Fake, page 7
That look right there is smugness.
“Well Hot Mess, I kinda hate to say it, but we’ve got roughly four hours. Party’s tonight.”
“Four hours?!” My jaw drops. “You want me to pretend to be the kind of date you bring to a family gathering and all we have is four hours to prepare? Are you insane?”
Nathan sits back, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me like I’m a money hungry bottom feeder. “In my defense, I didn’t expect you to agree so fast. I thought I’d have to dangle money in front of you for a couple days at least, but you just snapped it right up, didn’t you?”
Tutting in disappointment, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I hate to break it to you, but some of us have to accept creepy financial offers to afford our boring, Honda-filled lives.”
A slow smile warms Nathan’s face. “After this conversation, I’ve realized ‘boring’ is the wrong word to describe you.”
“Yeah?” I lift my chin. “How would you describe me?” I brace for a barrage of insults. Chaotic. Frenzied. Master of Disaster. Coming from him, it could be anything.
But Nathan is as unpredictable as ever.
“You’re fascinating,” he replies, surprising us both.
There’s an undercurrent to the admission, one that threatens to pull me in, pull me close, pull me under. I break eye contact and switch to safer ground. Facts. Data. Not whatever the hell that was.
“I’ll call my assistant and have him clear my schedule,” I say with a resolved sigh. “We’ll spend the rest of the afternoon learning to pretend we like each other.”
“That’s gonna take more than one afternoon,” Nathan murmurs, then checks his phone. His brows furrow as he reads a text, then shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “Shit.”
“Everything okay?”
“I have to go.” He pulls his napkin out of his lap and places it on the table.
“You have to what?” Shock raises my voice an octave or two. The businessmen at the table next to us look sorry for Nathan. How is everyone at this restaurant misjudging our situation?
“The timing isn’t ideal but…” Nathan smiles gently as he reads another text. “This is important.” He waves his phone as if that explains everything, then lifts a hip to slide it in his pocket. “I have to take care of it.”
“What could possibly be more important than this?”
“Believe it or not, there are more important things than figuring out the best way to lie to my family.” He stands and pushes in his chair, gripping the back to lean close. “This shouldn’t take long,” he says. “As soon as I’m confident everything’s under control, I’ll give you a call.”
I watch in shock as he turns to leave.
“At least tell me what to wear!” I call out and he pauses long enough to toss me a pained look over his shoulder.
“Come on, Hot Mess. It’s not that hard. It’s a birthday party. Look it up on the internet if you have to.”
NINE
Nathan
Sunlight blinds me as I leave Red Stiletto. I shield my eyes while digging into my pocket for my sunglasses, then round the corner into the parking lot to reread the texts from Ricky Valdez, one of the most talented—and least confident—ten-year-olds I’ve ever met.
Ricky Valdez
im freaking out mr west
i cant do this im not good enuff for the talent show
i know you said i am but im not
A couple years ago, I started a weekly guitar class for the foundation kids. I fell in love with teaching, but more importantly, I fell in love with the children. Watching their eyes light up when they nail a song they’ve been struggling with, or their little faces tighten with concentration while we master a new skill has taken my love of music to a new level. These kids, they’ve had hard lives. Broken homes, shitty parents, not enough of anything to go around. Some of them jump in fear every time the door opens unexpectedly. Or flinch when I reach out to shake their hands. Some hide behind their parent’s legs when we first meet, peeking out with distrust baked into eyes too old for such young faces.
Mom always said music can heal, and I see that truth for myself every week. Slowly but surely, these kids learn to trust again. Not just the world at large, but in themselves as well. And that’s what really matters.
Though poor Ricky Valdez has a long way to go on that last one, courtesy of a mom who criticized every move he made, verbally abused his father, then divorced the man when the company he worked for went under and he lost his job.
I check the time. School let out fifteen minutes ago and Ricky has another hour and a half to drive himself crazy before the talent show. I pull up his contact info and call as I walk to my car. He answers after one ring.
“I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. West,” he says breathlessly, “but I’m seriously freaking out.”
“We can’t have the best guitarist at Oceanview Elementary freaking out. That’s just not right.” I climb into the car, ignite the engine, and crank the AC. Mina was a sweaty mess when she arrived at the restaurant. I assumed it was because she was late, but the weather probably had more to do with it. Punctuality and discipline don’t seem to be high on the list of things that matter to the Hot Mess Express. Nor do privacy and a general sense of right and wrong, given her liberal use of the words “dazzling and spectacular” made it clear she reads Fallon fucking Mae’s bullshit clickbait gossip blog. No wonder Mina expects the worst of me, even though her mood board had me thinking she might see the real me.
That picture of the barbed wire…
How on the nose can you get?
“I shouldn’t have called…” Ricky’s little voice brings me back to the problem at hand. “Dad said not to bother you because you’re very busy doing an important job and I’m just a kid and you probably only gave me your number to be nice and I really shouldn’t take advantage—”
“Hey now, buddy. If I didn’t want you to call me, I wouldn’t have given you my number. That’s just the way I work. Now. What’s going on?”
Ricky runs down a list of imagined failings, starting with his complete inability to play the song he perfected months ago and ending with a teary rendition of, “They’re all gonna laugh at me.”
The kid is way past freaking out. He’s nearing a full-on panic attack. As much as I need to go back into that restaurant, smooth things over with Mina, and make plans for the evening so we can sell this asinine lie, Ricky needs me more.
When I arrive at Oceanview Elementary Ricky is waiting at the front door, his gig bag strapped to his back as he paces back and forth, his sneakers slapping the pavement as he runs his hands through hair almost as black as Mina’s. When we first met, his clothes were a size too small and the boy himself was rail thin—his father even thinner than that. Now, Ricky’s cheeks are round, his clothes are new, and his little face lights up when he sees me. We find a child-sized table and chairs near the playground. We sit and he plays, frowning deeper with every strum of the strings.
“See?” he says, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”
“What are you even talking about? I just watched you do it.”
“Yeah, but not good. I suck.”
“Ricky.” I arch a brow.
“I know, I know. Don’t say ‘suck.’”
“Not when it’s not true. Show me C again.”
Ricky arranges his fingers and strums.
“Now G.”
He deftly switches positions and strums again, then frowns. “See? The E string keeps buzzing.”
“I hear no buzzing. And it’s almost like I know enough about guitar to be your teacher or something.”
“Funny.” Ricky’s tight laugh encourages me to crack another joke.
“Don’t forget to tip your waitresses. I’ll be here all week.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “We don’t have waitresses. Unless you mean the lunch ladies?”
One of these days I’ll learn to stop when I’m ahead.
A text comes in and I take a peek. It’s Mina, wondering where I am. It’s a fair question, and I’m sure if I explained she’d understand, but she’s so quick to assume I have villainous intent, I don’t feel like giving her an explanation. I don’t need to justify myself to her.
My God. Is this really who I want to be? What version of Nathan West isn’t willing to offer a simple explanation for his actions? The one that’s spent too much time listening to Dom and his cynical views on the world, that’s who. Is it his influence that made me think this whole pretend girlfriend thing was a good idea in the first place? It was all I could do to keep a straight face when I made the proposition. Mina’s shocked expression was so on point, and me? I worked so hard to play it cool I don’t think I even blinked…
“See!” Ricky grimaces. “I knew I was bothering you.”
Fuck. Enough worrying about Mina. You’re here to help, so help already. “Ricky—"
“Mom always said I’m too needy and—”
I put a hand on his arm and those watery browns meet mine.
“What does it mean if a plant’s leaves are drying up and turning brown?”
The out-of-context question short circuits Ricky’s meltdown. “That it hasn’t been watered enough?”
“Exactly. Would you call that plant needy and tell it to deal? Or would you grab a watering can and get to work?”
“I’d water it.”
“That’s what I’m doing here.” I shrug as I let my point sink in.
Ricky smiles softly and stares at his feet. “Can I play one more time?” he asks quietly. “Will you listen?”
Every minute I spend here is one less I have to get my story straight with Mina, but there’s no way I can leave Ricky. Not until I’m sure he won’t psych himself out of playing tonight. If he doesn’t get on that stage, his confidence may never recover. Keeping the promises we make to ourselves is the most important step in mental health. It doesn’t hurt to have someone at our side, cheering us on when we falter. I need to ensure both happen for this kid today.
“I’m here as long as you need me.”
Ricky’s eyes light up. “Really? Will you stay and watch the show? It starts real soon, and I play first.”
I do some quick math. I should be able to watch Ricky, pick up Mina, and still have time to get to the party, but I’ll be cutting it close. “I’ll have to leave as soon as you’re done playing…”
“That’s okay. I just would feel so much better to know you’re here.”
A text from Mina comes in and she’s understandably uncomfortable. I answer her question to the best of my ability, then silence my phone and give my full attention to Ricky before his nerves get on top of him again.
TEN
Mina
Nothing about today has turned out the way I expected. I thought I’d have a quick meeting with Nathan at my office to talk about my ideas for his build. Now I’m pretending to be his date at his birthday party. I thought I’d hear from him hours ago so we could get our stories straight. Now it’s time to get ready and I haven’t heard squat.
I have no idea what to expect tonight. No clue how many people will be at this party. Nathan’s family is well known for their philanthropy, which means they might be good people but they’re also swimming in money, which means they probably aren’t. How is someone like me supposed to fit in, given my boring life and budget friendly wardrobe he so kindly pointed out? I wait as long as I can, then finally open my messaging app, which says Nathan has silenced his notifications, with an option to force my message through if it's urgent. This seems urgent to me, so I select that option and angrily type in a text.
We still on for tonight? We’re running out of time to have any kind of conversation about “our relationship.” I don’t know where you are. I don’t know where the party is. I don’t even know what to wear. And you call me the hot mess…
Seconds later, a curt reply.
The Prince of Darkness
busy
party at my parents’ house
I’ll call you as soon as I can about the other stuff
But we’re still on?
yes
A little more info would be a lot of help
I wait for a response. And wait…
And wait…
Hello?
Nothing.
Is this thing on?
After several minutes pass, it’s clear our communication has come to an end.
Nathan didn’t come close to giving me enough information, and if I didn’t need this money, I’d tell him where he could shove this ridiculous favor of his. But I do need the money because I really don’t want to juggle a second job as a waitress along with my new clients, so I turn to the internet for inspiration, doing a search first on Nathan’s parents, then his extended family. My search expands and I find pic after pic of Nathan and another obviously wealthy man who is never without gorgeous women dangling off both arms. Their dresses probably cost more than what Mom made in a year when I was little. Make up expertly done. Not a hair out of place. If that’s what he’s used to…
I need someone down to earth. Normal. Someone who drives a Honda and lives paycheck to paycheck and wears cheap clothes. Someone boring. Someone safe.
You know what? Screw boring. To hell with being safe!
I can do dazzling and spectacular just as well as the rest of ‘em. Nathan and his family won’t know what hit them. After some deliberation, I put on my red dress. The one that goes perfectly with my fair skin and raven hair, the one I wear when I intend to leave an impression. And I’m looking forward to watching The Prince of Darkness choke on that impression, though I’m sure I’ll still be underdressed compared to the rest of his family. Wealthy people can’t help but add a dash of pretension to everything.
After an hour fussing with my hair and makeup, I pace from my bedroom to the kitchen, my heels clicking on the outdated tile, my gaze tracing chipped and stained grout out of habit. Growing up in a series of ever more economical apartments, owning a home seemed like the epitome of success. The fact that I’m a full-blown adult with a career in interior design paying rent instead of a mortgage sits on my shoulder and whispers “FAILURE” on repeat.
I have dreams of buying an older place and renovating it room by room, turning something forgotten into something beautiful.
And I will.
But Mom’s growing pile of medical bills and the insane balloon in the cost of housing means that dream is on hold—at least until Nathan pays me.
Assuming his silence isn’t a sign he bailed and forgot to tell me the deal’s off.
I grab my phone from the counter and shoot him a text.
Helloooooo….
We’re officially out of time here. What do you want me to do?
With anyone else, I’d be worried he was in some sort of trouble. But not The Prince of Darkness. Chances are good he changed his mind and decided I wasn’t worth a phone call.
I pace a path between the front door and the kitchen a few more times before Nathan finally responds.
The Prince of Darkness
That took longer than expected but I’m done now. Meet me at this address.
No apology. No plan. Just an address that, according to my GPS, is going to take me to a bar instead of his parents’ house. Sure. Yeah. This is gonna work out just fine.
I have never met someone so infuriating. So selfish. So completely and utterly chaotic. Every interaction we have leaves me wondering what the hell just happened. As if that’s not troubling enough, my underserved libido suddenly seems to have a thing for handsome, growly men. What if my hormones take control while we’re pretending to like each other? What if he tries to kiss me? What if I let him?
What if I like it?
I take a deep breath and dig my phone out of my purse to call the whole thing off, but the memory of Mom making tea stops me in my tracks. Nathan may be the most difficult and disappointing person I’ve ever met, but I can’t jeopardize our working relationship. Not when he’s dangling much needed money my way.
With a heavy sigh, I swallow my pride and make the drive to the address he gave me.
When I pull into the parking lot, Nathan’s leaning on the side of the building. His dark hair falls into his eyes, making his chiseled face seem less imposing. He’s still wearing the jeans and T-shirt he had on at lunch. By comparison, my form fitting red dress and heels are overly formal and completely ridiculous. I pull to a stop beside his car and he pushes off the wall, looking mildly apologetic as he opens my door.
“The afternoon took an unscheduled detour.” He clears his throat and laughs humorlessly, almost daring me to challenge him as I stand, and he closes the door.
Laughing to myself, I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare at my feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m really sorry. I know this puts us in a difficult situation, but this afternoon was important.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice I’m not expecting. An almost gentle energy sits in his half-smile and softens my outrage. Suddenly, Nathan seems less like a villain and more like…
Hold on now, Mina. You’re falling right into his trap. I square my shoulders and lift my chin, adding as much outrage to my voice as possible. “More important than this?”
“Yes. More important than—” Nathan finally looks at me and his lips curve into a gentle smile that transforms the atmosphere of the parking lot. “Woah.”
His voice is hushed. His nostrils flared.
I meet his eyes for a few uncomfortable seconds before looking away. “Everything okay?”
