A personal stylist is worth their weight in gold. Kelsey and I spent all morning shopping with Ricardo, who hauled us to Barney’s, Bloomingdale’s, and Saks Fifth Avenue for a complete wardrobe overhaul. I was told that body-con dresses accentuate my hourglass figure, to avoid anything yellow, and that I should stick to an autumn palette when applying makeup. Who knew?

After lunch, Kelsey brought me to the Strattons’ favorite hairstylist, Tammy Bo. I tried to explain that I only agreed to some new clothes, but Kelsey wouldn’t hear of it.

And that’s how I find myself sitting in a salon chair, with my stylist scuttling around me, eyeing my basic comb-it-and-go style with distrust. “You know,” Tammy says, tilting her head, “with your long hair and oval face, you don’t have to settle for that steep side part.”

“Really?” I ask.

Tammy nods. “When it comes to the art of parting, oval-faced ladies can pretty much do whatever they want. Why don’t we try a middle part? It would highlight your cheekbones and soften your chin.”

What’s wrong with my chin?

“Sure…” I say. I haven’t changed my hairstyle, like, ever, but Tammy seemed to know her craft.

“Trust me,” she says with a wink.

An hour later, and after a deep conditioning treatment, trim, and lowlights, I’m gaping at my reflection. “Wow,” I breathe. “I look—”

“Gorgeous,” Kelsey says, coming up behind me.

“You’re a miracle worker, Tammy,” I say, turning my head to the right. I love how my wavy locks cascade over my shoulders and shine.

She beams at me. “Thanks, dear, but you were an easy model. I flattered what you already had.”

“If you say so,” I mumble.

Tammy claps her hands. “Manicure is next, then facial. Can I get you anything first?”

“Water would be great,” I say.

“Champagne for me!” Kelsey says, flashing me a smile. “I’m celebrating spending my boss’s money.”

I turn toward her. “What’s it like working for Archer?”

“Fine,” she says quickly.

“Kelsey, you don’t have to lie to me. I won’t tell him.”

She purses her lips. “It’s not that bad.”

I laugh. “I figured. I bet he’s rather demanding.”

“He’s demanding, and sometimes I want to kill him,” Kelsey admits, “but he works really hard. I guess he expects his employees to do the same.”

“Sounds like a workaholic.”

“He’s on Forbes’ ‘Most Promising CEOs Under Thirty-Five’; it’s a lot to handle. But he’s a strong CEO and fair boss.”

I believe her. I saw the respect and admiration in his employees’ eyes when they spoke to him last night.

“But what about outside work?” I ask. “His hobbies, interests…what does he do for fun?”

“Fun?” Kelsey repeats. “Um…I know he attends events, but I don’t think he’d call them ‘fun’.”

“That’s what I thought.” He seems the type to bury himself in work.

“Wait, there’s you,” Kelsey says, smiling at me. “You can drag him out his office and let him have a little fun.”

“I doubt it,” I reply.

Kelsey leans forward. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Archer finally found someone. I know he must really like you because you’re nothing like what he normally dates.”

Nothing like what he normally dates? The thought nags at me.

“Thanks?” I say.

“I meant that as a compliment!” Kelsey rushes to say. “You’re sweet and down to earth. Archer always swore he didn’t date, but I think he just hadn’t found ‘the one’ until now.”

“Sure…” I say, knowing it’s a lie.

“Like, I had to drag you in here,” Kelsey continues. “Most women would kill to be styled by Tammy.”

I give her a weak smile. “That’s true.”

Kelsey takes my hand. “You’re great for Archer, Quinn. You’re exactly what he needs.”

Tammy arrives with our drinks, and Kelsey takes her champagne and raises it in the air. “A toast: to taming Archer Stratton,” she says with a mischievous grin.

I slowly raise my own, and we clink.

“Alright Quinn, hands in the water,” Tammy orders, scooting her nail trolley toward me.

As Tammy works magic on my cuticles, I think about what Kelsey said. Exactly what he needs? She has that right, but only to resuscitate his image. Not his type? Right again. Oh, and I am far from taming him. I feel more like a fly buzzing around his head when we’re together. And when we aren’t fighting, I’m just an accessory; something to don his arm in public.

I know this is what I signed up for and that the payoff’s worth it, but what I didn’t bet on is feeling like some show dog. I’m there to be Archer’s “plus one,” to smile in pictures, to make him look good.

I glance down at the bags littering the floor.

Oh my God. I’m a walking-talking Fifth Avenue Barbie…and Archer Stratton is Ken.

* * *

I put the spreadsheet down on my desk and rub my tired eyes. I spent all of Fourth of July weekend holed up in my apartment working through Piper’s portfolio, but I’m still only halfway through. I’m beginning to think netting this ask was a mistake. All it means is more work on top of my overflowing plate since Valerie has yet to lift a finger to help me.

My phone chirps at my elbow, and I tap the screen.

I set my phone down and get back to the spreadsheet. I haven’t even found my spot when my chirps again—twice this time.

I throw my head back and strangle a yell. I love how my work means nothing, but his is God’s gift to humanity.

I shake my head. Even from miles away, the man drives me nuts.

I stare at my phone for a sec. I didn’t think he’d accept—

I jump as my phone dings in my hands.

No response. I put down my phone in relief. Thank God he’s changed his mind. I doubt he’d enjoy a “normal” party with my odd group of friends. Besides, The Dead Poet isn’t exactly his scene.

My phone dings. Uh oh.

My jaw drops.

* * *

“Why are you always late?” Archer demands as I open the rear door of the Town Car idling at the curb. “It’s ten after six.”

“Stop being a baby,” I say, sliding in next to him. I give the address to Archer’s driver and sit back. “I’ve had a crazy day. I barely had time to eat.”

Archer raises an eyebrow. “Is the promotion already too much handle?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly gotten the promotion…yet.”

“You’re kidding,” Archer says. “What’s the holdup?”

I lean my forehead against the window. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really had time to ask.”

“Make time,” Archer demands.

“I have three jobs between you, transitioning, and my current work. I don’t have time.”

“I think you’re stalling.”

“What? Why?” I ask.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, but it sounds like you’re already doing the work.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah.”

“Then ask for the promotion.”

“Won’t I seem demanding?”

“Quinn,” Archer sighs, “you need to ask for what you want in life. Take it from someone in management: they will drag their feet on making this official, and in the meantime, you’ll work yourself to death.”

I don’t respond. He’s right, but I’ll never admit it. I am scared, and Marisa is dragging her feet on the title change, but I feel like a phony for not earning this promotion through hard work and networking and making a great pitch.

“Besides, I can’t have my girlfriend look like a rag doll during my father’s campaign,” Archer says.

I bite back a nasty retort. On second thought, maybe this promotion was earned. “Thanks for that, Archer, and to think that you sounded nice for a second.”

Archer scowls at me. “We’re almost there, so why don’t you tell me about tonight? I would rather not repeat the awkwardness of our first outing.”

“It’s my friend Holly’s engagement party. The wedding’s in September.”

“Is she a close friend?”

“Oh yeah. Holly and I have been best friends since high school. She’s marrying James Callahan, a great guy she met in grad school—”

“Where did she go and for what?” he cuts in.

“NYU for public policy. James the same, though he was a year ahead of her. This is the first of many wedding-related events I’ll be planning for Holly this summer.”

Archer frowns. “I told you to keep your calendar clear.”

“I’m the maid of honor, Archer.”

“Ah…I see.” He pauses. “Will I be your date to the wedding?”

“Excuse me?”

“The wedding. I assume I’ll be joining you?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “I always thought I’d bring someone I actually know to my best friend’s wedding,” I say quietly.

Archer reaches across the backseat and takes my hand. I stare at him as he gives me a genuine smile. “I am your boyfriend for the next five months. I think it would strange for you to attend alone or bring someone else.” He lets my hand go. It feels strangely empty without his warmth. “I’d be honored to attend,” he declares, shocking me further.

The car pulls up to the curb, and we step out, saving me the awkward task of replying to Archer’s sudden burst of chivalry.

“Where are we headed?” Archer asks.

I point to a cozy Irish pub with Guinness signs lighting the narrow windows.

“The Dead Poet?” He laughs. “You’re kidding.”

“What, not fancy enough for you?”

Archer smiles at me; another real, honest-to-God smile that takes my breath away. “I love this place. Zach and I used to come here all the time.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

“I went to Columbia, remember?”

“I would never have tagged you as a Dead Poet,” I admit.

He puts on a cocky smile—the one I’m used to. “I’ve got a wild side, honey. Stick around long enough, and you’ll find out.”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, let’s get inside before I’m accused of standing up my friend again.”

I lead us through the thick crowd toward the back, where Holly and James have rented the private room. We walk into a group of people that I’ve come to know and love over the years. The Younges and Callahans: my family in every way but name.

“Quinn!” three people yell in unison. Soon, Archer and I are surrounded.

“Great to see you!”

“Who’s this?”

“Late again, I see.”

“He’s cute—”

I glance over at Archer to gauge how he’s handling the onslaught, but he’s cool as a cucumber.

“Hello, everyone,” I shout over the noise. “I want you to meet my…um…boyfriend, Archer.”

Everyone stops to stare at Archer, and I can tell they’re all thinking the same thing.

Archer and I have one thing in common: we both don’t date. However, I don’t date because: 1. I don’t have time, and 2. the dating pool is rough, as of late. My past few attempts ended with me permanently swearing off online dating and deciding to meet people the old fashioned way—in person. Of course, that’s tough to accomplish if you don’t go out (trips to The Dead Poet with Holly and James excluded). Therefore, you can imagine my loved ones’ response to Archer, who, in his tailored suit and four hundred dollar tie, screamed “NOT MY TYPE” and “OUT OF MY LEAGUE” equally loud.

“Um—” I say as the silence begins to get awkward.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Archer says, flashing his corporate smile to the crowd. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

I raise my eyebrows. Not bad.

“Quinny!” Holly pushes through the crowd and yanks me into a big bear hug.You’re here, you’re here!” James appears behind her, wearing a shy look.

“Hi, Holly,” I say, laughing.

“You didn’t stand me up this time,” she says, pulling back.

“Holly,” James murmurs behind her. “Come on, don’t be hard on her. Quinn didn’t have a choice.”

Holly shrugs. “She knows I’m joking—” Holly catches sight of Archer and stops. Her mouth falls open. “You’re, uh…”

Archer holds out a hand. “Archer Stratton. It’s a pleasure.”

“Yeah…” Holly takes his hand and blushes. “Pleasure.”

Archer smirks, and I lean over to nudge Holly with my elbow.

Quit ogling! I say with my eyes.

Why? He’s hot! she silently replies.

Because he’s supposed to be mine AND your fiancé is standing behind you.

Holly scowls at me, then tugs James toward her. “Archer, this is my fiancé, James.”

“Congratulations,” Archer says, shaking James’s hand. “Great choice on the venue, by the way. The Dead Poet is an old favorite of mine. I used to come here to get out from under my books.”

“Did you go to NYU with Quinny, then?” James asks.

I glance at Holly, and she shakes her head. So she hasn’t told James that Archer and I are fake.

“Columbia, actually,” Archer replies, “for undergrad and business school.”

“Oh yeah? So how’d you two meet?”

“At work,” I interrupt, hoping to take control of the conversation.

“So you work at The Met,” James says to Archer.

James!

Archer shakes his head. “We met at an event. I was attending, Quinn was working. It’s a cute story, actually—”

“It’s not that great of a story,” I cut in.

“Nonsense, East,” Archer says.

East? I whip my head up, meeting Archer’s laughing eyes.

He turns back to his audience. “It’s cute when I tell it. So, I’m in the European Paintings Wing, cooling my heels, and in walks this gorgeous woman. She’s stunning in a deep purple gown…”

I frown and blush simultaneously. I don’t mind being called gorgeous or stunning by a hot guy, but I’m worried if this story continues sticking to the truth.

“She asks what I’m doing there, and we get to talking.” Archer leans in. “Now I won’t lie, Quinn and I got off on the wrong foot at first. But when we bumped into each other after the ribbon cutting, I couldn’t help being blown away by her quick wit, charming personality, and honesty.”

Holly sighs to my left, and I shake my head.

“She had won me over by the end of the night,” Archer says, grabbing my waist and pulling me to him. I catch a whiff of spice as his face hovers above mine. “And a week later, she won my heart. East and I…well, we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Archer grins down at me, and I initiate a slow clap in my head. I have to hand it to him, he’s a damn fine storyteller.

We stay that way for a moment, Archer’s face tilted down, his blue eyes gazing into mine, his lips hovering close (too close), and then we break apart.

“Wow,” James bursts out. “I’m happy for you, Quinny.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little out of breath. Archer is giving an Oscar-worthy performance tonight. I really thought he was going to kiss me, and not a peck on the cheek, but a real, heart-racing kiss that I’m definitely not ready for.

James intertwines his fingers with Holly’s and gives her a loving look. “I’m glad you found someone that makes you as happy as Holly makes me.”

“I don’t know…” I say, smiling at them. “You and Holly are stupid in love.”

Archer grunts. “You’d have to be to get married.”

“Excuse me?” Holly asks.

“I’ve never been one for all this,” he says.

“All what?”

Archer gestures around the room. “This. Marriage.”

Three pairs of eyes blink at him.

“I don’t see the appeal. What’s the great attraction to shackling yourself to one person for the rest of your life?” He looks at me. “Right, Quinn?”

I glare at him. “I’m thirsty. Come with me to the bar?” I ask—or order.

“Sure,” Archer answers, frowning. He glances at Holly and James’s stony faces. “Nice to meet you. Oh, and the best of luck.”

I see Holly’s teeth clench, and I grab Archers arm. I drag him to the bar before bursting out, “What were you thinking?”

“What?”

“You just asked a soon-to-be BRIDE why she was getting married!”

“No, I didn’t. James seems nice enough—”

“It was implied. You can’t say hurtful things like that around people, Archer! Especially to the bride at her own engagement party.” I groan and bury my face in my hands.

“What’s the matter?” Archer asks.

“You embarrassed me.”

“That wasn’t my intent—”

“Well, you did,” I snap, “and you hurt my best friend’s feelings.” I shake my head. “I was really impressed, too. You were being nice.”

“Quinn—”

“That’s always how it is with you—you’re nice one moment, a total nightmare the next.” I point a finger at him. “You’re going to apologize to James and Holly.”

Archer curls his lip. “I don’t apologize.”

“I don’t give a shit. You’re doing it…or I’m breaking up with you.”

“You’d break up with me over something like this?” He crosses his arms. “Then I won’t sign the gift agreement. The proposal is off the table.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

I take a deep breath. “Yup. I’ll walk away from it all.”

Archer stares at me. I know the look; he’s sizing me up. Well, read my lips, asshole: I’m not bluffing.

Archer seems to reach the same conclusion. “I’ll apologize,” he grunts.

“Thank you.”

“Even though I don’t see what I did wrong,” Archer adds.

I ignore him. The sooner Archer apologizes, the sooner I can give my maid-of-honor toast and get him the hell outta here.

“By the way, what was so important that you needed to see me tonight?”

“Oh—” he lowers his voice “—it’s happening.”

“What is?” I ask when he doesn’t elaborate.

“My father’s announcing his candidacy this Friday.”

“Oh…” I say.

Archer steps closer to me. “It’s during a dinner in their home. We’ll have to go.”

So that means—

“You’ll meet my parents,” Archer says, reading my mind, “and they’ll decide if you’re the right girl for the job.”