Dane I woke up with the mother of all hangovers and a cringy memory. Yesterday, my old schoolmate came up to the city to invite me to his wedding. Poor guy was getting married to my ex. It's a long, sorry, alcohol soaked story, but the guy tugged on my heartstrings, so I told him I'd go to his wedding back home, and bring my fiancée along. Problem No. 1: I didn't have a fiancée and had NO intention of getting one for a VERY long time to come. So I did what all billionaires do when they have a pesky problem. I asked my faithful PA to sort it out. I swear, that woman can turn water into wine. Sure enough, she found an agency hiring out fake fiancées. Mental note: give the woman a raise. "Don't get my type," I told her. I don't want any complications. It's one dry weekend together, then I never want to see her again. I thought my worries were over. Until Problem No. 2 walked through the door. The fake fiancée is an old hook up. Great. Just great.