Page 3 of It's Not All Fake

I nod and let go of her hand.

“Liam, I will be in touch to set up our first session.” Chloe looks thoroughly satisfied. “Olivia, I will see you next Tuesday.”

As Chloe walks out, her heels click on the travertine. She’s a dainty thing, and clearly smart as a whip for figuring out how to make hundreds of dollars an hour with no actual credentials. I wish we had met under different circumstances.

Mother smiles at me, a proud smile that stretches to meet her eyes. I know I’ve done well by her, even if it means my temporary suffering.

“I’m going to take a nap, Liam.” She smiles knowingly at me and retreats, leaving me to sulk over the minor defeat.

I said I’ll meet with Chloe, not that I will actually participate. And as far as I know, things that happen within these sessions are confidential, the way a lawyer or doctor does business. Which means Chloe cannot tell my mother that I’m not “taking steps towards a better me,” or she’ll be breaking her own code.

Now I just need to get through the next few weeks without losing my mind enough to need real therapy.

CHAPTER TWO

CHLOE

The golden sunlight streaming into my third-story office warms my skin. I can see a sliver of the ocean from my window and the sun is starting to dip down into it.

I would normally be heading home by now, but Liam and I have our first session at seven o’clock. He was not able to meet any earlier in the day because, of course, he is very busy and important. I frown as I scroll through online articles about him.

He is rich, successful, and celebrity handsome. Quite involuntarily, I felt my breath catch when I saw him in person at his office. He is that good-looking. Any woman would want to get lost in his toffee-brown eyes.

But Google doesn’t reveal any history of long-term relationships, just one-off paparazzi sightings of him with models and other high-society women. His business exploits are the only thing he’s known for—his extraordinary success in print and digital media. He’s clearly a busy man, buried in a self-imposed prison of meetings and obligations.

I need figure out how best to help him.

I told Olivia I’d help her only son, and I want to do right by her. She is the sweetest lady and I recognize my own countertransference—she reminds me of my mother. And I want to put Olivia’s mind at ease.

Besides, I enjoy the more challenging clients, and Liam will likely be my Mount Everest.

A knock at the door makes me jump, and I slam my laptop shut.

Michael, my older brother, lets himself in before I have a chance to invite him. The tip of his surfboard crashes against the door as he navigates it inside.

He leans his board up against a wall of folded-up moving boxes.

“What can I do for you, Michael?” I ask, even though I already know why he stopped by. One of his favorite surf spots is walking distance from my office, so he drops in unannounced quite often to hassle me.

He’s wearing his spring wetsuit with short sleeves, and I can see he’s still damp. He chooses the white faux leather armchair to plop down in. He ruffles his golden hair and puts his sandaled feet up on the ottoman like he owns the place.

Things between us have been rough since my breakup with his best friend, Lucas Green. Michael had to pick a side when we broke up and I was the loser.

“Luke is pretty steamed. Half the company? Really, Chloe?” His callous tone and stiff body language speak volumes. He’s not very laid-back for a surfer.

I take a deep breath, trying to control my own emotions. I’ve spent a few nights crying over the shitshow our breakup has become since we were in business together.

Lesson learned: Never date someone you work with.

I don’t need Michael to see me break down. He’d think my tears mean I want Lucas back. We had our good moments, but we are over with a capital “O.” It didn’t take me long to realize Lucas was unhealthy for me—too angry and domineering, always trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants.

His mounting legal troubles didn't help his mood either. When he hurled his cell phone against the wall, furious that I’d answered the door and spoken to one of the debt collectors, it was the final straw for me.

But Michael doesn’t want to listen to my side.

“We established this company together,” I explain coolly. “I put in half the effort, so half the company is mine. I’m simply proposing that I get my fair share. He should be satisfied.”

Michael squirms in his seat, eyebrows drawn. He has no right to meddle in the worst breakup I’ve ever gone through. He is my brother, and it hurts like hell that he’s not on my side.

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