Fake, page 4
“You are so incredibly disappointing. I know, I know,” she says to whoever’s listening to her end of the call. “It’s his villain era. You’re right. I should have known better.”
Fucking villain era. The words tighten my jaw, my fists, my throat. Did the whole world read Fallon Mae’s article this morning? “Good night, Miss Blake,” I say, sorry I answered the call.
“Wait!”
I pause, finger hovering over the ‘end’ button despite myself.
“Did you hang up? Oh, man! He hung up.” Mina sounds so crestfallen, I put the phone back to my ear.
“I’m waiting, as requested.”
“I’ll…I’ll drop my fee by ten percent.”
The argument on the other end of the phone increases by a decibel or two. Mina’s shrieking friend confirms my suspicion. Money is tight for Ms. Blake.
Old Nathan would tell Mina paying me isn’t necessary, but what should New Nathan say? She’s so ready to cast me in the role of the villain, I’d hate to disappoint her more than I already have.
I pinch my forehead and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Make it ninety and I’ll consider.”
Good God. Did that really come out of my mouth?
“Ninety percent?” Mina sounds appropriately offended. “I think you know exactly what to do with that offer. And I sincerely doubt you would have said anything like that to Benjamin.”
“I doubt Benjamin would find himself in this position.”
“I need this money, Mr. West,” Mina continues, ignoring my game winning point. “And more than that, I’m worth this money.”
“What do you need more?” asks the villain. “The money? Or a chance to convince Benjamin Bancroft it’s my ass you’re drooling over instead of his?”
There’s a long pause and then, “You really are The Prince of Darkness, aren’t you?”
She sounds even more disappointed, and I don’t like the way it feels, but I shut it down by throwing back the rest of my whiskey. If it’s a villain she wants, it’s a villain she gets.
“Take it or leave it, Miss Blake.”
“Fifty percent,” she counters, despite a less than quiet argument from her friend.
“Seventy.”
“Sixty.”
“Done. Have a better day, Hot Mess.” I end the call and stare at the group chat, chewing my lip as I reread Mina’s text. Who types something like that into a chat as a joke? And worse, who accidentally hits send while dropping a phone?
Sitting back, I stare at the ceiling while I think, then grin as I come up with the perfect response to earn the sixty percent discount I just negotiated on Miss Blake’s interior design services.
Dear Hot Mess Express… As I’ve mentioned before, discussing your lifelong crush on me is inappropriate, especially in group chats.
Let’s move this to a private thread.
Chuckling to myself, I close my laptop and head to bed, my mood inexplicably brighter than it was twenty minutes ago.
FIVE
Nathan
Muffled voices outside my office door drag my attention from the proposal I’ve been working on for the foundation’s upcoming charity gala. I need one more quiet hour to put the finishing touches on this thing, but the hubbub sounds like someone out there has big enough balls to go toe to toe with my assistant.
My intercom buzzes with her voice close behind. “I’m very sorry to bother you, Mr. West, especially after you specifically asked not to be disturbed.” There’s a long, passive aggressive pause and if I know Rita MacDonald, there’s a matching look shooting through her Elton John worthy glasses. “But I have a Mr. Dominick Taylor here for you,” she continues. “He claims it’s urgent.”
If anyone is a match for Rita, it’s Dom. He doesn’t believe the word “no” applies to him.
So much for finishing that proposal.
“Send him in.”
The door swings open and Dom steps in. He’s dressed in white slacks, a light blue button down with the top three buttons undone, and a dark gray blazer with loafers, no socks. Very trendy. Very expensive. He claims the look makes him ready for business or pleasure at a moment’s notice and so far, he’s been right. Dom never looks like he’s working but is always in the middle of seducing someone out of their money…or their clothes.
He closes the door and leans on the wall, hands shoved in pockets, dark eyebrows raised. “You spend too much time in this office.”
Great. It’s gonna be one of those days where I get lectured on my dedication to work.
“I can’t wish this expansion into existence.” I tear my focus from the screen and sit back. “The work has to get done.”
“The work can get done elsewhere. If you weren’t chained to your desk, I wouldn’t have to battle that walking spreadsheet you call an admin to tell you Frederick Chantal is hosting a reception tonight.” Dom pauses as if he’s relayed sufficient information for me to understand the reason behind his visit.
“Good for Frederick Chantal.” I highlight a worthless line in the proposal and smash the delete key. “And be nice to Rita. I’d be lost without her.”
“You’d be lost without me. Come on, Nathan. Leave the office for the worker bees and spend time with people who like spending money. That isn’t wishing the expansion into existence. That’s being smart enough to use the tools at your disposal.”
“Tell me why I care about Frederick Chantal?”
“Because he’s new money.” Dom quirks his lips in distaste. “He made his fortune in tech under some seriously shady circumstances. Now he’s looking to prove he isn’t the asshole the media’s making him out to be.”
“Good for him.” I type the beginning of a new line, hate it, delete it, and glare at the screen. “I love hearing these success stories. It’s inspiring to know humanity is so generous and altruistic.”
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Dom scoffs. “Don’t you think making a large donation to a well-known charity might be exactly the proof our friend Frederick is looking for?”
“He doesn’t sound like the kind of friend I’m looking for.” I get enough shit from the family for hanging out with Dom. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not necessarily a good one either. That’s enough for the people in my life to write him off.
“Damn it, Nathan. I despise these moods of yours. If you really want to save the world, you’re gonna need money. And it’s time to face facts. Nothing is as perfect as you want it to be. People are people. We do shitty things from time to time, brother.” Dom pushes off the wall to lean on the desk. “Bring a date to Frederick’s thing. Might fix this permanently bitchy mood of yours.”
“Not gonna happen.”
After Blossom took advantage of me, I wrapped my bleeding heart in barbed wire. No one, and I mean no one, will mistake my kindness for weakness again. The first step to making sure that stays true is that healthy dose of self-imposed celibacy my dick didn’t seem so interested in last night.
Dom eyes me, then sighs in relief. “At least you didn’t give me the barbed wire speech again,” he says, then pauses, looking disappointed. “But you were thinking it, weren’t you? Come on, Nathan. You’re young. Rich. Attractive. You were dealt a winning hand. Play it, for fuck’s sake.” Dom straightens. “I’ll send you the details so we can talk about it when you’re not being a stubborn ass.”
“Gee, Dom. Love you too,” I say as he leaves, passing my cousin Nick Hutton on his way out.
On paper, they’re nearly identical. Both men come from wealthy families, both have personalities that demand respect and are driven to make their mark on the world. Both are tall, with dark hair and strong builds, but that’s where the similarities stop. Nick’s Marine training makes him more physically imposing, but only until you strike up a conversation and get a taste of Dom’s razor-sharp intellect. Nick sees the good in everyone he meets, while Dom can suss out an ulterior motive in seconds. They exchange a lukewarm greeting for my benefit.
“My God! He lives!” Nick gives Rita a knowing look before he steps into my office. He’s always felt more like a big brother than a cousin. Younger me looked up to him like the sun rose and set on his shoulders, and if I’m honest, older me still does. He’s just one of those guys you want in your corner.
I stand to offer a back thumping hug. “Was there any doubt?”
Nick runs a hand over freshly cropped dark hair—a clear sign he’s frustrated—then chews his bottom lip—a sign he’s trying to hide it. “Seeing as you only leave this room to give that journalist ammo for her articles, there’s been talk we might need to stage an intervention at your birthday party this Friday.”
With a deep sigh, I drop back into my chair. “Not funny.”
“I agree.” Nick swipes a hand over his mouth. “Self-destruction didn’t need a new poster child, man.”
I rest my ankle on my knee, arms crossed in defiance. This might be the first time I don’t want him in my corner, if that’s how he sees me.
“Self-destruction? Really?” I fire back. “I’m pouring myself into work—a charity, mind you—because I might be onto something that could make a difference for a lot of people. Gosh, Nick. I think you’re right. I do need an intervention instead of a birthday party.”
Currently, ROF’s focus is on supporting underprivileged children, but with the economy crushing the middle class there are more and more adults who need help too. People are sick and unable to afford care, even with medical insurance. People need jobs. Or education. Or hell, a roof over their head and food in the fridge. I want to expand the foundation’s scope to include anyone who needs a reversal of fortune—young, old, and in between.
Because Dom is right.
I was dealt a winning hand.
And this is how I intend to play it.
Nick pulls out his phone, unlocks the screen, and reads, “Nathan West’s fall from grace is punctuated by dazzling women decorating his arm, spectacular starlets whose fame insulates them from the dumpster fire that is the former philanthropist’s entrance into his villain era…” He glances up, one eyebrow arched. “Villain era, Nathan. This isn’t you.”
Fucking Fallon Mae. If I ever meet her, I’ll ruin her. And while I’m at it, I’ll take down anyone connected to her. Friends, family, even distant cousins will feel my wrath.
“This isn’t my villain era.”
Though Mina Blake would disagree. Only a villain would charge an obscene amount of money just to send a text.
Nick pulls out a chair and takes a seat. “You’re building some kind of lair—”
Fuck me. Apparently, my cousin disagrees as well.
I sit back in my chair and scowl. “It’s not a lair.”
“You’re drinking. Spending nights out with women—”
“The women are for Dom.”
“You grunt and scowl and sneer…”
I fold my arms over my chest and huff. “I do not grunt,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You just did!” Nick glances up as our aunt Maisie appears in the doorway. Her blonde hair swoops down her back in casual waves, offset by a smart pair of black slacks, a fitted blouse, and heels that look like they could kill a person.
“You heard that, right?” Nick asks, with a wide grin. “Nathan grunted to prove he doesn’t grunt.”
“And he’s scowling,” Maisie replies, smiling through sad eyes. “Maybe everyone’s right about this whole intervention thing.”
I drop a hand on my desk and my companions jump. “I don’t need an intervention! I’m not doing drugs. I’m not self-destructing. Blossom cheated after using me for my money, and I’m channeling my disappointment into building something better for the people who really need it. I don’t see how what I’m doing is wrong!”
“The late nights, the drinking, the questionable company.” Aunt Maisie glances at Nick, who nods in sage agreement, which makes sense since she bullet-pointed everything he said two minutes ago.
I laugh to myself. What will they think after I spend an evening with Frederick Chantal?
“Your actions are tainting the reputation of the foundation. The reputation I’ve spent decades building.” Aunt Maisie’s features aren’t designed for judgment. It sits uncomfortably on her pretty face as she seeks out my gaze. “How are we supposed to help those who need it when every time there’s a headline with your name on it, we lose credibility?”
“Fallon Mae is misrepresenting me.” And if anyone should know that it would be the people standing across from me.
“Maybe that would be easier to believe if you surrounded yourself with less…” Maisie glances at Nick. “What did she call the women he’s out with all the time?”
“Dazzling and spectacular.” He says the words like he’s describing a criminal enterprise.
Maisie flares her hands. “You don’t need dazzling and spectacular to secure donations.”
“The women are for Dom. Not me.”
“That’s not the way it looks in the pictures, Nathan,” she continues, her posture softening from that of the CEO of a deeply respected charity, to the aunt who hosted sleepovers and taught us to build blanket forts. “You are so much better than the way you look online.”
“Maybe if I wasn’t being misrepresented,” I grumble, then hold up my hands because they won’t leave me alone until I concede. “But I hear you. I’ll try to keep myself out of the headlines.”
“Good.” Aunt Maisie closes her eyes and clears her throat. She glances at the floor, then meets my gaze and I don’t like what I see there. “Because the charity gala is in a few months. If you can’t get your act together, I don’t want you there, especially if there’s going to be anyone dazzling or spectacular on your arm.”
There’s a charged moment where everyone seems to want to say something but chooses silence instead. With a sigh, Maisie turns and leaves the room.
“I’m not a villain,” I say, more for my benefit than anything.
“Don’t read any of Fallon Mae’s articles or you’re in for a rude awakening.”
I grumble something about Ms. Mae being in for a rude awakening if we ever meet and Nick shakes his head.
“Just try to hear what we’re saying. The whole family’s worried. There are good women out there and you’ll find one when the time is right. Just because Blossom is a parasitic nozzle muncher doesn’t mean everyone works that way.”
Fuck finding another woman. That’s not gonna happen. Ever. I almost launch into my speech about wrapping my heart in barbed wire but stop myself before Nick can make fun of me too.
“I’m listening,” I lie.
“That’s all I ask. Opportunity will present itself. Something good is coming your way. Keep your eyes open so you recognize it when it walks in. In the meantime, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back to being Nathan Fucking West.”
“Pretty sure that’s what I’m in the middle of doing.”
Nick sighs deeply and shoves his hands into his pockets, chewing on a thought he’s not sure he should express. “Friday? Your birthday party?” he finally says. “If you bring a date—”
“I’m not bringing a date.” Maybe I should have hit him with my barbed wire speech after all.
“Okay, fine. But if you do, it might put everyone’s mind at ease if she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d catch Dominick Taylor’s eye.”
We say our goodbyes and I sit there, replaying the last couple days in my head, Dom insinuating I’m squandering a winning hand, Aunt Maisie telling me to skip the charity gala when it’s my favorite part of the year, Mina calling, drunk and desperate…
Huh.
Look at that.
Maybe the opportunity Nick mentioned already presented itself in the form of an accidental message and a drunken request. Maybe I can keep that barbed wire around my heart and put my family’s mind at ease.
I’ll ask Mina Blake to pretend to be my new, non-dazzling or spectacular girlfriend.
It’ll be a little “extension” to our business relationship.
After the utterly dickish move of cutting her fee to send that text, I’ll have to offer to pay her.
But that could actually work in my favor.
That would make it a business arrangement, bound by professionalism.
What could go wrong?
SIX
Mina
A heady mix of guilt and excitement hits my belly as I pull into Shady Cove Restorative Clinic. I’m always glad to see my mom. She was my first best friend. My rock. She worked her ass off to take care of me after Dad left and was the perfect blend of “shoulder to cry on” and “get your butt in gear.” She was strong and beautiful and held her chin up no matter what life threw in our direction.
When I was thirteen, she sold the house she bought with my father. It was a handyman’s dream and they planned to pour time and attention into it over the years until they ended up with the kind of home they deserved. Only, Dad was the handy one in the family and Mom couldn’t keep up with the repairs after he left. Rather than trying to pay someone she couldn’t afford to do the work, she moved the two of us into an apartment.
When I was fifteen, she took a second job. She never said why, never once complained, though I know she took on the extra work to pay for my driver’s ed classes and to start saving for my first car.
When I was sixteen, I got a job within walking distance from home so I could buy that car myself. I tried to help pay for other things around the house, but Mom wouldn’t take my money. Thankfully, I inherited my father’s stubborn streak and stocked the fridge anyway. Bought my own clothes so she wouldn’t have to. Picked up little extras I knew she wouldn’t buy herself.
When I was seventeen, she told me about the money she was saving for my college tuition and by the time I was eighteen, I’d earned a full ride so she could keep it for herself.
I swore I’d earn my degree and become so successful, she never had to struggle again. I’d build her a house and pay her bills and give her the life she deserved.
