Staged Romance

Chapter 2

Two days later, I still couldn't shake the conversation with Damien Walsh. It replayed in my mind over and over again, every time I tried to convince myself it was a terrible idea. I'd start to feel sane again, rational, but then reality would hit me like a cold slap to the face. Rent. Bills. Debt. The reminders piled up so high I felt like I was suffocating under them.

My shift today had been even worse than usual. The diner was slow, the tips were low, and the exhaustion in my bones felt heavier than ever. I couldn't get the idea out of my head—his offer, his words. "More than you make in a year." That kind of money would change everything. It wouldn't just get me through the next few months, it would get me ahead for once.

I sat on the edge of my couch, staring at my phone. His card was sitting next to me, taunting me. I knew it was reckless. Dangerous, even. Who knew what kind of mess I'd be walking into with this guy?

But the other part of me—this tired, desperate part—kept whispering that it was a way out. Maybe the only way out. How else was I going to get ahead in this city? Working doubles at a diner wasn't going to cut it. Not anymore.

Before I could talk myself out of it again, I snatched up the phone and dialed the number. My heart pounded with every ring, my fingers shaking as I clutched the phone tighter.

He picked up on the third ring. "Walsh."

I froze, almost forgetting why I called. His voice was sharp, impatient, just like it had been at the diner. But now it wasn't some stranger on the other end of the line. This was the man who was about to turn my entire life upside down.

"It's me," I said, my voice weaker than I wanted it to be. "The girl from the diner."

There was a pause, just long enough to make me feel even more stupid for calling. Then his voice came back, smoother this time. "Ah, yes. I was wondering if you'd call."

I swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. "I've been thinking about your offer."

"And?"

My mouth felt dry. I could barely believe the words coming out of my mouth. "I'll do it."

Another pause. I could almost hear the smile in his voice when he replied. "Good choice."

He didn't sound surprised, like he'd known all along I'd say yes. That made me want to hang up right then and there, but I didn't. I was in too deep already.

"When can we meet?" he asked, his tone shifting to something more businesslike.

"Whenever," I said, trying to sound casual even though my nerves were frayed.

"There's a restaurant downtown, The Cavanaugh. Meet me there tonight at 8 p.m. We'll go over the details in person."

The Cavanaugh. I'd heard of it. It was one of those fancy places I'd only seen in pictures—white tablecloths, waiters in suits, people who probably spent more on a meal than I made in a week. Great. Just the kind of place I'd feel totally out of place in.

But I agreed, hanging up before I could change my mind.

The hours crawled by after that, each one more tense than the last. I rummaged through my closet, trying to find something decent enough to wear, but it wasn't easy. Most of my clothes were old, worn out from years of living paycheck to paycheck. I settled on a simple black dress I'd bought years ago for a wedding, hoping it would pass in a place like The Cavanaugh.

By the time 7:30 rolled around, my nerves were shot. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to tame my hair and put on some makeup, though I doubted it would make much of a difference. I didn't belong in his world, and no amount of lipstick or eyeliner was going to change that.