Page 8 of Fake

“What? Why?” I ask, already passing it her way.

“It’s nothing.” Her smirk says it’s definitely something as she holds the phone up to my face to unlock it, then starts tapping away at the screen.

“What are you doing?” I ask, nervous now.

“Playing Cupid.” She’s typing, her smile growing more and more mischievous.

“Fallon. No. Give me back my phone.”

“You’re right. It’s better to objectify him…especially if he knows it’s happening.”

“I have to work with this guy!” I stand and grab for my phone. She jerks it away. “Stop playing Cupid!”

“I want you to know I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” Fallon reads as she types, twisting out of my grasp. “You’re hot. And smart. And sweet. And talented. And I think we could really be something together. PS—Is it wrong if I dream about sinking my teeth into your ass?”

“Do not send that text.” I make another move for the phone and she holds it away, wriggling it playfully. “Fallon…be careful…”

“I’m not gonna send it, you goof. I’m drunk, not dumb.” She gives the phone one more wriggle as she hands it over. It slips from her hands, but I catch it with my catlike reflexes. Okay, my fumbling, bumbling, just-drank-a-bowl-of-wine reflexes. I drop it two more times before I finally get a good hold on it, then laugh as I plop back onto the couch.

“How’s that catch for a drunk klutz like me, huh? Where’s that capital K now?”

I unlock the phone to delete the text, but the chat box is empty. My heart stops. My jaw drops.

Why is it empty?

Where did the text go?

I blink several times and find the missing message, right beneath Benjamin’s reply…to the group chat with our super important but not at all nice client!

A man who just hired me for a job that pays enough to finally get Mom the help she needs.

A man who already doesn’t like me for some inexplicable reason.

How the hell am I going to explain this?

“Oh, shit.” I look to Fallon, feeling the color drain from my face. I never knew that was something you could feel before now.

Her brows furrow into a look only a best friend can give. A look that says she knows exactly how much trouble I’m capable of getting myself into.

“Oh shit, what?”

“I sent it.”

“You what it?”

“I sent it.”

Her jaw drops. “You didn’t.”

“I did! I must have hit send when I caught my phone! Oh my God! I am a klutz!” My eyes widen as the full ramifications of what just happened sifts like dust through my wine-numbed brain.

My phone rumbles with a text. I’ve never heard a more ominous sound. Biting my bottom lip, I read Nathan’s response. A single question mark.

I might be sick.

“That text didn’t just go to Benjamin,” I say, biting my thumbnail as the full weight of what just happened lands. “That went to a group chat. With Nathan West. Fallon!”

And now I know what it looks like to watch color drain from a face. “Oh my God! Meens! I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

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