“You mean, they might think you have a single honest bone in your body?” I ask, before quickly adding, “Don’t even say it.”

“Too easy,” Dash grins back at me. “Let’s just say, if they play at being the Future Mrs. Dashford, they might get too comfy with the role and start thinking they can make it real.”

“Well, there’s no chance of that happening with me,” I crack, and he leans forward.

“Exactly! This would be straight business. You help me with Zelda, and in return…” He trails off.

He’s serious, I realize. The man is actually sitting here asking me to play his fake girlfriend.

Did I stumble, trip, and fall into a rom-com?

I narrow my eyes at him. The man is clearly insane, but… “What are you offering in return?” I can’t help asking. “You know, for curiosity’s sake.”

He shrugs. “Name your price.”

“One million dollars,” I say immediately, pressing my pinky finger to my lips, a la Dr. Evil.

He smirks. “Be serious. I bet some extra cash would come in handy to help your little makeup business.”

“Little makeup business?” I repeat, my hackles rising at his patronizing tone. “I’m not setting up a lemonade stand, here. Cosmetics are a billion-dollar industry. Makeup generates more profits per year than cars or professional sports, but God forbid we take them as seriously. After all, it’s just women spending, not you big, important, manly men.”

Dash’s lips quirk with amusement. “I stand corrected,” he says.

“Good.” I scowl back.

“Does this mean you’ll do it?” he asks hopefully. “Come with me to Florida?”

“Nope.” I vow, getting to my feet. It may not quite be selling my body to play along with this fake girlfriend thing, but I’d be renting my dignity out for sure. And if I can’t make it through lunch with the man without wanting to slap him, I’m sure as hell not going to be able to deal with a romantic getaway with the guy.

24/7 bachelor overload with a side of condescension? No way.

“But thanks for lunch,” I add, trying to be polite. “And I’ll take another round of sushi rolls to go.”

“You’re still hungry?”

“Nope. But you’re treating my coworkers to lunch, too,” I say with a smile, and then make my exit, smiling at the nerve on that guy.

The nerve, and the charm, and those perfectly fitting seersucker pants…

“Well?” Lorelei finds me in the breakroom back at work, helping myself to yet another roll.

They’re delicious. Sue me.

“How did it go?” she demands. “What did he want?”

“What did who want?” My other favorite coworker, Frederik, joins us. He works the fine leather goods counter and can make the snooty socialites drop unspeakable amounts with just a furrow of his bored-looking brow. “Hinoki, fancy,” he says, spying the box label. “Who won the lottery?”

“Phineas Dashford the fourth,” Lorlelei answers with her mouth full. “He’s wooing Callie.”

“He is?” the brow furrows. “Why?’