Page 101 of Fake

I’ve lost the respect of my family. My colleagues. I can’t talk to Micah or Angela or my brothers or sister about it. I can’t even think about Nick without a jolt of panic scattering common sense.

I’ve lost Mina.

Or maybe I haven’t.

One conversation might solve everything, but therein lies the problem. I don’t trust her anymore. What if Dom is right to gloat? What if Mina being friends with Fallon Mae was just the tip of the iceberg. What if she was pretending to love me because of her mom’s medical bills? Being my girlfriend would be a hell of a solution, either because she applies for assistance through ROF and asks me to grease the wheels on the application, or I just pay the damn things off myself.

I should talk to her.

I miss her.

But worse than not trusting her, I don’t trust myself. I’ll hear what I want to hear, not what she’s actually saying. Just like I did with Blossom.

I am too gullible for my own damn good.

But I should have called her days ago. Letting this drag on so long is an asshole move.

I’m better than this.

I groan, leaning my elbows on my desk and threading my fingers through my hair, begging to get off this damn merry-go-round. “Come on, West. You’re here to work. Buck the fuck up and work already.”

Lifting my head, I stare at the email I opened who knows how long ago. I’ve read it four times and still have no idea what it says. I scrub my face, realize I probably should have shaved before coming in this morning, then lean in for one last attempt at reading when my phone pings. An alert on my name…from Fallon’s blog.

Damn it.

She had the balls to post another article?

Really?

Has she not done enough damage?

Seriously, what did I do to her?

I tap on the alert and the blog opens to the article, but you know what? I don’t have the bandwidth to care. My thumb moves to close the browser, but I pause when I see Mina’s name. With my heart in my throat, I read the first few lines, then the whole damn thing, then sit back, chewing my bottom lip. Before I’ve had time to figure out how I feel, my office door opens.

“Mr. West?” Rita crosses her arms like a palace guard. “Your interior designer is here.” She places an unusual amount of emphasis on Mina’s job description.

My jaw sets.

I’m not prepared for this. I still haven’t processed her apology—assuming that’s what that was. She never actually said the words, but they were strongly implied. But what was Mina’s motivation for the article? Was she genuine? Does she want something? Fuck me. I should have stayed home.

I scrub my face again because damn it, I need to get a grip. All this whining and ‘what-ifing’ is a waste of energy.

“Would you like me to tell her where exactly she can go?” Rita asks, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders.

The ferocity in her eyes brings a ghost of a smile to my lips. It’s quite possibly the first time I’ve not frowned in the last three days.

“There’s no need for that.” I wave off my self-appointed bodyguard. “I appreciate you for looking out for me, but go ahead and send her in.”

Rita gives a bob of her head and gestures for Mina to enter, mean-mugging her as she steps into my office.

There’s this moment. My gaze lands on hers and joy riots through me. A weekend apart is too much because all is right with the world when we’re together. I want to rush to her, wrap her in my arms and apologize over and over for going so long without talking.

But I don’t. I will myself still until I know why she’s here. I watch as Mina closes the door and takes a seat.

Her hair is down. She looks paler than usual. Her eyes are sad and her smile is weak and my heart stutters at the sight of her.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this.” Mina tucks her hair behind her ears, tightens her hands into fists, then places them in her lap. “I know I promised I’d give you space, but there are things I need to say and I can’t wait any longer.”

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