Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 37751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“I’m having an interior designer put some finishing touches on your official manager’s suite so your fiancé can see it while he’s here,” Grandma Hattie says. “Did you already say what day he’s arriving?”
“Yeah, I said he’ll be here on Thursday.”
Later that night, I lock myself in a suite and set up a table with Mission: Find a Fake Fiancé. I have ninety-six hours to find a guy who can save my life, and I refuse to throw in the towel until the very last second.
I brew coffee and open Craigslist, Home for the Holidays, and Rent-a-mate in separate tabs.
The other sites are far less promising, and I’m convinced that OnlyFans is borderline prostitution.
Not wanting to give up, I log into my social media accounts, checking on all my male friends one by one.
Engaged. Married. Single and looking for anyone down to screw on Christmas. Ugh…
By midnight, I’m close to throwing in the towel and deflating my estate dreams earlier than planned.
As I’m making another pot of coffee, the housekeeping manager texts me “Call me! It’s an emergency!”
I forward it to someone else, someone who isn’t watching her life go up in flames with every passing second.
I’m not sure how long I flip between tabs and scroll through pages, but when I look up from my laptop, the sun is peaking over the clouds and reality is setting in.
“Telling the truth won’t be the end of the world,” I say to myself. “Grandma just won’t trust me t be manager because I’ll still be single…and a liar.”
I lean back in my chair, exhaling.
My work cell rings—signaling the start of a new day with VIP guest requests, and I accept that the jig is up. Game over.
“Thank you for calling your Special Guest Services Manager,” I answer. “I’m Georgia Grey, and I’m looking forward to fulfilling your every request.”
“Good morning, Miss Grey,” a deep voice says. “This is Ryan Painter, a customer specialist with The Office Guest.”
“Okay, seriously? I didn’t have anything to do with that dumpster that caught fire at your headquarters last year. That was totally a coincidence that happened on the same day y’all banned my account.”
“That’s not why I’m calling you, Miss Grey.”
“Oh. Well, what’s going on?”
“I couldn’t help but notice that you have yet to rejoin our app since your suspension was lifted.”
“What?” I sit upright. I’d completely forgotten about The Office Guest.
“I’m sending you a special ten percent code in hopes that you’ll find use for it within the next thirty days, but I do want to warn you that we’ve changed quite a few things since you were last one of our customers.”
“Yeah?” I place him on speaker and re-download the app as he speaks. “Things like what?”
“We just eliminated almost everything you used to abuse our app for.” His voice is deadpan. “And, although you can see what our guests look like, we had to eliminate the men seeing you until it’s time to meet in person due to some abuses by other clients.”
When I enter my old password, I’m not met with an ugly red screen anymore. Instead, the wonderful world I’ve missed so much is suddenly mine again. Gorgeous men in suits, availability, accents, and “skills.”
Maybe I won’t get caught after all…
As he continues droning on about their new terms and conditions, I type in my requirements, the date range and my preferences, and then I set a price that will hopefully get the right guy’s attention.
Eight thousand dollars.
“I hope you enjoy the new look and feel of The Office Guest.” The representative’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “I wish you great success with it this holiday season.”
“Thank you very much!”
“One last thing, Miss Grey,” he says. “I have a question.”
“Ask me anything.”
“It’s about last year’s dumpster that caught fire.” He pauses. “We never sent any memos or notes about that to the public or the press. How did you know about it?”
“Um…Merry Christmas!” I hang up in his face.
ELEVEN
PARK CITY, UTAH
DOMINIC
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to lead the first toast.” My father taps a spoon to a glass. “To my son, Dominic Reiss, who, as of today is an officially a billionaire.”
The room fills with applause and I force a smile, waiting for a feeling of elation to finally hit me, but it never comes.
Since the announcement was made this morning via the business wire, all I’ve felt is numbness. I’d thought that I would want Mindy to pull the trigger on a celebratory yacht trip for me, but the only thing I have so far is a “Finally a Billionaire” mug for my desk.
“Congratulations, Mr. Reiss!” “This is so amazing and inspiring!” “I bet you’re on top of the world right now, son!” The party guests surround me with heavy pats on the back and special handshakes.
When I’m certain I’ve spoken to everyone, I pick up a Cuban cigar and step outside on the snow-covered balcony.