The man sitting behind the desk is not who I’m expecting. This can’t be him, but this is the office the secretary led me to.

“Hi …” I say timidly as I step into the pristine room. It’s a stark gray space with a few shelves with books on them. One of the walls is a big blue print. Everything is modern and sleek, made with different metals and hardwoods. I feel under-dressed in my t-shirt and jeans. “I’m looking for Heath Starre. I think the secretary may have sent me to the wrong office.”

The man behind the desk looks up at me. His blue eyes pierce through the shadows under his deep-set brow. His features are starkly handsome, a razor-cut jawline, straight nose, high cheekbones. It’s the face of a demigod, a replica of Achilles cut from marble. When he stands, I have to look up to meet his gaze. I doubt the top of my head would even reach his shoulders if I were standing right in front of him. He’s wearing an immaculate gray suit with a blue tie that makes his blue eyes stand out even more. Even though he’d been sitting, there’s not a single crease in his suit.

The more I look at him, the more intriguing things I find about his face, like the little dimple in his chin, and the scar on his right eyebrow that cuts it in half. His dark hair is combed back, not a single strand out of place. I’ve never really thought about men in suits being attractive. I’ve always preferred a more rugged man, I guess. Could be because that’s what I’m used to. There weren’t too many billionaire business men where I grew up. But damn, this man wears that suit well and he might very well be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

“I’m Heath, and you’re late,” he says.

I’m taken aback by the curtness of his words, though I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. He’s so crisp and polished, it makes sense that his personality would be the same.

“Am I?” I look down at my phone screen. “It’s only ten-oh-five.”

“Our meeting was at ten.”

I watch him carefully to try and figure out if he’s joking. He’s not.

“In business you’re either on time or you’re late. Half the time you’re even late when you’re on time. It’s always best to be early,” he says.

I wonder if that stick up his ass is made of platinum or gold.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve only worked fast food. If you’re late, you’re still there before your boss.” I smile and try to lighten the mood. This is not going at all how I expected. I was expecting him to be a hideous troll and that’s why he needed to pay for a bride. Now I see that it’s just his personality that keeps him single—definitely not his looks because he’s gorgeous.

I clear my throat when he presses his lips together, unmoved by my attempt at humor. He has probably never worked at a fast food restaurant and therefore wouldn’t understand.

“The bus was late this morning. It’s normally on time. It won’t happen again,” I say.

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Um, it’s in the shop. Is that going to be a problem?”

My car has actually been fixed for about a week now, but I couldn’t pay the mechanic, so he’s holding it hostage until I can come up with the money. I was planning on selling it once I got it back because insurance and gas are just more bills I can’t afford to pay.

“I’ll arrange for your transportation,” Heath says.

“Or I could just catch the train instead. It’s just down the street from my apartment and it’s never late.”

I would’ve taken it, but it has this funk, a mix of body odor and grease traps that seeps into your clothes and is impossible to get out. I didn’t want to stink for our first meeting—I was saving that for the third and fourth meeting when it would be too late for him to back out.

“No,” he says. “Once we go public with our relationship, I don’t want anyone seeing you on public transportation. I have a certain image to uphold.”

Wow, what a snob. I wonder if he realizes how insulting that is to me. I’m guessing by the way his expression doesn’t change, he’s unaware. Oh well. He’s paying me, so it doesn’t really matter if he doesn’t think I’m good enough for his precious image.

He reaches behind his desk into a filing cabinet and pulls out a folder the size of a text book.

“I’ve compiled the details of our relationship. This is our history together. We need to go over a few things.”

“You want me to remember everything in this folder?”

“Yes.”

For real? I know I have a stricken look on my face, and I know through my rocky history in school that learning everything in that folder is going to be nearly impossible for me, but I nod anyway and keep repeating ‘ten grand’ in my head over and over to comfort myself. When Mandi told me she had a job for me and then told me what that job would be, it sounded so easy. Just playing pretend. Like when I was a kid playing ‘house’, and there was the wife and the husband (usually a neighbor boy) and then we could get called in for dinner and go our separate ways. How hard could that be? But now it seems as though it’s actually work, and I’m going to have to earn every penny of that money.

He slides the folder toward me. I pick it up and thumb through the pages. He watches me carefully as I skim through the details. This is going to be harder than I thought. Everything in here is exotic and so beyond my life experience that I wouldn’t know the first steps in how to play the part of this girl he wants me to be.

As I turn the pages I see words like Cabo San Lucas, Carmel (not to be mistaken for caramel, which I’m very familiar with), Venice, and all these other places I’ve heard of but have never been to. I catch a glimpse of a page mentioning a Tiffany necklace he had made as a gift for me, and how we went scuba diving in the archipelagos of Con Son, Vietnam, and how he proposed to me on a fucking glacier near Juneau, Alaska. WTF is this life?

I feel like I might puke. According to this we met in Belize at a five-star restaurant I don’t know how to pronounce. We looked at each other and it was love at first sight. The very night we met, he whisked me off on his private jet to Quebec, Canada where we ate strange, exotic food and made love every night. I’m really hoping that is just part of this story and not something I’m supposed to tell his family. There’s no way I’m talking about my sex life with anyone’s parents, even if it is a fake sex life.

Says here I’m an assistant to a major fashion designer (he has a friend who will vouch for this if questions are asked) and enjoy the finer things in life. Only problem with that is I don’t even know what the finer things in life are to him. I know what that means to me: splurging on a lipstick at Sephora once in a while instead of Walgreens where I usually buy my makeup, and celebrating at Trujillo’s on special occasions with a $12 margarita. I have a feeling our definition of ‘finer things’ are worlds apart. I’m a simple girl from a simple town in Northern California where my family raised sheep on a farm and I spent my childhood barefoot in treehouses.

Regretfully, I put the folder down. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do this job, I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrow. “Why not?”

“I don’t know how to be this girl.” I point to the folder. “I’ve never even been out of California.”

He leans forward, clasping his hands together. God, he’s beautiful. It’s almost uncomfortable being this close to him. I feel the same way in museums and art galleries, like I might taint a painting’s perfection by standing to close to it.

“It will be impossible for me to find another girl on short notice. I’m a business man, I know how to negotiate. So let’s come up with a story together that we can both be satisfied with. How do you think our first date might have gone?”

For me to even pretend to marry someone, our backstory would have to be romantic. It wasn’t with my first husband. We were thrown together by mutual friends on a blind date and we had a few things in common. I didn’t think he was all that handsome when I first met him—definitely not love at first sight, or even, hmm, he’s kind of cute at first sight. In reality, I didn’t like the way he looked. He was a couple inches shorter than me. He chewed tobacco, so his teeth were stained and his gums were receding so it made his teeth look way too long. There was something false about his smile, the way it never reached his eyes. I should’ve known something was up with his personality during our first date when he kept complaining about his food and sending it back to the kitchen. How he talked down to our waitress, then left only a penny for a tip after threatening to not pay the bill.

Back then I thought he was a perfectionist, and that a man like that gets things done. I thought a man like that would be a good provider. I was wrong. In the short year that we were married, he’d been fired from three jobs and developed a bit of a drinking problem.

“Well,” I say, trying to think of a scenario that was both plausible and romantic, “I suppose your job is stressful, so one day you decide to take a walk in the park to unwind.” He leans back in his chair, arms folded in front of him as he listens.

I continue. “And I was in the park too. I’d been house sitting for a friend and was walking her unruly dogs when one of them got loose. You, seeing someone in distress, managed to wrangle the cocker spaniel and bring him back to me. I pay back your kindness by buying you a hotdog at a cart, and we end up talking all night under the stars.”

I can hear the whimsy in my voice. Even though marriage is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, I’m not immune to romance.

Heath smiles, and when he does, it changes everything about his face. It’s bright and warm, and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. His stiff demeanor starts to crumble and there’s actually a human under there somewhere. My neck grows warm and I’m sure I’m blushing. I wonder if he has any idea the kind of power that smile possesses. I’m sure he does. I imagine a man like him probably has his fair share of lovers.

Suddenly I’m picturing myself as one of them, sprawled out naked on some ridiculously expensive bed, letting him have his way with me. I picture those nice full lips against mine, that hard body pressed against me …

I shake my head to clear those thoughts. Is the heater running in here? I’m starting to sweat. I need to stay focused. This is a job, not Match.com.

This guy is borderline perfect. Why does he need to hire someone? The whole thing is a mystery to me and makes me want to get to know him better.

“There are a few holes in that story,” he says.

“Really, like what?”

“To start, I would never eat food from a cart.”

“What?” I say aghast. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a hotdog from a cart. What else?”

“Nor would I chase dogs, or be in the park at all. While, yes, my job can be stressful, everyone knows I thrive on a challenge and I never let anything get to me.”

“Surly you like fresh air.”

He nods. “I do.”

“Then you went out for fresh air. And I have a feeling if you saw someone in distress you would help them. Even if it involved chasing dogs.”

The taut skin around his eyes softens and he lets out an amused breath, but doesn’t confirm nor deny it. I know I’m right. Even through his stiff demeanor, his eyes are gentle. There’s something kind about him. Eyes don’t lie. It’s everything else in a man that does. That’s the one thing my ex never had: kind eyes. Sometimes his words were as sweet as cookie dough, but there was always something malicious about the way he looked at me, even when we were at our best.

“Are you busy?” I ask Heath.

“Yes, we’re having a meeting.”

“Can this meeting be moved outside?” I ask.

He hesitates but seems too curious to say no. “I suppose that would be all right.”

“Let’s go,” I say.

To my surprise he follows me. He seems like the kind of guy who never deviates from a schedule, but here we are.

As we walk by different offices and desks, people crane their heads to look at us and seem very curious about my presence. Though I’m sure he gets plenty of action—I mean, look at him, he’s beyond beautiful! —maybe he keeps that part of his life private from the people who work below him and that’s why they seem surprised to see him with a woman.

Walking next to him, he seems even taller than he did in his office. He seems bigger than life. A big fish in a tiny world made just for him. The jealous way women look at me as we walk by gives me a sense of pride, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like Heath and I are actually a couple. I guess being next to him makes me feel like an actual fish when normally I’m a flake of algae just trying to make it in a world too big for me.

“What are we doing?” he keeps asking. He changes the wording when I don’t give him the answer that he wants, but it’s all the same question.

Once we’re outside, I finally give him an answer he can chew on. “Falling in love,” I say.

He looks at me as though I’ve just struck him with a bat. I laugh. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt,” I tell him.

He shakes his head, the skeptical look on his face growing more concerned as we head further away from his office building. It’s a beautiful day out, overcast, and a slight cool breeze. Perfect day to walk the dogs if there were any around, but since I don’t have dogs at my disposal, I’ll just have to make do with what I have—or don’t have, I should say.

We head into the park and I watch the moment when realization starts to dawn on him. “I see,” he says. “I thought you were luring me away to knock me over the head and take my wallet.”

“And you followed me anyway?”

He gives me a dismissive glance. “I’ve got a hundred pounds on you, I’m sure I could take you in a fight.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Is this stuffed business suit actually being adorable right now? I wasn’t sure he was capable of it. Maybe this job won’t be so difficult after all.

“Fighting isn’t always about brawn. There are other ways for a woman to overpower a man,” I say.

I stop abruptly and turn to face him. I put my hand against his chest, touching the smooth buttons of his jacket, running my fingers along the stiff fabric. Even through his jacket I can tell there’s nothing soft about this man’s body. I start to wonder what he looks like without the suit. It starts out innocent enough. I’m just imagining him in other clothes. Normal clothes that an everyday man would wear on the street: t-shirt and jeans. It’s a difficult image to hold onto because he seems made of this suit, like he was born wearing it. Then my thoughts start to steer slightly toward the gutter. This is where my imagination likes to run wild. Now I’m thinking about him being naked, my hands and lips exploring his impeccable body. I have a feeling his skin is soft, but nothing else about him is.

Heath stiffens beneath my touch and my mind comes back into focus. He’s watching me, his eyes burning. My hand moves to his stomach. More hard body beneath. When I reach out with my other hand and bring it up to his neck, to his jaw, feeling the shadow of stubble, and rub my thumb against those impossibly soft lips, his entire body shudders. He starts to reach out to touch me too, but I abruptly step out of his reach. His eyes are wide, confused, and his breathing comes out in short bursts.

“What was that?” he asks huskily.

“Just proving I don’t need a bunch of muscle to take you down,” I say breezily and fall into step beside him like nothing ever happened.

He lets out a long breath, then a chuckle follows. “Remind me not to follow you into the woods.”

I laugh and take his hand, leading him to the other side of the park. His skin is warm, his large hand envelopes mine. He smells amazing, and without even knowing the brand, I know whatever cologne he wears is expensive. It’s not offensive like the cheap stuff; it’s subtle.

“Where are we going now?” he asks.

I point at the hotdog cart in the distance. “Lunch.”

“No, I’m not eating—”

“Live a little,” I tell him.

I’m dragging him now, and I’m laughing because he’s being such a child about it, like trying to force-feed a toddler spinach.

“I would never dream of taking a date to a hotdog cart for our first meal,” he says.

“It’s not a date. This is me thanking you for saving my friend’s dogs, and me from having to tell her I lost them. Don’t be so stubborn.”

He rolls his eyes, but eventually relents. “Two hotdogs, please,” I tell the vendor.

Heath reaches for the wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket, but I stop him. “I’m treating you, remember.”

Letting me pay seems to be the hardest part of this task for him, but eventually I convince him to put his wallet away.

“Man, do women usually have to put this much effort into wooing you?” I ask.

He chuckles at the word ‘wooing.’ I do too. It’s a dumb word, but we both know what I’m getting at.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t date,” he says.

Of course he doesn’t. If he did, he might actually have found love instead of paying for a fake bride. Sucks for all the women out there. I’m sure there are plenty who would love to get their acrylic nails into a man of his stature.

“Why not? You’re handsome, smart, tall, sexy as hell, a hard worker. Any woman would fall all over themselves to be with you.” I motion to the women around us. As if on cue, a woman jogging nearby is paying too much attention to Heath and not to the trail in front of her. She strips and stumbles forward, but manages to catch herself before she falls. I let out a really un-ladylike snort, and Heath bites his lip to keep from laughing. The girl jogs off, red-faced.

“Poor thing, that’s so embarrassing,” I say. “But it just goes to prove my point. You can have any woman you want. So why don’t you date?”

He’s still smiling when he looks at me, and I have to tuck my heart way, force it down deep inside to protect it. I could fall for a smile like that. He could snatch it right out of my chest and it would be his forever if I’m not careful.

“I’ve dated once or twice, but it’s difficult for women to see beyond my money.”

“Maybe because you don’t open yourself up. You’re so stiff.”

The vendor hands us our hotdogs. I load mine up with a sloppy squiggle of mustard. Heath makes a perfectly straight line on his. I can’t help but giggle.

“What?” he says.

I point at the mess I’ve made, and to his straight line. “I feel like this might be a perfect representation of us.” I put my hotdog on top of his to mess up his mustard line, and now they are equally messy. “There, that’s better,” I say. “Now eat.”

He stares at the hotdog like it’s going to bite him back. After some coaxing on my part, he finally takes a bite and his eyes literally roll in the back of his head. “Good, right?” I say.

“This might actually be the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he says.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had a hotdog from a cart. Didn’t your dad ever take you to baseball games?”

The delirious euphoria his taste buds had been experiencing is cut short by the mention of his dad. “No. He’s not exactly a baseball kind of man, or a spend-time-with-your-kid kind of man. You’ll understand when you finally meet him.”

I press my lips together. “Great, can’t wait.”

We continue to walk and he eagerly enjoys his hotdog in silence. I’ve barely taken a bite of mine. I’m too busy watching him. It’s weird, but I like watching him eat, the way his jaw flexes, the way he makes these contented little sighs. He glances at the uneaten hotdog in my hand.

“You gonna eat that?” he asks.

I hand it over and smile. “Have at it, buddy.”

We continue to walk and our conversation comes surprisingly easy.

“What kind of name is Sylph?” he asks.

“A Sylph is a mythological spirit of the air.” I shrug. “My mom can get a little earthy sometimes. Probably comes from living on a farm where everything is organic.”

He asks more questions about my family after that and is surprised to learn that my parents have been together nearly thirty years and are still madly in love with one another. He tells me his parents haven’t even slept in the same room together since he was in high school

I learn more about him on our walk than I ever would have learned by reading his folder full of facts. He’s surprisingly funny and charming, and sarcastic. I keep giggling like an idiot. What is happening? I wasn’t supposed to like him. I’ve never been attracted to the wealthy and privileged. So why does being in his presence have my stomach tangled in knots? Where the hell did all these butterflies come from? This isn’t good.

“My turn to ask questions,” I say.

“Go for it.”

“Is anything off limits?”

He takes a moment to think about it. “No. I’m an open book. Ask whatever you want.”

“What do you like in bed?” I ask boldly.

His eyebrows shoot up on his forehead like a cartoon character. There’s something very gratifying about breaking the calm mask he wears.

“If I’m to pretend to be married to you, these are the sorts of things I’m going to need to know,” I say matter-of-factly, keeping it very business-like.

He bites back a smile. “I’m fairly certain none of my friends or family will ask you questions about our sex life.”

“I would hope not, but we’re supposed to be getting married, which means we’ve more than likely been intimate—unless, of course, you’re an old fashioned guy who waits wants to wait until marriage.”

“Definitely not,” he says.

“Okay. People who have been intimate with each other carry themselves a certain way. They’re comfortable around each other. I should at least know what you like in bed. It’s hard to be uncomfortable and stiff around someone after they know all your bedroom secrets.”

He gives me a lopsided smile and nods. “I guess that makes sense. Well, um, I’m a man, so being touched is usually good enough.” His laughter turns my insides to cotton candy. I love the sound of it. I like the sound of his voice too. No too high, not too deep. It’s just the most perfect, soothing sound to listen to. I would love to just hear him tell stories or talk about his day. “I really don’t have any preferences as to what I want a woman to do in bed, but I have to say I’m attracted to a confident girl, someone who’s not ashamed of her body or showing it to me in all of its glory.”

I feel my neck growing warm. I bet I’m blushing.

“What about you?” he asks. “What do you like in bed?”

“I tend to like a little bit of everything. I like sweet and tender love-making, but I also like a good spanking now and then. And I like it when things get messy, don’t you?”

He looks me square in the eye and says, “Messy is good.”

Now know I’m blushing. I feel like my entire body has just been dipped into a hot tub. At least I’m not the only one turned on by this conversation. He tries to subtly adjust himself, but he’s not fooling me one bit.

Now I’m picturing us together, sweat, lube, cum, messy. I let out a shaky breath. Messy is definitely good.

The sun starts to go down. I change the subject because talking about sex with Heath is dangerous. We stop next at the wharf and look out at the dock. Sea lions pile on top of each other and make a sound similar to barking dogs. Seagulls are perched on posts, making equally obnoxious noises, but I love the sound of it. All of it. The ocean is my favorite place to be. It really is romantic out here and it’s hard not to get swept up in this moment with Heath, even if it isn’t real.

“So, how was this for a first meeting?” I ask.

The last of the sun lights up his dark hair, and his gaze finds mine. It’s impossible not to feel special when those vibrant blue eyes are focused only on me. I melt beneath their heat and fear the dreamy look I feel on my face is giving away all my secrets.

“Surprisingly perfect,” he says

“Now we won’t have to lie about how we met.”

He nods. “So now we’re in love.”

“Not yet.”

His eyebrows push together. “If I remember your version of our story right, I thought we fell in love on this date.”

“We do, but it’s not finished.”

I reach up and cup his face in my hands, bringing him down to my level. I’m insane. I’ve completely lost my mind. I shouldn’t be doing this. But the more I think about it, the more I want it, and I know if I don’t kiss him right now, I’ll regret it.

His hands grip my waist, pulling me against him. The anticipation makes me light headed as his eyes flicker toward my lips. I lift my chin. The tip of his tongue brushes against his bottom lip, wetting it. The thought of tasting those perfect lips makes my stomach flutter.

Our lips gently come together, soft and slow, tasting, testing each other out. He opens his mouth slightly and I open mine. Just the tips of our tongues touch in a shy greeting, but it doesn’t take long for the heat between us to catch fire and suddenly we’re engulfed.

I breathe him in, that expensive scent I will always associate with him from now on. I remember the softness of his tongue, the taste of his lips. I try to memorize every little thing about this perfect moment to keep with me forever. Put it in my pocket and pull it out whenever I need to feel beautiful and wanted. That’s how I feel when he kisses me. I know this whole marriage is a sham, but this kiss isn’t. No one can fake a kiss like this.

Heath’s fingers dig into the skin of my lower back, our hips pressed so tightly together that one of us is either going to turn into a diamond or our bodies are going to merge into one.

His tongue is soft, but eager. I pull my hands through his hair, and there’s something entirely fulfilling about messing it up. He doesn’t seem to mind getting messy with me. Like he said, messy is good. He’s hard for me. I can feel him pressed against my stomach, and it’s delightfully painful. I’m wet for him, but he can’t feel that. By the way I devour his mouth, I’m sure he knows.

We finally pull away when we hear voices nearby. A couple of older women walk past us, giggling to each other. Heath doesn’t seem bothered by getting caught. His eyes still have that hungry look in them, but it’s obvious that he’s restraining himself. He reaches up to tame his hair. Even after he manages to press it back into a similar shape that it was before I destroyed it, there’s still something tousled about it. That perfect coif won’t stand a chance when all of our clothes are off.

The thought startles me a moment, and I have to remember this isn’t an actual date. I’m not here to sleep with him. This is a job I’m being paid to do, and I am NOT a prostitute.

Heath lets out a slow, shaky breath and smooths down his wrinkled suit jacket. “Now we’re love?”

I nod. “Yep, that’s when we fell in love.”

His smile cuts me off at the knees. I want nothing more than to fly back into his arms and kiss him again. “Good. Now I have the details straight. This was an acceptable first meeting,” he says.

“Perfectly acceptable,” I say, that feeling in my core still raging. By the large mound tenting his suit pants, I’d say he’s still feeling it too.

I’m definitely going to need a cold shower and dry panties after this encounter.