Julie liked to think that she and Grace were a couple of good-looking broads, but Riley McKenna was a whole other level of gorgeous. Tonight she’d apparently decided to play up the bombshell routine, because her red silk dress pushed the envelope of decency. Her long raven hair had been pulled into some kind of postcoital updo, and her smoky makeup made her ice-blue eyes smolder.

“Jeez, I think even I’m getting warm looking at her,” Grace muttered.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Greg.”

“Are you kidding? I’m sure the thought would give him a perpetual boner.”

Julie was careful to keep the distaste off her face. Grace and Greg Parsons had been dating since, like, puberty and were one of those nauseating couples who finished each other’s sentences. Even their names, Greg and Grace, made them sound like characters from some horrible fifties sitcom. Not to mention they were the king and queen of movie nights. Julie had seen the permanent butt indentations on their couch.

All of which would have been fine if Greg were good enough for Grace.

He wasn’t.

Julie would never say so to Grace, but in Julie’s self-proclaimed expert opinion, Greg Parsons was a total swine. She didn’t like the way he forgot to say thank you for the way Grace managed his life. Didn’t like the way he checked out the waitress’s ass every time Grace went to the restroom.

And she really didn’t like the way Greg had once propositioned Riley for a one-night stand after Grace had gone home from a party early with a headache.

Riley had insisted they forget about it. That it had just been a bad joke after too much booze.

Julie wasn’t so sure.

But neither was she about to get in the middle of her best friend’s love life. Much safer to get in the middle of everyone else’s love life via her Stiletto articles.

“Hello, my pretties,” Riley said, giving them both air kisses, careful not to spill a drop of her champagne. “Anyone seen Camille?”

“Not yet,” Julie said. “I think we have a few minutes until show time.”

“Thank God—I need a drink first. So what are we talking about?”

“Julie was about to whine about the bum story idea from Camille,” Grace said.

“Oh, yeah?” Riley asked. “What are we dealing with here? Herpes? Butt plugs? Necrophilia?”

Necrophilia? Julie stared at her best friend. “What is wrong with you? I said it was awful, not completely creepy.”

Riley shrugged. “You say potato, I say poh-tah-to.”

“Actually, nobody says poh-tah-to,” Grace muttered.

“Seriously, Jules, what’s the story?” Riley pressed.

Julie dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m supposed to talk about taking things to the next level.”

Riley stared at her for several seconds before shooting a puzzled glance at Grace, who shrugged. “That’s it? Why are you in such a tizzy? That’s the journalistic equivalent of Wonder bread. You can write that in your sleep.”

Julie tossed back the rest of her champagne. Apparently she had to spell it out for them. “I don’t know how to write about it because I’ve never actually done it.”

“Done what?”

“Taken things to the next level.”

“Sure you have,” Riley said with a dismissive wave. “You’re the queen of relationships. Just in the past year there’ve been Erik, Graham, Jason, Matt, and Ben. And last year there were Stephen, Dan, Brett, and let’s see, who else . . .”

Julie held up a finger. “Now hold on. You make me sound like a common hussy. Just because I dated all of those men doesn’t mean I slept with them.”

Riley wiggled her eyebrows. “Most of them?”

Julie took another sip of her champagne and tried to look sexy and mysterious. Riley gave a disappointed sigh. “You didn’t sleep with any of them, did you?”

The way Riley said it made Julie feel like a prude. But then, Riley was Stiletto’s sexpert in residence. Julie was more hearts and flowers, and, well . . . Let’s just say I’m a little particular about the men I sleep with.

“I slept with Graham after the fifth date,” Julie protested. And it had been laaaaaame. But the girls didn’t need to know that. “I never dated any of them for more than a couple of weeks, and I liked it that way. You see where I’m going with this? I can’t talk about the next level because I’ve never been there.”

“So?” Riley said, wiggling her fingers at a tuxedo-clad server who practically sprinted over to deliver another round of champagne. “Go there.”

“I can’t just pull a relationship out of my butt, Ri. How am I supposed to add a personal touch to a story about something I’ve never experienced?”

“Interview women who have been through it,” Grace said practically, sounding exactly like Camille.

“Go undercover,” Riley said at the exact same time.

Julie paused with the newly refilled champagne flute halfway to her lips, eyes fixed on Riley. “Keep going with that. Undercover. What are you thinking?”

“What about my idea?” Grace asked.

Julie ignored her. A bland interview-focused article wasn’t on her radar. She hadn’t spent years building up the personal aspect of her articles only to let it all fall apart now.

“Go undercover,” Riley repeated. “If you’re not interested in actually taking a relationship to the next level, fake it.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Grace said. “That’s just wrong. Pretending to fall in love would be bad enough, but pretending to actually be in love? That’s cruel.”

“It wouldn’t have to actually be love, per se,” Julie mused, warming up to the idea. “I could just sort of dip my toe into the world of commitment. Find some nice, reliable, wife-seeking guy and see what happens.”

“Exactly right,” Riley said with approval. “You just pull the plug before it goes too far. It wouldn’t be unlike normal dating. You’d just be trying a guy on for size, seeing if it might work out.”

“Except it wouldn’t,” Julie said. “Work out, I mean.”

“Maybe not. But he doesn’t know that.”

Grace groaned. “I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”

“This could really work,” Julie mused. “Maybe I could truly find out firsthand what all those boring couples do after the butterflies-and-fun stuff has worn off.”

“Hey!” Grace said.

“Not you and Greg, of course,” Julie amended. “You guys aren’t boring.”

Except they were. Just a little.

“So how do I do this?” she asked, turning her attention back to Riley. “Where do I start?”

Riley rubbed her hands together. “Ah, the tigress hunts her prey.”

“Not that I want any part of this charade,” Grace said slowly, “but tonight might actually be an ideal time to find such a man.”

“Tonight?” Julie’s stomach clenched. She’d thought she’d at least have a few days to prepare.

“Sure!” Grace said, as though they were discussing nothing more dicey than a fifth-grade scavenger hunt. “It’s an education fund-raiser. I’m thinking many of the men here will be more family-minded than we might find on an average Friday night out.”

Riley nodded in agreement. “Baby call instead of booty call. I like the way you think, Brighton. We can for sure find a dull, committed kind of guy here. Assuming this is for our August issue, you’ll have over a month until you have to get a draft to Camille. If you keep this moving, that’s plenty of time to get serious.”

Julie chewed her lip. “You guys really think I should go man hunting at an education fund-raiser? Isn’t this a little . . . depraved?”

Grace shrugged. “For the record, I think this whole thing is depraved. But if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right.”

Julie’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the sheer number of conservative suits. Grace had a point. Tonight was as good a night as any to find a fake boyfriend. But could she do this? Should she do this?