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“New clothes and more vacation time sounds great, but this is going to be a really expensive lie for you, Monty,” I remark. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off just telling your mom the truth?”

“No.”

That’s it. One word and his decision is clear. There won’t be any budging him on this.

“And what exactly is required of me this weekend, other than a name change?” I ask. “Will there be any…physical contact required?”

“Only the bare minimum. We’ll just be pretending when we’re in public where you can be certain I will keep my hands all to myself,” he says. “We’ll sit beside each other and share meals with my mom and her husband. That’s about it.”

“I can handle all of that.” I’ve been his work wife for years, so it won’t be that big of a stretch to pretend to be his future wife. The only thing missing in our relationship is the physical part.

“And the other thing I mentioned,” Monty says. “You can’t be…likeable.”

“Right. You don’t want your mother to like me.”

“You can be as nuts as you want. The more insane, the better. Whatever it takes for her to beg me to call off the wedding,” he says.

“As insane as I want to be. That sounds awesome,” I reply, and I’m a little insulted that he sees me that way. “Which means you’ll have to go along with all my crazy without complaining,” I tell him and he nods his agreement. Then, lowering my voice, I ask, “Can I tell anyone? You know about where I’ll be disappearing to this weekend?”

“You can tell…one or two people you trust to keep it quiet. The rest of the office cannot find out about this.”

While this whole vacation as a fake fiancée plan seems like a good deal for me, it also feels like it could be a huge mistake.

“Could I think about it and give you an answer later today?”

“Sure,” he says. “Take as much time as you need. If you decide it’s too much, then…I’ll just go alone and tell her the truth.”

As he slips his hands into his pants pockets, his wide shoulders slump with his pronouncement, making him shrink a few inches.

I hate seeing this sad version of my grumpy boss.

“Why not ask someone else?”

“What do you mean?” Monty asks, while nervously smoothing his tie again.

“Why ask me and not Maggie or literally any one of the nearly one hundred women who work for you?”

“I don’t trust anyone else,” he says simply. “And nobody knows me like you do.”

If I could see my heart right now, I bet it would be glowing from hearing that I’m the person Montgomery Crawford trusts to help him with this ridiculous lie.

“Maggie would do it,” I point out. “Wyatt wouldn’t mind.” Those two owe Monty since he hired Maggie when she moved to Charlotte to be with Wyatt, Monty’s law school dropout friend.

Wait. Why am I trying to wiggle out of extra paid time off, new clothes, and luggage in exchange for a free vacation? Don’t be stupid, Kendall. “But now that I think about it, Wyatt is the jealous type, and things seem a little bit rocky lately, so it might not be best to steal her away for a romantic weekend.”

“Rocky? I haven’t noticed.”

“As if you would notice even if they fought right in front of you,” I scoff. “You literally didn’t notice that I replaced your computer’s wallpaper with Mr. Jingles for three days, Monty. Three days!”

He waves a hand through the air. “All the…icons or whatever blocked most of his…smushed face.”

“You were going to say ugly, weren’t you?”

Mr. Jingles is a Persian I rescued from the shelter a few months ago. He had a bit of a problem in multiple cat households. He hated the other cats and would bully them relentlessly. At least that was the adoption center’s side of the story.

Monty shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dream of insulting your cat, since you’re considering doing me this huge favor.”

“That reminds me. I would need to hire a pet sitter for Mr. Jingles.”