On Monday morning, I dropped by Morning Brew, bought two large cappuccinos, and with a sweet smile aimed at Andy, quit my full-time job.

I was dying to know who his new girlfriend was. Was it someone working at the coffee shop? Had one of my fellow girls stabbed me in the back? But I would rather die of a coffee overdose than give him the satisfaction of my curiosity.

“But you need the money,” Andy insisted, pulling me to a quiet spot near the front window. “I feel terrible, Tiff. You can’t lose me and the job at the same time.” Pity and sincerity laced his voice, as if he knew I'd struggled with the breakup for the last two weeks and was quitting to save myself the embarrassment.

My lips curled in distaste even as my heart squeezed painfully. Damn him! Why had I fallen for such a troll? Even now, I went all jittery around him, yearning for his companionship and at the same time thankful I didn’t have to put up with his sloppy kisses anymore. I’d hold my head high and prove otherwise. I pushed his hand away. “We broke up, so that’s no longer your concern.” I straightened my shoulders, pushing my tits out to better display what he had given up. “Besides, I have a new job starting today.”

“Already?” Andy’s brown eyes popped out. “That’s… that’s great.”

“Yeah, it is.” I shrugged like it was no big deal and lied. “It’s a personal assistant position.” I had no idea what Denton had in store for me. “I get paid five grand a month. Plus bonus. And a thirty-day paid vacation.”

Andy’s gaze started shifting to… appreciation? Like he was interested in me all over again. Time to go.

“Anyway, thanks for the coffee. Gotta run.” With a last look around the shop, I took a deep breath and left everything that had become comfortable before my emotions made me do something stupid like beg Andy to take me back as both girlfriend and employee.

By the time I reached Denton’s penthouse, it was five minutes to eight. I was early.

Opening the front door to the bell, he nodded at me as he talked business with someone on his phone. He was dressed in a crisp gray suit, his blond hair styled in one of those current trends that screamed “I am so fucking hot.”

Yep, he was hot all right. Enough to make me forget about Andy as I ran my gaze over his godlike features. Strong jaw. Muscles that were evident even beneath the expensive material of his suit.

He smiled when he spotted me staring, pointed at the pristine white sofa and mouthed, Sit.

So I sat, awkwardly balancing two cappuccinos on my thighs and praying they wouldn’t spring a leak.

Once he put his phone away, he joined me on the sofa, jostling the cups enough to make me squeak.

He glanced down, lifting a brow. “Is the coffee any good at… Morning Brew?”

“It’s the best,” I said honestly, handing one of the cups to him. “I used to work there.”

“Used to?”

I sipped my cappuccino and shrugged. “I quit this morning.”

“I see.” Denton drank from his insulated cup, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

The silence was driving me crazy. “So… I still don’t know what I’m doing here. We’re practically strangers, and yet you asked me to help you with something. So what is it?”

Denton took another gulp before speaking. “On Saturday morning, your odd behavior convinced me that I can trust your objectivity. And I need a lot of that right now.”

“Odd behavior?”

He flashed me a quick smile, showing his even white teeth. “I meant no offense by that. It’s just… your reaction was unlike all the other women who’ve ever ended up in my bed.”

“So I didn’t fawn over you. Big deal.”

“It is a big deal, actually. Which is why I called you.”

Annoyance skittered down my spine, and I tapped my foot on the lush carpet. “Can we get to the point already? Why am I here?” I took another sip of my cappuccino to hide the rumbly growls in my stomach. I’d forgotten to eat breakfast this morning.

Denton’s gaze was unwavering. “I need you to help me find a fake wife.”

At that moment, I’d been in the act of setting my cup on his glass coffee table, but his words startled me and I fumbled then went into a linebacker move to catch the cup before it burst over thousands of dollars of rug. In response, he tried to help me catch it, the lid came off, and most of the drink sloshed upward and right on the front of his crisp, white shirt.

“Shit, I am so sorry.” I grabbed the only thing I could spy to soak it up before it dripped on the floor—a throw tossed over the back of the couch. Pressing it into his rock-solid chest, I realized my mistake when my fingers registered the soft feel of what could only be angora. My stomach clenched for two reasons. One, I’d ruined a very expensive throw—not to mention, was this animal still alive when they’d taken the fur? Two, this guy was built like a statue. I tried hard not to stare as the shirt molded to him like a second skin.

“You’re blushing.”

“Of course I am! I’m such a klutz, and I’m so very sorry. Then again, it’s kind of your fault too.” When my hand stopped over his heart, which was thudding way too fast, I froze.

Denton’s hands wrapped around my wrists and he gazed at me for a long moment, then pushed my hands away and rose to his feet. “While I’m changing, I want you to take a look at that black folder on the coffee table. It contains photos of my past girlfriends and their short bios. Choose three and tell me why you think they might make the perfect fake wife–”

“Or better yet, you could just get married for real,” I interrupted, feeling nauseous. This whole thing was bizarre. Why would a rich, gorgeous man like Denton need a fake wife? He must’ve had women from all walks of life throwing themselves at him.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” he said after a long pause. “Never have. But I’m about to turn thirty and my family is putting the pressure on me. Especially my grandfather.” Denton gave me a tired smile. “He says he wants to attend one last wedding before he keels over.”

“How old is he?”

“Old enough to know he shouldn’t be threatening his only grandchild like that.” Denton shook his head then sauntered toward his bedroom, leaving me alone with his portfolio of past girlfriends.

Reluctantly, I reached for the folder and flipped through the bios. They were stunning, each and every one of them. Educated at the Ivy Leagues. Accomplished pianists and athletes. Any man or woman would be lucky to have any of them as a wife.

But Denton didn’t want to marry one of them. He wanted to fake-marry one. Which meant he wanted to get rid of her as soon as the ruse was over.

“Ruthless jerk,” I muttered under my breath. Still, he was paying me 5K to get this done right, so I pored over the ex-girlfriends’ backgrounds and chose three who I thought might be okay with a quickie divorce and settlement down the line.

When he returned with a brand-new shirt, I held out the photos of the three candidates I’d chosen.

“Tell me why you picked them.” He sat down beside me and returned to his cappuccino, not bothering to glance at my choices.

“First, I disqualified socialites with hefty trust funds. If—or when, I should say—you end up divorcing one of them, your personal life will be plastered all over the tabloids. That’s a scandal with a pretty long tail.”

Denton lifted a brow. “Go on.”

“Second, I disqualified the girlfriends you met in college, especially the ones you broke up with.” I frowned at his fake-wife portfolio. “Some of them could get genuinely attached, making it more difficult for you to ask for a divorce.”

“So who are the lucky three women left?”

I held out the first photo. “Veronica Sullivan. Statuesque and blonde, she could be your very own Barbie in your dream house.” I guestured with a hand at our surrondings, which were by my standards dreamy. “Has a taste for pricey things. Already has one divorce under her belt. If you dangle a nice divorce settlement, she might go for it.”

I whipped out the second photo. “Cindy Chang. Local pianist who frequently performs with the Philharmonic. Her bio says her dream is to open an after-school arts program in Manhattan. That could be pretty costly, so your ‘donations’ would be much appreciated.”

I glanced at the last photo, somewhat hesitant. “Laura Harrington. Her bio says she’s bisexual. Recently, her partner was involved in a car accident and requires months of physical therapy. But her wealthy parents disowned her because they disapprove of her female lover. A quickie divorce and a generous settlement might really help them out with their mounting medical bills.” I felt bad about the last one, but he had hired me for my objective advice.

“Interesting. And you think the first two won’t get clingy?”

I shrugged. “How should I know? You’re the one who dated them.”

“But I’m biased. In my heart, I believe they’ll all want to stay married to me forever.”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling up in my head. When they finally came back down, he was shooting me an amused smile, which caused a weird fluttering in my stomach.

“That’s why I hired you.” The low tone in his voice was way too familiar for comfort.

“Well…” I shifted in my seat, the room strangely hot all of a sudden. “You’ll have to be upfront with them, that’s for sure. Make sure they know what they’re getting themselves into. Oh, and they’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. I think the settlement and the NDA together will be enough to zap any romantic notions out of their heads.”

Denton seemed pleased with my answer. “I’ll arrange a date with Veronica this evening and see how it goes.” He paused, then added, “I’ll expect you to be there, of course.”

“What? Definitely not. That would be so awkward.”

“Not with us.” He smirked, looking like he was enjoying this way too much. “You’ll be sitting a couple of tables away. I want you to observe her responses to me during our meal.” He gave me a once-over, his brows knotting. “Do you own a nice dress?”

My eyes dropped to the khaki button dress I thought went well with my dark-brown hair. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it… if you were going for a picnic at a dog park.” He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a fistful of hundreds, stuffing them into my hand. “Go buy a nice evening dress.”

I stared at the money. Just how nice of a dress was he expecting? And who exactly was this guy?

Our discussion was almost done, and I still hadn’t found out his last name or what he did for a living that made him so filthy rich.

“Can I have your business card?” I blurted, smoothness not one of my best talents.

He handed over his elegant, embossed card, then glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in my office in fifteen minutes. After my secretary has made the reservations, she’ll text the time and place to you. Be there on time.”

Then I was quickly dismissed.

On the elevator, I took a long look at the card. It read, “Denton North, Northern Alpine Industries.”

Denton North.

For some reason, the name rang a bell that made it feel like an invisible fist was hovering over my gut, waiting to throw the inevitable punch.