Page 75 of It's Not All Fake

The question is another thing that seems so normal, it’s almost absurd. My asshole ex is still out there, and my confidential client information is still being held for a ransom of ten million dollars.

The 48-hour deadline has passed, but Liam assures me that the ransom is still in place. Maybe because Lucas can’t afford to expose all my information without getting paid first, especially now. Hopefully, Liam’s team can recover my files and trace them to Lucas.

I owe Liam for all he’s done for me, but I don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.

The last man who thought I owed him something turned monstrous.

My phone vibrates in my hand again.

I miss you, Chloe.

The message softens me. I know he means it.

I’m at the office, talk later.

The bubbles appear right away as he’s typing.

You’re working? You should take some time off.

I frown—he’s very opinionated. I decide on a playful text back that might also give him a hint.

You’re so bossy.

Well, I am your boss, technically.

My boss and my lover. I want him so much, but another part of me resists—neither a real nor a fake relationship feels right at the moment.

I slide my phone into my desk drawer without responding. It’s time to meet my client.

Right now, it’s Edward, an app developer in his mid-thirties who struck it rich by selling a gaming app. He still looks like the kind of guy you’d expect to see wearing a gaming headset in front of a massive TV screen with a bag of Cheetos beside him.

Wearing a gray sweatsuit, he drops onto my couch—the same one where Liam and I had been intimate—and I push away those memories.

“Well, she ghosted me,” he declares, his fingers running over the bald spot on his head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I frown. He’s had terrible luck establishing any type of long-term dating relationship. “What happened when you asked her out?” I ask, remembering our entire last session spent strategizing his approach.

But I suspect that he didn’t ask her out. He presses his lips into a thin line and doesn’t respond. His lack of response tells me everything I need to know.

“It’s too much pressure,” he finally admits.

“It’s your old pattern,” I point out gently, nudging him toward self-awareness. He hesitates to take the initiative in relationships, then wonders why things don’t work out. We’ve been working on breaking this cycle.

He shakes his head, defeated. “I need something easier. I can’t start by asking a girl out,” he protests, as if I’d suggested something as painful as a root canal.

“Okay,” I reply, masking my frustration. “Where do you think is a good place to start?”

“Well,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “maybe with you.”

My heart stops. What?

He notices my confusion and pulls out his phone, rapidly tapping and swiping.

“You’re fake dating Liam Wright, aren’t you?” he asks, almost accusatorily.

He turns his phone toward me, displaying an article headline:

Leaked Texts Reveal Liam Wright’s Fake Relationship with His Life Coach

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