I stare at Noah, bewildered, taking a beat to answer. “I want to make sure I’m understanding this correctly. You’re suggesting I pay someone to be my date.”

“Precisely.”

“To an event I told my mother I’m attending with a girlfriend.”

“Mhm.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?!”

“That’s a terrible idea! What if she’s a serial killer? Or money hungry? How the hell do you even fake a relationship?”

“From what Jamal told me, you get to know her through emails. She asks you lots of questions; what kind of event it is, basic details about your life. Then you meet in person before the event so it’s not totally weird.”

“You want me to email someone like we’re fucking pen-pals? It’s insane,” I say, shaking my head.

“Whatever, man. Make fun of it all you want. It’s your loss. A no strings attached agreement? It’s right up your alley.”

I bite my lip, mulling over his words.

It is insane.

But could it work?

It’s only four days, not a lifetime. And whoever this woman is would go in knowing it was only a business transaction, not some fairytale happily ever after with roses and shit. I pay her. She accompanies me. I never hear from her again.

“You’re sure it’s legit?”

“Swear on our friendship.”

“Fine, I’ll take her number,” I say before I can second-guess myself. If—and that’s a very big if—I go through with this plan, it could potentially solve all my problems. It would get my mom off my back. I wouldn’t have to hunt a woman down and jump into something unwillingly. I could write a check, suck it up for four days, then resume my lifestyle, exactly how I like it.

Alone.

Noah fiddles with his phone for a minute, mumbling under his breath while he scrolls. “Ah! Here it is! It’s called RB’s Companions. I’ll text you the website.”

* * *

An hour later, Noah bids me farewell with a tight hug, part of our standard goodbye. Screw the stigma around men being affectionate with their friends. “You feel better?” he asks, pulling away.

I nod, clasping him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks for your help. I have some things to think about.”

“I’ll see you later this week for beers with the guys, right?”

“Yup, Friday night. See you then, bud.”

After waving goodbye, I slink back to my office, resuming my position in the chair, and putting my head in my hands. I sigh, the heels of my palms pressing firmly into my eyes. I don’t hear the knock on my door before it clicks open, too busy wallowing away over my poor life choices to pay attention to anything else.

A throat clearing causes me to look up, blinking away the spots that have formed in my vision. I’m surprised to find Emma standing in my doorway, fidgeting.