Page 37 of Fake

“Fine, fine. I hear you. No article. Just promise me you’ll remember it’s an option if things go off the rails.”

Try as I might, I can’t see a scenario where having leverage would do me any good.

“You really expect the worst from people, don’t you?” I ask with a frown.

“No, my friend. I expect people to be people.” Fallon cups my cheeks and almost looks sorry for me. “You, dear sweet Mina, are too idealistic for your own good.”

FIFTEEN

Nathan

Alert:

Search term “Nathan West” mentioned one time online:

Nathan West Seen with Tech Villain Frederick Chantal. Shocking Proof Former Good Guy is Feeling the Power of the Dark Side.

If Mina’s office had a mood board, there would be pictures of Victorian homes with wrought iron fences. Foggy fields with dew glimmering in the earliest rays of a brilliant sunrise.

The walls are painted a soothing palette of soft grays and muted blues. Large windows adorned with sheer curtains allow natural light to filter in, illuminating the room and giving it an open and airy feel. The desk is a sleek modern piece, no nonsense and clutter-free, except for an orchid arching near her computer in a burst of vibrant purple. The mood board she made for my home is pinned on the wall next to a bookshelf filled with design books and architecture magazines, along with a few photographs and trinkets.

In one corner of the office, plush chairs circle a low coffee table adorned with design catalogs and a chic vase of fresh flowers. The area is perfect for Mina to present her ideas and sketches, fostering a collaborative and inviting atmosphere.

This is not what I expected from the Hot Mess Express.

I scrub a hand over my mouth to wipe away a smile.

It’s been a week since my birthday and I still haven’t unraveled everything that happened. Mina and I haven’t seen much of each other, an unspoken agreement that we needed some space. I almost kissed her. And she almost let me.

And then, in the car, she may have offered to be there for me while I work through whatever is bothering me. And I liked the way it felt, thinking she saw through all the shit posted about me online to who I really am.

And I’m not supposed to like shit like that, especially with someone like her.

So yeah, space was necessary.

“Would you like a cup of coffee? Maybe a bottle of water?” asks Mina’s ridiculously good-looking assistant, lingering in the doorway, eyeing me like he’s prepared to defend his boss’s honor if I make one wrong move.

“I’d love a coffee,” Mina replies, sitting behind her desk, back straight, prim, proper. Our eyes meet and my heart thumps a wild rhythm.

What the fuck is that about?

I’ve never met anyone who made me feel so out of control.

I hate it.

“Mr. West?” she prompts, and I swallow hard.

“Coffee, please. Strong and black.”

Tad nods, pushes off the doorframe, and then Mina and I are alone.

“Look, I—” I begin at the same time she says, “I think we should?—”

There’s an awkward laugh and some dodgy eye contact before I let out a short breath. “You first.”

Mina crosses her legs, then promptly uncrosses them. Folds her arms over her chest, then licks her lips and finally settles on clasping her hands in her lap. “I asked you to arrive early so we can talk freely before Benjamin gets here. After the catastrophe that was your birthday last week, I think we?—”

The door swings open and in breezes Tad, sporting two coffee mugs and a grin the size of Texas. “Here’s a hot, sweet, and basically white for Ms. Blake and a broody, dark, and bitter for Mr. West.”

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