Page 22 of It's Not All Fake

I relish her happiness, satisfied that I made the right decision about Chloe.

My mother finally lets me go but frowns at me. “Don’t be a jerk to her.” She gives me a playful smack on the arm.

I chuckle. My phone buzzes, and I see a message from my house manager.

“Chloe’s here,” I inform my mother. I feel a sudden knot of anxiety.

“Oh, I’ll excuse myself. You two spend time together.”

“We wanted to have breakfast with you, Mom.”

My mother studies me for a minute, and I’m suddenly afraid that she can see right through me. Can she sense something fishy?

Finally, she speaks. “Okay, I’ll go freshen up. I’d like to see what you’ve got cooked up for her anyway.” She gives me an amused smile as the staff sets up all sorts of flower arrangements around the table. It’s not our typical breakfast affair.

I pause at the threshold of the library, where my house manager led Chloe. She stands with her back to me, gazing at my home aquarium that spans an entire wall. The filtration system emits a soft hum, and she doesn’t hear my approach.

I smile, watching her for a moment as she observes the orange and blue fish swimming by. Her hair is styled in a cute, messy bun, with strands escaping on the sides. She’s wearing a light green lacy dress with ruffled sleeves and a bow tied in the back at her waist. The dress stops just above her knees, and I could admire her long, bare legs for days.

I clear my throat, making my presence known. Chloe snaps out of her thoughts and turns around quickly, surprised.

“Hi.” She smiles, and my jaw almost hits the floor. The front view of her dress is cruel. The fabric crosses in a V-neck low on her breasts, accentuating her cleavage. I try to tear my eyes away from the curves of her smooth skin.

“Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. This isn’t fair at all. I thought having Chloe as my arm candy would be fun, but I’m far too tempted. I have a nagging urge to touch her, kiss her.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“You have a lot of fish,” she observes, her cheeks tinged with a blush. She’s nervous.

I smile, relieved to see I’m not the only one affected by our interaction. “That’s 155 fish, over thirty different species,” I recite, parroting the facts.

“Wow,” she responds, her eyes fixed on mine.

I swallow hard, then close the space between us. She stands her ground.

“Chloe,” I say earnestly, taking her hand in mine. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

She gives me a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

“Will you tell me what happened with Patrick?” I ask, needing to know. I should have asked her when it happened.

Chloe lets out a small laugh, as if amused that I’m finally doing the right thing. But she indulges me, her expression becoming serious.

“Well, he said he was your friend,” she explains.

I feel my jaw clench. That assertion is laughable. We worked on a couple projects together years ago, but I couldn’t tolerate the multiple complaints from female talent and crew about his inappropriate behavior on set. Unfortunately, it’s a small town and our paths still cross.

“He cornered me.” She frowns. “Invited me to some party and was trying to tell me that you wouldn’t put me first and he would.” She shakes her head. “I was trying to escape without making a scene.” She searches my eyes for understanding, hoping to find it this time.

Guilt gnaws at me, and my stomach churns at the thought of Patrick coming onto her. I feel like such an asshole.

“Next time, tell him to go to hell,” I urge her.

Chloe chuckles. “Hopefully, there’s no next time.”

Unfortunately, there’s bound to be a next time. Chloe is stunning, and this won’t be last time some scumbag tries to hit on her despite our very public relationship.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again.

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