Chapter 1
The Half Pint Bar and Grill hosted its usual regulars on a warm Saturday evening, and one Matthew Reynolds considered fortunate that bartenders come much cheaper than a good therapist. At least, he muses that it’s fortunate for the strikingly familiar woman who sits at the bar, loudly complaining to the bartender. He recognizes her vaguely, remembering her name as Clarice of the like. She’s usually a rather snappy customer, shutting down advances from the various saps who make run of the bar. As far as he’s gathered, however, she’s been put out of sorts by her sister’s upcoming wedding. More specifically, she’s put out by her mother’s insistence that she brings a boyfriend.
Matthew usually wouldn’t pay much attention to bar chatters, as he would usually have a date with him. However, he was currently trying to distract himself from text messages sent from yesterday’s needy woman. Anything was preferable to seeing her emoticon-riddled text messages, desperately wondering why he had not returned her calls. Just like any ordinary woman. Desperate for someone to come home to at night, someone she could tie down with a marriage and some ugly kids. Adding to that is the fact that he must deal with his fair share of golddigger as well, wealth was both a blessing and a curse. He was more than willing to fool around with a nice girl with an even nicer rack, but he cut ties as soon as it was feasible.
The woman at the bar, whose name he finally remembered as being Claire Barkley, has never approached him for more than the occasional chatter. She usually gave him some shit about the skanks he brought into the bar, seeming to think as little of them as he did. She didn’t strike him as the one to be easily tied down by a man, which judging from her dilemma, seemed to be the case.
“I swear, Barb, men just can’t handle all this. I think I’ve found a good guy, ya know, the whole package. Then, he mutated into some sentimental creep that wants me to meet his mother,” Claire lamented, and Matthew had to stifle a laugh as he pictured the last man she had entered the bar with. He had been a handsome man, from a strictly objective point of view, and certainly didn’t seem the type to run home to his mommy. Claire, however, insisted that the share of men she’d met wilted beneath her big personality.
Matthew mused that she was simply seeking the wrong men. Though he had no intentions to pursue her, he could see that she was beautiful enough. She needed a real man, not some mummy’s boys.
Deciding to give her a taste of her own medicine, he slipped towards the bar to give her a bit of shit about her dilemma. She spotted him coming almost immediately, grinning as he approached.
“Matt, how’s it going?” She asked amicably, rolling her eyes at his cheeky grin.
“Much better than you, I’m fortunate not having an overly inquisitive family,” he hummed, sinking into the bar stool besides her. She sighed somewhat melodramatically, glancing towards the bartender and giving her drink order before turning her attention back to Matthew.
“We can’t all be blessed like you, rich kid,” she quirked lips. He chuckled at the little dig, resting his elbow on the bartop, looking at her straight in the eyes.
“Maybe not, but you don’t seem particularly bad off either. Many women would kill to have a chance with the men I’ve seen you bring here. Shouldn’t be hard for you to pick some sap up off the streets,” his mouth fell open, and she barked out a laugh. He had to swallow his laughter, enjoying her boisterous personality. Sure, a woman guffawing at a bar wasn’t the most attractive picture, but she certainly was interesting.
“Please. My mom knows me too well. She’d know immediately that I was faking if I just brought in some wimpy pretty boy,” Claire chuckled. She tapped her fingers on the bartop, seeming to consider her next words. “It’s not like I need anything permanent. I just need someone who can play a role,” she hummed, and Matthew quirked a brow, laughing under his breath.
“Ah…so you’re looking for a realistic fake boyfriend? Seriously, Claire? That’s just sad,” he gasped. If she was put off by his words, she gave little indication, simply watching him with a small smile.
“You’re asking as if I’d ask you, rich boy. I do have some taste,” she riposted, and Matthew narrowed his eyes slightly.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you implying? That I’m just one of those mommy’s boys you always bring home? You should know better than that, Barkley.” He seemed irritated by her growing smile, tossing back his shot of bourbon as soon as the bartender placed it in front of him. She swished her glass, observing the contents for a moment before knocking her glass back as well.
“Well, it’s not as if you’d have the balls to prove otherwise, so what difference does it make? I feel like you’re getting a little worked up, Matthew,” she purred, offering him a coy wink. He sputtered angrily, slapping the bar to indicate that he wanted another shot. The bartender, for her part, simply observed the two with an amused smile.
“You’d be so lucky to know my balls,” he huffed, eyes widening indignantly as she snagged his next shot out from under him. “I have brass balls,” he grumbled, watching as she sipped the drink.
“Prove it then,” she said with a daring smile. Matthew hesitated, considering her for a long moment before tossing his head back in a laugh. Realizing that he had been caught in her scheme, she smiled sheepishly.
“You’re something else, Claire,” he smirked. “What the hell, what could it hurt? I can play your arm candy for the wedding,” he announced, tapping his fingers on the bartop again. “Next round is on me, Barb. We’re celebrating the start of a beautiful new relationship,” he crowed. He and Claire erupted into laughter as cheers echoed through the bar. Barbara handed out shots, placing the charges on Matthew’s tab. It was well known that he was good for paying off his tab. The perks of being filthy rich.
The rest of the night went out without much of a hitch, with Claire celebrating her good fortune. Though she held no deeper feelings for the rich alpha male, her mother would certainly consider him to be her type. They simply needed to spend some time together, getting their story straight. Claire offered to meet the man at the gym where both worked out on occasion. They rarely crossed paths there, but Matthew agreed to shuffle his schedule a bit for their scheming.
Bidding her goodnight, Matthew watched as Claire slipped drunkenly out of the bar. In spite of himself, he felt the vaguest sense of relief that she hadn’t carried home one of the losers who had tried hitting on her. He assured himself that the feeling was only due to the role he was expected to play.
He would never pursue a woman, not even Claire. They all boiled down to the same needy vultures…