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whatever you’d like.”

      Gretchen watched him curiously as she walked over to the bar and pulled out what looked like tequila. He expected her to mix it with something, but instead, watched in surprise as she twisted off the lid and threw back the tiny bottle in a few hard draws. She really must be nervous if she was doing tequila shots just to be in the same room with him.

      “You know, you look like you could use one of these yourself. I’m not getting the feeling that you’re very happy about this,” she said as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash and turned back to sit on the couch. “I know I probably don’t meet your standards for a woman you’d date. Mr. Bentley specifically requested an everyday woman, but I assume I’m not what he had in mind. I’m obviously not a Bridgette, so if that’s going to be a problem, just say the word and I’ll go on my way.”

      He was doing a crappy job at making her feel welcome. “No, no. I’m sorry,” Julian said, sitting down in the chair to face her. “My manager informed me about this whole arrangement literally minutes before you showed up. My reaction has nothing to do with you and the standards you seem to think you fall short of.”

      “So you’re not on board with Mr. Bentley’s plan?”

      “Not really,” he replied. There was no sense in sugarcoating it. “I’ll do what I need to do, but this isn’t my choice, no. It’s pretty common in Hollywood to contract relationships, but that’s not my style. I’d rather go to an event alone than with some woman I don’t even know. That’s probably why Ross sprang this on me—I couldn’t get out of it quickly enough. But now, here we are, and I find I’m just not as well prepared as I would like to be.”

      “Neither am I,” she said. “Does one ever really get used to being pimped out by your friends for something like this?”

      “Pimped out?” Julian chuckled. The alcohol seemed to loosen her tongue. “That’s one way to put it. Welcome to the Hollywood game, Gretchen McAlister. We’ve all sold ourselves for success. How much did it take for you to toss your good sense out the window and end up on my couch?”

      A flicker of irritation crossed her face, blushing her cheeks an attractive pink. It might have just been the tequila kicking in. He’d bet her hands weren’t cold any longer. He fought the urge to find a reason to touch her again.

      “Apparently, ten grand for my time and another two grand to make me more presentable.”

      Julian looked over his date of the next few days and frowned. It shouldn’t take two thousand to make her presentable, and he hoped Ross hadn’t been rude enough to say such a thing. Ross was usually brutally honest, with a set of unrealistic Hollywood ideals. Whereas Gretchen wasn’t the kind of woman Julian was normally seen with in LA, she wasn’t unattractive. Her skin was creamy and flawless, her lips full and pink. Her eyelashes were so long and thick, he thought they might be fake, but she didn’t strike him as that type.

      He supposed anyone could use a haircut and a manicure. She could take the rest of the money and buy clothes. Tonight she was dressed as though she’d come straight from her work at the wedding chapel, wearing a plain green shirt and khakis with a brown cardigan, a pair of loafers and argyle socks. Appropriate for winter in the South, he supposed, but not overly dressy. She looked nice. She actually reminded him a lot of his mother when she was younger and life hadn’t completely sucked away everything she had.

      But instead of complimenting Gretchen the way he knew he should, he went the other direction. He felt himself being drawn in by her shy awkwardness, but Julian had no intention of getting chummy with this woman. She may not be a part of the Hollywood machine, but she’d use him just like everyone else. She was only here because she was being paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it.

      “You should’ve held out for more. Ross would’ve paid twenty.”

      Gretchen just shrugged as though the money didn’t mean much to her. He knew that couldn’t be true. Who would sign up for something like this if it wasn’t because they needed the money? He was a millionaire, and he still wouldn’t turn down a well-paying role. There was always something he could do with it. Even socking it away in the bank put it to good use.

      He doubted that was the case for her, though. She certainly didn’t seem to have agreed to this because she was a fan. She was lacking that distinctly starry-eyed gaze he was used to seeing in women. The gaze that flickered over him was appreciative, but reserved. He sensed there was a lot going on in her mind that she wouldn’t share with him. He knew he shouldn’t care; she was just a fleeting part of his life this week, but he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on under that curly mop of hair.

      “Well, now that we’ve established that I’ve been had cheaply, do we need to work out any details?”

      Yes, Julian thought. It was better to stick to the logistics of the plan. “I came out a few days early to hang out with Murray before the wedding, so you’ve got some time to buy clothes and do whatever grooming women do. The first event for the wedding is Wednesday night. They’re holding a welcome barbecue out at Murray’s house. That will be our first official outing. Maybe we should get together here on Wednesday afternoon and spend some time on our story for anyone that asks.”

      Gretchen nodded. “Okay. I’ll get the event schedule from Natalie, the wedding planner. Any special requests?”

      Julian’s brows went up at her question. “Like what?”

      She shrugged. “I’ve never done this before, but I thought you might have favorite colors for me to wear, or find acrylic nails to be a turnoff, that sort of thing.”

      He’d never had a woman ask him something like that before. Despite how often people told him they were there for him, they rarely inquired or even cared what he might really want. He had to think about an answer for a moment. “I only have one request, really.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Please wear comfortable shoes,” Julian said. “I don’t know how many events I’ve sat through where the woman did nothing but complain about her expensive, fancy, painful shoes the whole night.”

      Gretchen glanced down at her practical and comfortable-looking brown leather loafers. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Well, I’ll get going.” She got up from the couch and held out a card to him.

      He accepted it, turning it over to find it was her business card. The design of it was very intricate but delicate, with a shiny ivory damask pattern over a flat white card. The text was in a blush pink, as was an edging of abstract roses, screaming wedding, but not cliché wedding.

      “You can reach me at the chapel number during the day or my cell phone the rest of the time. If nothing comes up, I’ll see you Wednesday afternoon before the barbecue.”

      Julian took her hand in his. It was warmer now, and this time, he noticed how soft her skin was against him. He swallowed hard as his palm tingled where their skin touched. His gaze met hers, and he watched her dark eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she pulled her hand away.

      “Thanks for doing this, Gretchen,” he said, to cover his surprising physical response to her touch. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

      She nodded and bit at her lip as she made her way to the door. After she slipped out, he bolted the lock and turned back to face his room. It suddenly felt more empty and cold than it had when she was here with him.

      Perhaps this setup wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

Two

      Gretchen felt as if she’d just lived through that makeover montage from the movie Miss Congeniality, although it was more painful than funny. Amelia had scheduled her appointments at the day spa they contracted with for bridal sessions, and they were happy to fit in Gretchen for a full day of beauty.

      She was expecting a hair trim

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