that is building up again. The nagging feeling that I’ve pushed it too far this time.

I’ve taken some risks over the years. I’ve found that in business, that’s how you get ahead. Jumping out of the plane and hoping that the parachute opens. When it does, the fools who weren’t brave enough to jump wish they’d had the guts. Telling Fred I had a girlfriend, setting up a date with him and Frankie, was a huge gamble. One that at this point I’m uncertain how I can make work. I need someone who I can be honest with about the situation, but all the women I’ve seen recently want a serious relationship. I can’t be sure that they’ll play along and if they decide not to, I’m fucked.

Carl’s mouth gapes open, “Fuck, dude, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find a girlfriend in the next thirty-six hours.”

* * *

I sent Marcus home early, opting to walk home from the club, hoping it will give me time to think.

I’m determined to find a solution to my lack of girlfriend issue. I have to show up with someone to the double date tomorrow night, or tell Fred I’m a liar. The latter is not an option. If Fred finds out I lied about having a girlfriend, I’m in a worse position than I was a week ago when he wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Maybe I could cancel. Tell Fred my girlfriend is ill. Buy myself more time. But there’s no guarantee I’d get the opportunity again.

I’ve thought about hiring an escort and demanding she sign an NDA, but there’s the risk that we’d be seen and it would end up on every one of the city’s gossip sites by morning that I, Barrett St. Clair, had to hire a date. My teeth clench. This shouldn’t be this hard, but the problem is that I’ve found most women want to be my actual girlfriend, not a fake one.

It’s Friday evening and the streets are already filled with couples strolling hand in hand, laughing and talking.