I can explain why I’m hiring male strippers.
I can explain the want ads for saucy male companionship I’m posting. I can even explain pretending to date the city’s most notorious playboy. They say revenge is a dish best-served cold, but mine is going to be spicy, sizzling, and hilariously humiliating. My ex, Vaughn, cheated, stole from me, and worse. I refused to be the lovable, heartbroken heroine who hides under a pile of tissues and ice cream pints. Oh no, not me. So when the universe offers me the perfect crescendo to my plan, I know I can’t refuse. Jameson Wolfe, Vaughn’s arch-nemesis and business rival, wants to help me get back at my ex. We’re going to fake falling head over heels for each other and then rub it all in Vaughn’s face. Jameson has his own agenda that I should probably, maybe definitely, be worried about. But how wrong could this go? Jameson might be the city’s most notorious playboy, dangerously handsome and filthy rich, but he’s practically allergic to commitments. We’ll emotionlessly fake date for a few weeks and cap it all off with an appearance at the company Halloween mixer. I’ll be in a sensibly scandalous costume with my arm wrapped around Jameson’s. Vaughn will go nuclear, and then we can all ride off into the sunset. Separately. Sure, Jameson isn’t the terrible jerk his reputation makes him out to be. And yes, I may find myself enjoying our fake dates more than I ever expected. But it’s going to be fine, even if I find myself asking "what if" when I’m supposed to be thinking "no way." The plan is still going to go off without a hitch. Right?
