Page 3 of Fake

You know what? It doesn’t matter.

I’m turned off by people who can’t introduce themselves with a modicum of decency.

“I am so excited to work with someone as talented as Mr. Bancroft. Especially on a project like this. This is basically a dream come true for me.”

Nathan’s thorny eyes sweep over me with…is that disdain? “You mean a project with an unlimited budget.”

Fallon’s right. Nathan West has officially entered his villain era. I drop the pretense and speak to him on a level he’ll understand.

“An unlimited budget will let us flex our creative muscles to your heart’s content. A man like you deserves to get what he wants.”

By that, I mean everyone deserves a life of happiness and ease, but that’s not the way he’ll take it. These rich and famous types think they deserve a bigger slice of the pie. Why? Because they’re better than the little guys, the working class, the people who keep the world running, of course!

Nathan’s face hardens. The muscle in his jaw pulses and his eyes flash like the embers of a fire raging back to life. He’s unreadable and unpredictable— terse heat wrapped in a scornful sneer.

A sneer?

Who sneers at a perfectly pleasant woman they just met?

Nathan freaking West, that’s who. The man I hoped would be a dream come true but has his heart set on being my worst nightmare.

“Why don’t you walk us around the site and tell us about the house as you envision it?” Benjamin says, situating himself between me and Nathan like some kind of human shield. I could just about hug him for that kindness.

Nathan gives Benjamin his full attention, wandering the site and rattling off his wish list in a voice so quiet, I can barely hear. Almost like he’s leaving me out on purpose. Like he took one look at my bargain bin clothes and car and decided I wasn’t worth his time. Another wave of disappointment sweeps over me. I’d hoped Fallon was wrong about him, but Nathan West is just another pretty face and bloated bank account.

Flustered, I scan the area—a secluded cove with a wide stretch of private beach, hidden from the road by a mixture of oak trees and slash pines that open to a view so magnificent it’s like it was painted to order. Nathan’s future house appears before my eyes, building itself from the foundation to the rafters, with large windows and sweeping rooms that are sophisticated, but lack pretension. It’s not too small, not too big. There’s a giant library filled with more books than a person could read in one lifetime. Fiction. Non-fiction. Rare first editions sitting beside pop culture new releases. There’s a chef’s kitchen and a large deck overlooking the ocean, a perfect place to curl up and watch the sunset.

With a sad smile, I realize I just built my mother’s dream house. The one I hope to surprise her with some day after…well…after.

I make a few mental adjustments to the build, adding masculine shades of blue, green, and gray that perfectly offset Nathan’s mahogany hair and thornbush eyes. There’s a billiard room and a bar and I’ll probably keep the deck and library because something tells me he might like them. Considering his villain era vibes, I add an office with an imposing desk, a hulking leather chair, and a secret passageway lurking behind enormous bookshelves.

“Wow,” I whisper. “This is really gonna be something.”

When I look back to my companions, Nathan is staring at me with open disdain, and I don’t know what I’ve done to earn it.

I promised myself I’d make the best of this situation, but we’re twenty minutes in and one thing’s for sure:

I don’t like Nathan West.

TWO

Nathan

It’s a gorgeous day. A handful of clouds float through an azure sky. Sunlight glimmers over the ocean that’s soon to be my backyard and a breeze dances through the air.

I’m too hungover to appreciate any of it.

Damn Dominick Taylor and his ability to short circuit my common sense by dangling wealthy donors in front of me. I court them while he scandalizes their daughters, nieces, and mistresses. It’s a mutually beneficial deal…unless I have an early meeting.

I pull up to the site of my future home and curse. Not one, but two cars are parked and waiting, morning light slicing off their windows like knives into my brain.

Any other day I would have gotten here first, but my head was throbbing and the world was spinning and funny thing about that, it tends to slow a person down. I’m better with a chance to process my surroundings before other people arrive. A chance to plan what I want to say, and, most importantly, a chance to plan my escape for when conversation inevitably turns to how cool it must have been to grow up with Collin and Harlow West as parents.

And it was cool, just not for the reasons people expect. They want stories of fame and fortune, of drunken parties with celebrities and gallivanting around the globe in private jets, not solid parenting, a stable home, and the knowledge that our wealth doesn’t make us inherently better than anyone.

I kill the engine with a sigh.

I am so not in the mood for this.