Page 39 of It's Not All Fake

“When?” She crosses her arms again.

I sigh. “A former personal assistant said I had an affair with a married actress. It was untrue, and my PR team buried it.”

She considers my revelation. “What else?”

“And a fine that we didn’t want to get out.” The elevator stops at the ground floor and the doors roll open, but Chloe doesn’t budge.

“A fine?” Chloe narrows her eyes at me.

“I got caught skinny dipping in an apartment pool with some woman,” I explain, keeping my voice low even though the building is nearly deserted. “I was fined for indecent exposure.” Not one of my proudest moments. “It was almost ten years ago,” I add.

The elevator door closes again, trapping us inside.

Chloe seems to soften when she hears that it was long ago. She nods and stands up straighter. “What else?”

“There’s nothing else.” I shake my head.

She watches me intently, maybe trying to catch me in a lie.

“It scares me that you have an NDA ready in your back pocket to keep people quiet,” she admits. It sounds really shitty, when she puts it like that.

“It’s a reality of my position,” I try to explain.

“Why didn’t you give me one?” she asks, searching my face. She looks beautiful, even with her shirt buttoned incorrectly and her hair still tousled from our intimate encounter.

I want to move towards her, but the timing isn’t right. I lean against the back of the elevator.

“You don’t need one,” I answer honestly.

“Why?” she prods.

“Because I trust you.”

“Why?” she repeats, her voice quieter now. She wants something more.

I realize there is a hint of an invitation here and I accept, moving in closer.

“I think you know why,” I say.

“Answer the question,” she challenges me, stiffening and I pause my advance towards her. “Is this how you solve all your problems?” she asks, not ready to let this go, but her tone seems lighter, like she sees a hint of comedy in the situation. “Add people to your staff?”

“Seems to work.” I shrug and intend to go in for a kiss, but she puts her hand on my chest to halt me.

“I’m giving your money back,” she says, my face inches from hers. “This is wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” I say. I just want her.

As I move in to kiss her, the elevator doors open once more, interrupting us. Annoyed, I watch as she exits and starts walking away from me. Did she press the button again?

“Chloe!” I call out as I chase after her. Her heels make a rhythmic clicking on the polished travertine floor as she slips out through the front door.

She’s heading towards her car, a late 90s champagne-colored Camry with rust on the bumper. She’s a millionaire now but she hasn’t upgraded her vehicle—or anything else that I’ve seen, other than keeping her office space.

The night air is cool and breezy as I jog to catch her.

“Chloe,” I repeat, finally reaching her side. “I don’t understand. Are you quitting?” I ask, incredulous.

She stops suddenly, and I turn to face her. “I don’t know,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, clearly frustrated. The parking is dimly lit, and we stand under the lone light.

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