Chapter 1

From the start of time, I was given a list.

To have the perfect life I needed these four things:

One: Snag the perfect man.

Two: Attain the perfect job.

Three: Create the perfect body.

Four: Live the perfect "Happily Ever After."

The only problem is they forgot to define "perfect."

So, like the halfwit I am, I packed my bags and moved to the one place I knew was full of American Dreams.

Los Angeles.

I guess they forgot to tell me it was full of shit, too.

But, nevertheless, here I am, merely a face in a sea full of extremely attractive bodies who like to call themselves public figures, or influencers if you will. The gateway to becoming the next most followed person on every social media platform.

But I still haven't answered the most important question. How the hell was someone who is verbatim the definition of an average bestowed the honor to bask in their presence.

Well, if you want the answer, you can get in line because I'm just as confused as you are, but starting at the beginning might help a little.

The opening scene is one of those whirring car scenes, but let's replace cars with people yelling at each other over pop techno dance music reverberating off the walls. It's an exact replica of those slow motion movie snippets where girls gyrate all over the guy behind them except the speed is dubstep.

While I have the advantage of being surrounded by alcohol, I think I'd much rather have a couple of Xanax to get me through the rest of this night.

Suddenly, a strong pair of hands grab my waist from behind, and my entire body shifts into panic mode. The sound of breath leaving my lungs has overpowered the music, so that all I can hear is the pounding in the back of my head, the skin where his hands currently sit still burning. I'm not sure if he can actually see the look on my face or if he just feels how tense my body is, but he immediately lets go as if I just burst into flames under his gaze.

While I may look like his type, he's quickly discovered I am far from it. He wants wild parties and sex and impromptu white claw shotguns, and I just really need to get out of here, wherever here is. Even in my sorority disguise, I'm not fooling anyone.

He gives a curt nod as I turn to walk away, slamming into a tall, dark, and handsome figure who spins me around to face him, laughter erupting from his pink lips.

"Woah, are you okay? You in a hurry or something?"

His voice is a deep baritone and his laugh almost contagious.

Almost, but not quite.

"I'm fine." I manage to stammer quickly, trying my best to genuinely smile at him. I'm surprised he doesn't laugh again because I just know my strained smile makes me look like I'm about to shit myself.

So, while he seems much less daunting than the frat boy from earlier, I plan my escape and quickly plop down at a tall table furthest from any action. It takes a minute for my breathing and heart rate to calm, but once its subsided, the panic has festered into anger.

Why the hell do I have to be like this? Why can't I just have one loose bone in my body? Why do I have to be so awkward? I just want to be fun and outgoing. I want to stand in the middle of hundreds of strangers and just dance with some hot guy who thinks he's the next Shawn Mendez. I want to be wild. I want to not care. I want to be normal, but my brain won't let me.

Instead, it feels as if some imaginary force is squeezing my brain up against my eyeballs, and all I can do is pinch my nose, willing it to give me some sort of relief.

Much like the rest of this night, it's a failure.

The girls here have all perfected their fuck me attitude while I have adopted more of a fuck you attitude, and by the looks of the guy that just passed me, it's blatantly obvious. After careful consideration and a nonchalant watch check, it's about time to pray I don't get shanked, call an Uber, and get the hell out of here.

Before I can make my move, someone hovering near the side of the table catches my eye. Maybe if I don't look up, then there won't be anyone there.

Much to my dismay, I've been proven very wrong. The dark figure in my peripheral clears his throat, begging me to acknowledge his existence.

Holy shit, that's attractive.

The man standing before me now has a tall, dark, and handsome feel like the guy from earlier, but he's dripping with sophisticated charm and has a crooked smirk that promises unholy things. His perfectly finessed dark curls fall much too perfectly to be effortless. The darkness of the room, causing his eyes to resemble the dark grey ocean during a hurricane, encourages me to stare at him for a little too long. The smug way he holds himself clues me into the invisible "douchebag" written on his forehead, but, damn, does he know how to dress. The simple black tee and white sneakers complimenting his grey plaid slacks perfectly.

"Hey."

Oh, and it speaks. That one simple word granting me enough strength to pull myself out of analysis.

"Hi," I reply dryly.

Dressing like my future husband Pinterest board will get you a reply, but not much more than that. There is something oddly familiar about him, though, but in LA, everyone looks familiar. If he's anything like I picture him to be, then it really doesn't make a difference. He's the type to date a Barbie.

And I am anything but Barbie material.

"What are you doing over here all by yourself?" He leans on the table, inching his handsome face closer to mine. When I don't answer, he continues. "I'm Declan. Declan Wilder"

"Amelia-Jane Reynolds."

"Hmm, interesting. Is that like a double name or something? I've never met one of those."

"Mmm hmm." I hum. What is even more interesting is the reason why you're still standing here.

"Are you always this quiet, Amelia-Jane?" He asks, leaning even closer than before.

"Only when I'm bored or uncomfortable." I shrug. "Or both."

"So, if I asked you if you'd want to get out of here, you'd probably say no."

Has he lost his mind? Has he forgotten that rapists and murderers and terrible people are still a thing? I know I may look sixteen, but do I really look like the type of person that would be so careless?

"Probably so." I answer with a sarcastic smile.

"What if I offered you $100 to leave with me right now?"

"Excuse me?"

Pretty boy, say what? Does he think I'm a prostitute or something? My response was rhetorical, but how else am I supposed to respond to that?

"Look, no offense, but we're obviously not each other's type."

Tell me something I don't know, pretty boy, but you didn't actually say it out loud. I desperately want to interject, but I really need to know why he just offered me $100 to leave with him.

"You see those two guys over there?" He quickly darts those eyes of his to the right.

I begin to turn my head, but Declan places his hand over mine and hisses, "Don't look at them. They might be onto me." He pauses until he regains my attention. "Anyways, they bet me $200 each to get you to leave with me tonight. All I need is proof that you left when I did and your Snapchat or something."

I pull my hand out from under his and attempt to inconspicuously eye his friends. Tall, dark, and handsome from earlier is on the right along with another perfectly tanned brunette.

So, that's what this is. I'm a stone cold bitch, and they think I won't give anyone the time of day.

They're totally correct, but for $200, I'm about to make them think otherwise.

I've already sent his name to my computer genius of a brother, who now knows more about Declan than I do, including his millionaire social media status.

It can't be any worse than an Uber driver.

I click the lock button on my phone and speak directly to Declan for the first time tonight. "Deal. But I want half, and we leave straight from here to get food because I'm absolutely starving."

I'm desperately hoping his ego won't be able to take the loss, and he'll agree. I can see the contemplation cross his face as his expression falters for a moment.

"Oh, so now you want to talk to me?"

His friends are still intently watching, so I think it's time to dust off my persuasion techniques, help him out just a little bit. I mean, he did just admit to me that this is a bet, and that takes balls. Has he not seen 10 Things I Hate About You or just about any other late nineties romcom? I could have kneed him in the testicles.

Instead, I lean into him closely, placing my hand on his forearm, and loudly whispering, "You should have just led with that. It would've gotten my attention much quicker. Your boys are still watching. Deal or no deal? I'm dying to get out of here."

He steps back and offers me his hand, which I take as a yes, and climb out of the tall chair to stand beside him.

"Deal," he whispers back, tickling my ear. "Now, laugh or something. I need this to look real."

My flirting skills are much less cringeworthy when it's not real, so he seems fairly impressed when he lets go of my hand to place it on my lower back, closely guiding me through the sea of faces towards the boys.

He quickly introduces me to the taller one named Brandon before addressing the familiar brunette with a smirk on his face.

"And this is my baby brother Christopher."

Brandon just smiles, but Chris extends his hand towards me and rolls his eyes at Declan.

"You can call me Chris. I think we may have bumped into each other earlier." He says, placing a kiss on my hand before laughing once again. "Let me know if my idiot brother turns into an asshole. You can call me. I'm the sweet one."

"I'm so sorry about that." I apologize with a sweet smile. "I'll keep that in mind. In fact, I might like you better already." I follow up with a wink and a small giggle.

I would believe he's the sweet one in a heartbeat. Tall, dark, and handsome laughs too much to have a one night stand without getting to know a girl at least a little.

Or better yet, agreeing to a bet where he gets paid to hook up with her.

Declan doesn't seem to agree because he shoots me a dirty look. Maybe I'm playing along a little too well.

"Are you ready?" He motions his curly head of hair towards the door.

I nod and turn towards the exit, still keeping a watch on the boys with a side glance. They all quickly hand him money like they're buying illegal drugs, and I almost feel bad for a moment. They were right. As much as I hate this place, I would never have just agreed to leave with a stranger, no matter how charming and attractive he was.

But let's just be honest here, a guy like Declan Wilder would have never given me a second glance in the first place, anyway.

This could turn out to be the most interesting or boring night of my life. I guess, we'll wait and see.