Page 39 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“I mean, I knew people date each other for all kinds of reasons,” I say quickly, because it’s true. In fact, the kind of circles I run in, love doesn’t even figure up there on the list. Not when there’s fame, connections, and a membership at Malibu Beach House to aim for instead. “I just didn’t realize it was so… formal.”

“What can I say? Fake dating never goes out of style,” Quinn offers with a shrug. “Everyone loves a happy ending.”

Well, that much is true. I even blew up my wedding for the chance of finding it myself, one day. But I guess if I can’t have the real thing, playing pretend is the next best option for me right now.

With Blackberry Cove’s notorious grump, Duke Hendricks.

God help us all.

“So,” Quinn continues. “I figure you’re looking at the summer here? Six weeks or so, to let the tabloids do a full gossip cycle. I’ll make a few calls, and kick things off with a couple of my sources. People I can trust to spin this right. Well, as much as you can trust a gossip blogger,” she adds with a wry grin. “But they owe me some favors, so they’ll behave. Now, let’s look at your schedule?—"

“Hold up a second,” I interrupt her. Duke is already frowning– more than usual. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I check again. “Because if you say ‘yes’ now, and then back out?—”

“I won’t back out.” Duke says grimly. “So stop asking.” He turns back to Quinn, pulling out a battered notebook of his own to take notes. “Let’s get into it. Exactly what do you need me to do?”

Quinn launches into a brisk timetable for us, including two wholesome public activities a week– strolling at the farmer’s market, or frolicking at the beach, preferably with some kids. “If you don’t have any here you can borrow, I know some you can hire out,” she adds, then quickly moves on while Duke is still choking back laughter.

At least, I hope it’s laughter. But as Quinn continues through hair and wardrobe suggestions, and exclusivity clauses, and instructions on how to secure Duke’s phone devices against hacking, that inscrutable look of his starts getting very scrutable. The familiar furrowed brow is back.

It’s clear, he’s already having second thoughts.

“… so this scruffy blue-collar look of yours is great,” Quinn finishes up, gesturing at Duke. “But Avery, let’s watch the designer labels. We need you down-to-earth, the girl-next-door,” she adds, eyeing my platform sandals. “Natural. Like you just rolled out of bed this way.”

“Sure, great,” I agree, relieved. I can stay low-key for the summer. Just, you know, the camera-ready, “effortless” kind of low-key.

“Then that just about covers it.” Quinn checks her phone, and bounces to her feet. “You two should stay and finish your drinks. I already tipped off a photographer that you’re here.”

“You did?” Duke looks around, wary. “Where?”

“Oh, lurking in the bushes out front, I’m sure, waiting to snap you helping Avery into the cab of that manly truck of yours.” Quinn taps away on her phone, probably sending out an alert of our location to every tabloid in the nation.

“I drove myself,” I tell her, but Quinn shakes her head.

“Collect your car in the morning. Do you want them all taking photos of you leaving, all alone and unloved, or do you want everyone cooing over pics of your dashing, chivalrous new boyfriend opening his truck for you, and walking you to your door?”

“That sounds rhetorical,” I sigh, and she grins.

“You’ll get used to it. The both of you,” she adds, with a pointed look at Duke. “Remember: eyes on the prize.”

She starts to walk away.

“Wait!” I call, struck by a sudden thought. An uncomfortably hot and bothered kind of thought. “What about, um, public displays of affection?”

Duke chokes on his beer.

“Relax,” I roll my eyes at him. “I’m an actress, remember?”

“Apparently so,” Duke scowls back.

“Easy, kids.” Quinn smirks. “PDAs aren’t a priority. I’d say you’ve already done plenty in that department. Let’s keep things PG-13 from here on out.” She pauses, glancing back and forth between us. “Although, try to look as if you don’t loathe and despise each other.”

Quinn finally exits, leaving us alone. There’s silence.

“So…” I wrack my brains for conversation. What do you say to the man who’s just agreed to fake-date you? “Are you finishing those fries?”

“Help yourself.” He pushes them over.

“Thanks.”

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