Page 1 of It's Not All Fake

CHAPTER ONE

LIAM

Voices approach from down the hallway.

The computer screen in front of me displays a long string of code. Next week, my investment firm will launch a new website and it will mean a huge boost in revenue—if we can nail it.

Every minute counts, and I can’t afford to be distracted, so when Mom barges into my home office without even knocking, I’m frustrated.

“Hi Liam,” Mom announces brightly as she breezes toward my desk.

My irritation grows when I notice she has a companion in tow. I’m not one to grouch, but I’m on a time crunch here.

A stunning brunette enters the room behind my mother. Her long wavy hair cascades past her shoulders. Bold green eyes take in the large home office that boasts views of the Hollywood Hills.

I don’t recognize her.

“Mom.” I stand, trying to figure out why this woman is with my mother. I wonder if Mom is playing matchmaker again. I have no interest in the dating game. However, I’m not opposed to a more… transactional encounter.

The brunette’s eyes lock on mine, and I swear I see a blush spread across her cheeks. She is breathtaking. Probably too young for me, though. I admit that.

“Liam, this is Chloe Middleton. I wanted to introduce her.” Mom stands back as the woman approaches, hand extended.

Oh, shit.

I realize what is happening now and my heart sinks.

My mother has told me about “Chloe” on an almost daily basis. But I imagined Chloe—Mom’s “life coach”—as a gray-haired, wise old woman.

Not the inextricably hot woman in front of me. She’s wearing a modest but stylish pencil skirt and low heels. She looks more like a chic corporate employee than some hippy happiness coach.

“Um...” I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Middleton.”

I remember now Mom saying her life coach was going to come to the house today. Mom typically likes to get out of the house and commute to Chloe’s office, but she occasionally requests a house call when her arthritis flairs up.

But I never expected to actually meet her mysterious Yoda.

For a life coach, Chloe seems way too young. I bet she’s in her early to mid-twenties. She probably still gets carded at the bar.

She smiles at me. A radiant, intoxicating mixture of intelligence, charm, and exquisite beauty.

She reaches out to take my extended hand. Her hand is tiny in mine, but her handshake is firm, confident.

“The pleasure is mine,” she assures me, and I notice she has one dimple in her right cheek. I can’t help feeling utterly disappointed by her reasons for making my acquaintance today. I know what’s about to come.

“Liam…” Mom starts tentatively, “I’ve spoken with Chloe about the possibility that she could help you with… Well, that you could benefit from her services.”

Suddenly, I feel like a science project, some specimen to be analyzed and altered. Mom has pushed this issue with me several times, much to my chagrin. I’ve told her a million times that the answer is no. I’m fine. I don’t need a coach or a shrink, or any other help.

“Yes, Liam. May I call you that?” Chloe’s voice is soft, caring. Her “therapy voice,” I guess.

I’m immediately guarded, but I nod at Chloe, and she continues.

“Liam, your mother has made amazing progress. I’m certain we can get you moving in the right direction too.” Her emerald gaze invades me, searching for something she won’t find.

I sit, humored by her sudden arrogance. She thinks she knows me because my mother told her a few tidbits about my life. She knows nothing about my needs.

“I’ve spoken with him a number of times,” Mom says quietly, as if I cannot hear. “He always has the same response. He doesn’t need a life coach.” Mom purses her lips.

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