The Fake Girlfriend Rules Read Online Penny Wylder

Categories Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)

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The Fake Girlfriend Rules

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Penny Wylder

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He’s my best friend and roommate. I’ve known him forever. He’s always been able to ask me anything. I NEVER imagined he’d ask me to be his fake girlfriend.
I’m terrified, but I want to help, so we make some rules. No kissing. No strings attached. It should be easy… Right?

We’ve been friends for years. Just friends. Sure, I thought she was hot, but I never looked at her as more than one of the guys. Asking her to be my fake girlfriend for a work event was a no-brainer.
Until I saw her in that tight dress. Until we stumbled into a taxi together at the end of the night. Until we… well.
I promised to follow her rules. Now, I’m going to break all of them.
Books by Author:

Penny Wylder



“The best of luck to you, Lyllian, in your future endeavors,” Mr. Brennan says as he places a plastic basket with a giant yellow bow wrapped around the handle in front of me. “I know how much you love blueberry muffins, so for a parting gift, these are for you. Eat up.” He smiles proudly, his back straight and his chin aimed slightly at the ceiling.

The buttons on his shirt are stretched to their limits as his pot belly attempts to shoot them across the room. The gray hair he has left on his head is pulled back in a thin, straggly ponytail. He probably should have given up on his hair a long time ago, but I guess for some it's hard to do. His pleated tan pants are wrinkled around the ankles and the pockets, like he missed them completely while ironing.

Broad, blue rimmed glasses frame his beady hazel eyes as he scratches his ear with thick, dry fingers. He reminds me of a teacher I had back in junior high school. Mr. Tasselbeck; he taught math class.

I smile, pulling the basket in. “Thank you so much, Mr. Brennan, and thank you everyone,” I say as I look around at all the faces I'll never see again.

I'm not going to miss you.

I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm not nervous about this next phase of my life. A new job is never easy. But this place has never really made me feel all that welcome. People would bark orders at me, no one ever stopped to have an actual conversation with me.

Everyone presents their best work smiles as I pull the card off the basket of muffins and open it up. It's a simple card. There's a bouquet of flowers on the front, and the inside is blank except for where everyone signed their names.

“This is really nice,” I say as I catch a whiff of the fresh blueberries. The muffins smell incredible, but the closer I look at them, I can see it immediately. . .

These aren't gluten free.

My stomach sinks, but I force the smile to stay in place, even though I really want to throw the muffins across the room. I could do it, too. I could throw them, stomp on them, and leave them in a mushy smear across the floor as I storm out. Because it doesn't really matter what I do. Today is my last day; it's not like my boss can fire me.

Five years. Five years of my life I've given to this job, and my boss still doesn't remember that I have a gluten allergy. If I so much as eat a crumb of one of these, I'll be sick for a week.

I know I've only just been his secretary, but I must have mentioned the fact I have this allergy a gazillion times. Between different parties and functions, it comes up. I even told him two months ago, when he gave me a small cake for my birthday.

Why does no one pay attention?

Have I just been a fixture here, like a lamp?

It's deflating to feel so small and unimportant, especially because I'm one of those people who does pay attention. I know my boss hates onions and tomatoes. I know his favorite food is homemade lasagna, and that he likes to golf on the weekends, and his wife's birthday is June 5th.

I know Beth and Gary in accounting are both allergic to fish, and that Moreen has a lactose sensitivity. George's daughter sells Girl Scout cookies every year and Miranda's youngest son had his appendix out two years ago.

I know all of this because I listen.

Could any of them remember one thing about me? One simple thing that I've articulated every time there's food brought into this office. I'm gluten free. I can't eat it. Did they ever pay attention to me, or am I just the girl at the front desk, who makes copies and takes phone calls?

My smile aches as I hold it in place while I say goodbye for the last time to these people. Since it's my last day here, I don't want it to end on a bad note. The muffins aren't that big of a deal. Why should I care if I can't eat them?

It's the thought that counts—right?

Plus, I really need Mr. Brennan to give me a positive letter as a reference. My new job is basically set in stone, but I'm not taking any chances. Things can always change, and all it takes is one bad review to shut the door in my face.

So, I keep my fake smile on. Wearing it like a mask that I'm hiding behind as I say my goodbyes and pick up the box of stuff off my desk. It's a little weird to see the new secretary rolling her name plaque into the spot where mine had just been hours ago.