Page 22 of Fake Out

And that’s what this world is like when you’re in the public eye. People put you on a pedestal and expect you to be perfect, and then they throw rotten tomatoes at you when you act human.

“Patrick.” Marissa smiles, but her whole body is tight. “Charlie just?—”

“Thank you for coming in.” Patrick stands and opens the door.

For a long moment, everyone freezes. And then Marissa gets up, her shoulders rounded forward.

“Thank you,” she quietly says to Patrick.

I follow her out the door, making a point to not look at Patrick as we leave. Marissa and I walk silently through the maze of office cubicles, the tension between us palpable.

As soon as we step out into the humid air of the street, Marissa whirls on me, eyes blazing with fury. “Could you not just behave yourself for one meeting?” she hisses, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Marissa, I—” I try to explain myself, but she cuts me off.

“Save it!” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working to get my own clients? To actually be taken seriously at the agency? And now, thanks to you, I’m starting to think I’ll never get there.”

“You don’t have any other clients?” I ask.

“No.” She jabs a finger at me. “You’re my first one. And you know why? Because you’re the bottom of the barrel right now. Isaac gave you to me because no one else wants you.”

She turns her back on me, her shoulders heaving up and down with heavy breaths.

Her words sting and guilt stabs me through the heart. I know I’ve made things difficult, but I didn’t realize just how much was riding on this for her. My throat tightens, and my hands clench involuntarily.

“Look, Marissa, I’m sorry,” I say, trying to sound as sincere as I feel. “But I had to defend myself in there. Patrick was making it seem like I don’t care about my career or our partnership.”

“Maybe if you’d shown more maturity, he wouldn’t have thought that,” she retorts, turning back to me and crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re supposed to be a professional athlete, Charlie. It’s time you start acting like one.”

“Fine,” I reply, gritting my teeth and forcing down the urge to argue further. “I’ll do better next time, all right?”

“Next time?” She raises an eyebrow, her anger momentarily replaced by disbelief. “What makes you think there will be a next time after that disaster? I’m half considering booking a flight right now and going home.”

I scramble for the right words. “Listen, I didn’t mean to make things worse for you,” I say, my voice strained. “It’s just… I needed to stand up for myself in there.”

“By arguing? By not sticking to the answers we went over?” Her tone is incredulous, and she shakes her head. “You weren’t thinking, okay? And of course you weren’t. You never do.”

Her words cut deep, but I can’t deny their truth. I’ve been so focused on defending myself that I hadn’t considered the consequences. “I’m sorry.”

A heavy weight settles in my chest. I’m such an idiot.

“Let’s just go back to the hotel,” she says, walking away from me, her posture rigid. I follow her silently, our footsteps echoing through the empty streets.

As we enter the hotel lobby, I notice Marissa’s hands tremble ever so slightly, betraying her otherwise composed demeanor. I hate that I’ve put her in this position, that I’ve jeopardized her chance at a promotion. It’s one thing to sabotage myself, but doing it to someone who’s been working so hard alongside me feels even worse.

We don’t talk as we check in and receive the key cards to the rooms where our driver has already taken our luggage. I don’t know what to say, either. I’ve screwed up big time. Again.

We reach the elevator, and Marissa punches the button with more force than necessary. The doors slide open, and she steps inside, her jaw clenched. I follow her in, my heart sinking with each floor we ascend.

Once we reach our floor, she storms off toward her room, not waiting for me to catch up. She inserts her key card into the door and turns to face me, her expression unreadable.

“I need some time alone,” she says, her voice cracking a little. “Please.”

“Sure.” I watch as the door clicks shut behind her, then lean against the wall, resting my forehead against the cool surface as guilt and regret wash over me.

I know I need to make this right. But how can I convince her that I’m serious about turning things around when I’ve been so careless with her trust?

Leaving the floor, I walk aimlessly around the hotel. Up the stairs. To the rooftop. Down the stairs. Through the gym. Past the pool. With every step, my mind spins.

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