Page 23 of Fake

No.

No way. That’s giving him too much credit. The Prince of Darkness wouldn’t look concerned. Why would he, when he always gets his way?

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

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