Fake, page 12
“I don’t mean to be rude and you can tell me to shut up and I will, but I hate to see people accept less than they’re worth and, something tells me that’s what’s happening here.”
I disintegrate into a fidget fest and search for something to say. Anything at all will do. Unfortunately, I couldn’t form a sentence if my life depended on it.
Benjamin straightens, shaking his head and reaching for his laptop. Eyes averted. Cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I’m way out of line. I’ve made my career by following my instincts, but people aren’t as straightforward as blueprints. I should know by now not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
He shoves his laptop in his bag, and I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I appreciate you looking out for me. I do. It’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful and I wish more people went out on limbs like that for others. Nathan’s…”
Normally a litany of negative descriptors would be clamoring to rocket out of my mouth, but the only word I have tonight is, “…misunderstood. I called him The Prince of Darkness when we first met. To his face even. When you get past that, he’s…”
I search for a word to describe what’s underneath Nathan’s bristly exterior, but Benjamin holds up his hands.
“You don’t have to explain. If you’re good, great. Just…if you’re not good, I’m here to help.”
That’s the kind of support I’d expect from Fallon, or my mom, not a business associate whose career is lightyears ahead of mine.
“How are you single?” The question’s out before I have time to evaluate its conversational worthiness. Thankfully, Benjamin doesn’t so much as flinch.
“I’m a perfectionist who hyperfocuses on just about everything. Great for architecture. Not so great for human interaction. Add a penchant for saying exactly what I’m thinking and oddly enough, that narrows down my dating options.” Benjamin swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Other than the fact that I almost found myself standing up for Nathan.
We say our goodbyes and Benjamin sidesteps his way toward the door, eager for an exit I’m glad to let him take.
SEVENTEEN
Nathan
Mina’s ass rubs against my cock as I lean over to adjust her grip on a pool cue. I swear to God, she’s doing it on purpose. This sexy little sway back and forth, back and forth, like a cat swishing its tail as she lines up her shot. There’s no way she doesn’t feel what she’s doing to me, so I have no qualms about doing it right back to her.
“You want to hold the stick like this.” My breath moves past her ear, lips whispering against the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. My body blankets hers. She shivers, exhaling sharply before glancing over her shoulder to meet my eyes.
We’re face to fucking face. Those blue eyes holding me in a death grip of seduction.
“Like this?” Mina readjusts her grasp, giving her focus back to the pool table and wiggling those lush hips against me again.
“Just like that,” I growl, though if she doesn’t stop, we’re going to have a very real, very obvious problem on display. I straighten to let her take the shot, surreptitiously eyeing the patrons at The Pact to see how many people give two shits about our cliché attempt at looking like a couple.
My aunt Hope drops me a knowing wink before disappearing into the office she shares with her husband. She’s happy for me, which makes me a dick for selling her a lie, but at least Mina and I are convincing. It’s been a while since anyone has mentioned me needing to get my shit together, so the family rumor mill is obviously doing its job.
The crack and clatter of pool balls scattering across felt catches my attention. Mina gasps, then whoops in excitement, lifting her hands over head and wiggling in the spiciest celebratory dance I’ve ever seen. I adjust my pants and try not to stare, though the guys a few tables over don’t join me in the effort. I clear my throat and cock my head, mean-mugging them until they get the message and look away. Assholes.
“Bet you regret teaching me how to play pool now, don’t you Sweet Prince?” Mina wiggles her way towards me, eyes blistering with heat.
Fake heat, I remind myself. Though she’s getting too good at faking it and my body is getting tired of fighting it. Another jolt of desire strikes like lightning. It’s very, very real.
Each date we’ve gone on, the flirting has gotten hotter, the eye contact heavier. We talk about stupid things, argue about everything, but somehow, someway, I feel less like she sees me as a bank account and more like she sees me. Not the villain. Nor the wealthy philanthropist.
Me. Not the…the…trope.
I actually look forward to our nights out.
Instead of stepping away—which is what Mina’s expecting—I move into her space, backing her against the pool table and caging her with my arms. My nose brushes hers. Her breath warms my lips.
“Gettin’ a little cocky for someone who still needs me to set up her shots.”
“Oh, big bad scowly man.” She brushes the tip of my nose with her finger. “Maybe I only let you think I still need your help. Maybe I like it when you touch me, and I play dumb so you won’t stop.”
The twinkle in her eyes could mean anything. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Or maybe she knows she’s getting to me and is proud of herself.
Only one way to find out.
I grab her by the waist and pull her close, our bodies crashing together, my hand strong and possessive against her back. “You mean touch you like this?”
Mina gasps, her eyes wide and dilated, her chest heaving. “Yes,” she whispers on an exhale, voice shaking, “like that.”
I swallow hard as all things Mina invade my senses. Her scent. Her touch. I consider kissing her and in that brief moment I think she considers kissing me, but I release her before either of us can make that mistake.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m playing with fire, touching her like that.
The question is echoed in Mina’s eyes as she puts some distance between us to set up her next shot. She licks her lips, a sign she’s working up the courage to say something she’s nervous to have out in the open. Everything about her demeanor changes. I don’t know if it’s because of what just happened or what she’s about to tell me.
“Benjamin came to see me last night.”
I scowl. What possible reason would he have to drop in outside of work hours? Whatever it is, I’m not a fan.
“At home?”
“At the office.” Mina sights down the cue, her tongue caught between her lips, then sighs and straightens. “He was prepping for our meeting this morning, went for a drive, saw my car, and stopped in because he was so excited about the plans for your build, he couldn’t wait to show me.”
Or, he was so excited about the beautiful woman all alone after dark that he couldn’t pass up a chance to see her without anyone else getting in the way. Benjamin is attracted to Mina. I have no doubts about that. Who wouldn’t be? Obviously, I am. As are the guys at the table next to us. And if the way our waitress keeps stopping by to stare means anything, she is too.
So why is this Benjamin conversation making my jaw clench?
“Your house is gonna be beautiful, Nathan. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“With you at the helm, I’m sure it’s just about perfect.” Strangely enough, that’s not bullshit I’m spouting to make our relationship feel real. Mina is truly talented.
“That’s very sweet of you to say, but it’s a team effort. Benjamin said it himself. He and I are great together. Our brains just click. It’s a partnership made in heaven, and I have you to thank for that. Not only am I working with my hero, but he likes my work.” She beams and I chew the inside of my lip.
I should be celebrating that my interior designer and my architect are a great fucking match, but it feels more like a splinter I can’t get out. An itch I can’t scratch. An irritation I can’t solve. I start to ask if she’s still attracted to Benjamin, but Mina speaks up again, clearly nervous.
“So, uh, I have a favor to ask.”
“How much is this one going to cost me?” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead, she braces for impact. Damn. And here I was just starting to think she didn’t see me as a bank account.
“No more than you already owe me. But I was hoping maybe you could pay me sooner? Or in installments? I know our contract states I’ll be paid after services are rendered but…” She flares her hands, eyes meeting mine with no small amount of trepidation.
Something’s not right. The car. The clothes. The apartment. I used to think she was bad with money but the Mina I’ve come to know is more meticulous than I gave her credit for.
“Of course. Yeah. I can cut you a check first thing tomorrow if that would help.” I fold my arms over my chest and try to end the sentence right there, but my mouth has other ideas. “Are finances tight for you? Do you need more money?”
Mina’s lips part. Her gaze bounces across my face, filled with questions, with confusion, with gratitude and embarrassment. My heart clenches, something in my soul unlocking, unwinding…
Shit.
Look at me, running to the rescue yet again. I know better than to let myself care. I know better than to get involved. I’m supposed to be playing the villain and here I am, donning my white armor to fight for Mina’s honor. Everything we are to each other is a lie. She’s not my girlfriend and has feelings for someone else. Even if she needs to be rescued, I’m not the man to do it.
Mina inhales, about to speak, but I hurry forward to cover my mistake. “I mean, that’s how a boyfriend would respond, right?” I whisper with a conspiratorial smile.
“Ahh.” Understanding streaks across her face. “Right. Yeah. Very smart. Thank you.” She clears her throat then takes a long drink, looking embarrassed before hopping off the stool to distract herself with the pool table.
I need to get my act together and remember why I’m doing this.
This is a fake relationship.
I’m the villain, not the prince.
I can’t be caught up by the way she moves her ass. Or dream up ways to protect her from problems I’m not even sure exist. This relationship is a business venture that ends in just under five short months.
Nothing more.
Something about that makes me incredibly sad.
EIGHTEEN
Mina
Nathan is a much better actor than I gave him credit for. I actually thought he was concerned for me. For this precious moment, he looked like he genuinely cares about me. Like he could tell I’m going through something and wanted to help.
And I liked him looking that way.
After an hour of feeling my core tighten and my nipples pebble every time he leaned over me to adjust the pool cue, maybe that makes sense. I’ve never had someone flirt so suggestively, so thoroughly, pulling out my chair for me, opening doors, deep, intense eye contact whenever I talk, followed by questions that suggest he was actively listening.
He makes me feel appreciated.
He makes me feel beautiful.
He makes me feel wanted, no, needed, like he’s seconds from lifting my skirt, ripping my undies to shreds and burying himself to the hilt. And then, when we’re finished, we’d spend the whole night on the beach. He’d play his guitar for me, and we’d laugh and talk and connect until the sun shimmered across the sea.
No wonder I’m confused.
Attention like that would be hard for anyone to resist.
I line up a shot, half wishing for the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the brush of his lips against my ear, when Nathan’s phone dings. I glance over in time to see his eyes darken. His jaw tightens. His lips press into a thin line and his shoulders slump. All the light that had brightened his scowl drains away. He is The Prince of Darkness once again.
“Damn it,” he mutters, then locks the screen and banishes his phone to a back pocket with a gritty apology.
“What’s wrong? Is Ricky having another guitar emergency? Do you need to go?”
Nathan brushes off my question. “It’s nothing bad. Nothing good either, but it can wait,” he says, his scowl deepening.
“You sure?” I ask, concern tightening my chest.
His mood has done a full one-eighty. Whatever just happened is more bad than good. I cock my head in question and wait to hear more.
He doesn’t make me wait long. “I have an alert set for whenever my name gets mentioned online. Apparently yet another article has been published about me.”
My initial response is full of long-standing biases. Something along the lines of: Why am I not surprised? Of course he needs to know the second someone mentions him. His ego demands dopamine from spotlights and attention.
Though, that doesn’t jibe with the man I’m starting to know. Nathan West doesn’t need approval from others the way I assume everyone with fame and money does. And if the pulsing muscle in his jaw has anything to say about it, he’s not riding high on a much needed dose of dopamine.
He’s pissed the hell off.
Go figure. I can always count on The Prince of Darkness to find a reason to be grumpy.
Meanwhile, my belly tingles with a heady mix of excitement and worry. Fallon said she would mention me in her next article. I’ve been giddy ever since. Maybe this is it.
“What’s it say?” I ask, aware that my excitement clashes with his frustration and consciously take it down a notch. The chances that this has anything to do with Fallon’s article are small. I doubt she’s even a blip on his radar.
Nathan scrubs his face, then shakes his head. “Nothing good, I’m sure. They never do.”
I cringe, thinking of Fallon’s mission to make him see how much he’s changed. “None of them?”
“Not lately anyway.” Nathan sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. It flops into his eyes, transforming his scowl into a smolder before he shakes it back into place. “And it’s mostly just one blogger. She’s relentless. If I so much as step into the crosswalk a second early, she’s there. Yammering away about my villain era.”
I inwardly cringe. Fallon’s been calling this his villain era too. I’ve always questioned the validity of her idea to “bring him back to himself.” How can pointing out someone’s mistakes, without context or caring, spur positive change? If his reaction to this other blogger is any indicator, he has enough people calling him out. I’ll have to tell her how much it bothers him so she can take it down a notch.
Nathan sucks his teeth before sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles flex and my libido shouts its approval. I imagine him hefting me onto the pool table, spreading my knees with strong palms sliding up my inner thighs, stepping close, heated gaze, rough touch…
Enough already! His response to me asking for an advance should be enough to shut down all physical reactions from this point forward.
Isn’t that what a boyfriend would say?
Dear Mina. This is fake. Sincerely, yourself.
I drag my focus back to Nathan’s face and look for something to say, but he sits forward, gesturing as he continues.
“And on the one hand, I get it. A lot about my life has changed, but this woman…she crosses lines. Everything I do, and I mean everything, she twists into something terrible with these clickbait headlines. She’s profiting off my misery. Fucking vulture. She has my whole family thinking I’m out drinking myself stupid and sleeping with a different woman every night. I tell them it’s not me, it’s my friend, but they’d rather believe her. It’s the whole reason I came up with this fake relationship idea in the first place, to help them see she’s the problem, not me…just see for yourself.” Shaking his head in disgust, Nathan shifts one hip to slide his phone out of his pocket, then freezes. “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Whatever Fallon fucking Mae has to say about me can wait for later. I don’t need to drag you into this more than I already have.”
Fallon…? She’s the reason he’s paying me to date him?
“I kind of thought you’d be used to being in the public eye, after growing up in a family like yours.”
Nathan picks up his empty glass and glares into the bottom before plonking it back to the table. “There’s no way to get used to invasions of privacy like this. This woman can blow a cup of coffee into a three-act tragedy. And then? When something bad does happen? It’s blasted to the world, without any context. I’m imperfect, just like everyone else. I’m good and bad and right and wrong. I just get to go through it all with public commentary.”
I catch myself chewing my lip and take a drink instead. Damn nervous habits sneaking in to ruin my aura of confidence. Being friends with Fallon makes me feel complicit in his misery. He’s so much deeper than she gives him credit for. He’s not a two-dimensional character on a TV show. He has nuance and feelings. I need to tell her to back off.
“Humans weren’t designed to have this much attention,” Nathan continues. “Fucks with your head.” His green eyes flash with anger, followed by sympathy. “If this headline is any indicator, you’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
“Why?” Adrenaline dumps into my system, twisting excitement with concern. This must be the article Fallon told me about. “What’s it say?”
And why didn’t she let me read it first?
Nathan pulls his phone out of his pocket to read, “Serial dater Nathan West adds another girl to his lineup—and she’s a little different from the rest.” He rolls his eyes and puts the device on the table. “I promise you, it’s better if you don’t pay attention.”
“That’s not bad, though.” I smile, curious about the rest of the article, though I’m sure my best friend made me sound ten times better than I am. “I don’t mind being a little different.”
“That’s what I said the first time Fallon Mae put out an article about me. ‘That’s not so bad. It’s almost complimentary.’ Everything went downhill from there. I should have warned you about the possibility of being in the media before I asked you to pretend to date me.”
I disintegrate into a fidget fest and search for something to say. Anything at all will do. Unfortunately, I couldn’t form a sentence if my life depended on it.
Benjamin straightens, shaking his head and reaching for his laptop. Eyes averted. Cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I’m way out of line. I’ve made my career by following my instincts, but people aren’t as straightforward as blueprints. I should know by now not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
He shoves his laptop in his bag, and I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I appreciate you looking out for me. I do. It’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful and I wish more people went out on limbs like that for others. Nathan’s…”
Normally a litany of negative descriptors would be clamoring to rocket out of my mouth, but the only word I have tonight is, “…misunderstood. I called him The Prince of Darkness when we first met. To his face even. When you get past that, he’s…”
I search for a word to describe what’s underneath Nathan’s bristly exterior, but Benjamin holds up his hands.
“You don’t have to explain. If you’re good, great. Just…if you’re not good, I’m here to help.”
That’s the kind of support I’d expect from Fallon, or my mom, not a business associate whose career is lightyears ahead of mine.
“How are you single?” The question’s out before I have time to evaluate its conversational worthiness. Thankfully, Benjamin doesn’t so much as flinch.
“I’m a perfectionist who hyperfocuses on just about everything. Great for architecture. Not so great for human interaction. Add a penchant for saying exactly what I’m thinking and oddly enough, that narrows down my dating options.” Benjamin swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Other than the fact that I almost found myself standing up for Nathan.
We say our goodbyes and Benjamin sidesteps his way toward the door, eager for an exit I’m glad to let him take.
SEVENTEEN
Nathan
Mina’s ass rubs against my cock as I lean over to adjust her grip on a pool cue. I swear to God, she’s doing it on purpose. This sexy little sway back and forth, back and forth, like a cat swishing its tail as she lines up her shot. There’s no way she doesn’t feel what she’s doing to me, so I have no qualms about doing it right back to her.
“You want to hold the stick like this.” My breath moves past her ear, lips whispering against the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. My body blankets hers. She shivers, exhaling sharply before glancing over her shoulder to meet my eyes.
We’re face to fucking face. Those blue eyes holding me in a death grip of seduction.
“Like this?” Mina readjusts her grasp, giving her focus back to the pool table and wiggling those lush hips against me again.
“Just like that,” I growl, though if she doesn’t stop, we’re going to have a very real, very obvious problem on display. I straighten to let her take the shot, surreptitiously eyeing the patrons at The Pact to see how many people give two shits about our cliché attempt at looking like a couple.
My aunt Hope drops me a knowing wink before disappearing into the office she shares with her husband. She’s happy for me, which makes me a dick for selling her a lie, but at least Mina and I are convincing. It’s been a while since anyone has mentioned me needing to get my shit together, so the family rumor mill is obviously doing its job.
The crack and clatter of pool balls scattering across felt catches my attention. Mina gasps, then whoops in excitement, lifting her hands over head and wiggling in the spiciest celebratory dance I’ve ever seen. I adjust my pants and try not to stare, though the guys a few tables over don’t join me in the effort. I clear my throat and cock my head, mean-mugging them until they get the message and look away. Assholes.
“Bet you regret teaching me how to play pool now, don’t you Sweet Prince?” Mina wiggles her way towards me, eyes blistering with heat.
Fake heat, I remind myself. Though she’s getting too good at faking it and my body is getting tired of fighting it. Another jolt of desire strikes like lightning. It’s very, very real.
Each date we’ve gone on, the flirting has gotten hotter, the eye contact heavier. We talk about stupid things, argue about everything, but somehow, someway, I feel less like she sees me as a bank account and more like she sees me. Not the villain. Nor the wealthy philanthropist.
Me. Not the…the…trope.
I actually look forward to our nights out.
Instead of stepping away—which is what Mina’s expecting—I move into her space, backing her against the pool table and caging her with my arms. My nose brushes hers. Her breath warms my lips.
“Gettin’ a little cocky for someone who still needs me to set up her shots.”
“Oh, big bad scowly man.” She brushes the tip of my nose with her finger. “Maybe I only let you think I still need your help. Maybe I like it when you touch me, and I play dumb so you won’t stop.”
The twinkle in her eyes could mean anything. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Or maybe she knows she’s getting to me and is proud of herself.
Only one way to find out.
I grab her by the waist and pull her close, our bodies crashing together, my hand strong and possessive against her back. “You mean touch you like this?”
Mina gasps, her eyes wide and dilated, her chest heaving. “Yes,” she whispers on an exhale, voice shaking, “like that.”
I swallow hard as all things Mina invade my senses. Her scent. Her touch. I consider kissing her and in that brief moment I think she considers kissing me, but I release her before either of us can make that mistake.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m playing with fire, touching her like that.
The question is echoed in Mina’s eyes as she puts some distance between us to set up her next shot. She licks her lips, a sign she’s working up the courage to say something she’s nervous to have out in the open. Everything about her demeanor changes. I don’t know if it’s because of what just happened or what she’s about to tell me.
“Benjamin came to see me last night.”
I scowl. What possible reason would he have to drop in outside of work hours? Whatever it is, I’m not a fan.
“At home?”
“At the office.” Mina sights down the cue, her tongue caught between her lips, then sighs and straightens. “He was prepping for our meeting this morning, went for a drive, saw my car, and stopped in because he was so excited about the plans for your build, he couldn’t wait to show me.”
Or, he was so excited about the beautiful woman all alone after dark that he couldn’t pass up a chance to see her without anyone else getting in the way. Benjamin is attracted to Mina. I have no doubts about that. Who wouldn’t be? Obviously, I am. As are the guys at the table next to us. And if the way our waitress keeps stopping by to stare means anything, she is too.
So why is this Benjamin conversation making my jaw clench?
“Your house is gonna be beautiful, Nathan. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“With you at the helm, I’m sure it’s just about perfect.” Strangely enough, that’s not bullshit I’m spouting to make our relationship feel real. Mina is truly talented.
“That’s very sweet of you to say, but it’s a team effort. Benjamin said it himself. He and I are great together. Our brains just click. It’s a partnership made in heaven, and I have you to thank for that. Not only am I working with my hero, but he likes my work.” She beams and I chew the inside of my lip.
I should be celebrating that my interior designer and my architect are a great fucking match, but it feels more like a splinter I can’t get out. An itch I can’t scratch. An irritation I can’t solve. I start to ask if she’s still attracted to Benjamin, but Mina speaks up again, clearly nervous.
“So, uh, I have a favor to ask.”
“How much is this one going to cost me?” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead, she braces for impact. Damn. And here I was just starting to think she didn’t see me as a bank account.
“No more than you already owe me. But I was hoping maybe you could pay me sooner? Or in installments? I know our contract states I’ll be paid after services are rendered but…” She flares her hands, eyes meeting mine with no small amount of trepidation.
Something’s not right. The car. The clothes. The apartment. I used to think she was bad with money but the Mina I’ve come to know is more meticulous than I gave her credit for.
“Of course. Yeah. I can cut you a check first thing tomorrow if that would help.” I fold my arms over my chest and try to end the sentence right there, but my mouth has other ideas. “Are finances tight for you? Do you need more money?”
Mina’s lips part. Her gaze bounces across my face, filled with questions, with confusion, with gratitude and embarrassment. My heart clenches, something in my soul unlocking, unwinding…
Shit.
Look at me, running to the rescue yet again. I know better than to let myself care. I know better than to get involved. I’m supposed to be playing the villain and here I am, donning my white armor to fight for Mina’s honor. Everything we are to each other is a lie. She’s not my girlfriend and has feelings for someone else. Even if she needs to be rescued, I’m not the man to do it.
Mina inhales, about to speak, but I hurry forward to cover my mistake. “I mean, that’s how a boyfriend would respond, right?” I whisper with a conspiratorial smile.
“Ahh.” Understanding streaks across her face. “Right. Yeah. Very smart. Thank you.” She clears her throat then takes a long drink, looking embarrassed before hopping off the stool to distract herself with the pool table.
I need to get my act together and remember why I’m doing this.
This is a fake relationship.
I’m the villain, not the prince.
I can’t be caught up by the way she moves her ass. Or dream up ways to protect her from problems I’m not even sure exist. This relationship is a business venture that ends in just under five short months.
Nothing more.
Something about that makes me incredibly sad.
EIGHTEEN
Mina
Nathan is a much better actor than I gave him credit for. I actually thought he was concerned for me. For this precious moment, he looked like he genuinely cares about me. Like he could tell I’m going through something and wanted to help.
And I liked him looking that way.
After an hour of feeling my core tighten and my nipples pebble every time he leaned over me to adjust the pool cue, maybe that makes sense. I’ve never had someone flirt so suggestively, so thoroughly, pulling out my chair for me, opening doors, deep, intense eye contact whenever I talk, followed by questions that suggest he was actively listening.
He makes me feel appreciated.
He makes me feel beautiful.
He makes me feel wanted, no, needed, like he’s seconds from lifting my skirt, ripping my undies to shreds and burying himself to the hilt. And then, when we’re finished, we’d spend the whole night on the beach. He’d play his guitar for me, and we’d laugh and talk and connect until the sun shimmered across the sea.
No wonder I’m confused.
Attention like that would be hard for anyone to resist.
I line up a shot, half wishing for the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the brush of his lips against my ear, when Nathan’s phone dings. I glance over in time to see his eyes darken. His jaw tightens. His lips press into a thin line and his shoulders slump. All the light that had brightened his scowl drains away. He is The Prince of Darkness once again.
“Damn it,” he mutters, then locks the screen and banishes his phone to a back pocket with a gritty apology.
“What’s wrong? Is Ricky having another guitar emergency? Do you need to go?”
Nathan brushes off my question. “It’s nothing bad. Nothing good either, but it can wait,” he says, his scowl deepening.
“You sure?” I ask, concern tightening my chest.
His mood has done a full one-eighty. Whatever just happened is more bad than good. I cock my head in question and wait to hear more.
He doesn’t make me wait long. “I have an alert set for whenever my name gets mentioned online. Apparently yet another article has been published about me.”
My initial response is full of long-standing biases. Something along the lines of: Why am I not surprised? Of course he needs to know the second someone mentions him. His ego demands dopamine from spotlights and attention.
Though, that doesn’t jibe with the man I’m starting to know. Nathan West doesn’t need approval from others the way I assume everyone with fame and money does. And if the pulsing muscle in his jaw has anything to say about it, he’s not riding high on a much needed dose of dopamine.
He’s pissed the hell off.
Go figure. I can always count on The Prince of Darkness to find a reason to be grumpy.
Meanwhile, my belly tingles with a heady mix of excitement and worry. Fallon said she would mention me in her next article. I’ve been giddy ever since. Maybe this is it.
“What’s it say?” I ask, aware that my excitement clashes with his frustration and consciously take it down a notch. The chances that this has anything to do with Fallon’s article are small. I doubt she’s even a blip on his radar.
Nathan scrubs his face, then shakes his head. “Nothing good, I’m sure. They never do.”
I cringe, thinking of Fallon’s mission to make him see how much he’s changed. “None of them?”
“Not lately anyway.” Nathan sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. It flops into his eyes, transforming his scowl into a smolder before he shakes it back into place. “And it’s mostly just one blogger. She’s relentless. If I so much as step into the crosswalk a second early, she’s there. Yammering away about my villain era.”
I inwardly cringe. Fallon’s been calling this his villain era too. I’ve always questioned the validity of her idea to “bring him back to himself.” How can pointing out someone’s mistakes, without context or caring, spur positive change? If his reaction to this other blogger is any indicator, he has enough people calling him out. I’ll have to tell her how much it bothers him so she can take it down a notch.
Nathan sucks his teeth before sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles flex and my libido shouts its approval. I imagine him hefting me onto the pool table, spreading my knees with strong palms sliding up my inner thighs, stepping close, heated gaze, rough touch…
Enough already! His response to me asking for an advance should be enough to shut down all physical reactions from this point forward.
Isn’t that what a boyfriend would say?
Dear Mina. This is fake. Sincerely, yourself.
I drag my focus back to Nathan’s face and look for something to say, but he sits forward, gesturing as he continues.
“And on the one hand, I get it. A lot about my life has changed, but this woman…she crosses lines. Everything I do, and I mean everything, she twists into something terrible with these clickbait headlines. She’s profiting off my misery. Fucking vulture. She has my whole family thinking I’m out drinking myself stupid and sleeping with a different woman every night. I tell them it’s not me, it’s my friend, but they’d rather believe her. It’s the whole reason I came up with this fake relationship idea in the first place, to help them see she’s the problem, not me…just see for yourself.” Shaking his head in disgust, Nathan shifts one hip to slide his phone out of his pocket, then freezes. “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Whatever Fallon fucking Mae has to say about me can wait for later. I don’t need to drag you into this more than I already have.”
Fallon…? She’s the reason he’s paying me to date him?
“I kind of thought you’d be used to being in the public eye, after growing up in a family like yours.”
Nathan picks up his empty glass and glares into the bottom before plonking it back to the table. “There’s no way to get used to invasions of privacy like this. This woman can blow a cup of coffee into a three-act tragedy. And then? When something bad does happen? It’s blasted to the world, without any context. I’m imperfect, just like everyone else. I’m good and bad and right and wrong. I just get to go through it all with public commentary.”
I catch myself chewing my lip and take a drink instead. Damn nervous habits sneaking in to ruin my aura of confidence. Being friends with Fallon makes me feel complicit in his misery. He’s so much deeper than she gives him credit for. He’s not a two-dimensional character on a TV show. He has nuance and feelings. I need to tell her to back off.
“Humans weren’t designed to have this much attention,” Nathan continues. “Fucks with your head.” His green eyes flash with anger, followed by sympathy. “If this headline is any indicator, you’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
“Why?” Adrenaline dumps into my system, twisting excitement with concern. This must be the article Fallon told me about. “What’s it say?”
And why didn’t she let me read it first?
Nathan pulls his phone out of his pocket to read, “Serial dater Nathan West adds another girl to his lineup—and she’s a little different from the rest.” He rolls his eyes and puts the device on the table. “I promise you, it’s better if you don’t pay attention.”
“That’s not bad, though.” I smile, curious about the rest of the article, though I’m sure my best friend made me sound ten times better than I am. “I don’t mind being a little different.”
“That’s what I said the first time Fallon Mae put out an article about me. ‘That’s not so bad. It’s almost complimentary.’ Everything went downhill from there. I should have warned you about the possibility of being in the media before I asked you to pretend to date me.”
