Page 81 of It's Not All Fake

Despite everything, I’m grateful for Liam’s help—his lawyers and tech team are still tirelessly working to manage the fallout after all the client data leaked. The worst-case scenario happened. Surprisingly, many of my clients were understanding. But others—the look of pain and betrayal on their faces haunt me. They thought they were safe to speak freely with me and now their information is public.

My life has imploded, but up here, high above the ground, everything looks so calm.

At baggage claim, I scan the sea of people, searching for him—my father.

And when the crowd parts and I finally see him standing there, my throat tightens with emotion. He looks older now, with deeper wrinkles and less hair. But his smile is still warm and familiar.

“Dad,” I gasp, as emotion overwhelms me, and I rush into his open arms. He envelops me in a strong hug, and tears stream down my cheeks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LIAM

“Mom, can this wait?” I ask as she breezes into my home office. I’m deep in work, which is currently my only escape from dwelling on how bad I fucked up with Chloe.

It’s seven a.m., earlier than I thought Mom would be up. The gentle morning light pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow on the steam rising from the coffee cup in her hand.

“Oh, I’ll only keep you a minute,” she reassures me, making herself comfortable in the armchair across from my desk. My scowl doesn't deter her; she's unusually chipper today.

“I just had my session with Chloe,” she blurts out.

Ah. There is it.

A sharp twinge of sadness stabs at me, and I quickly try to mentally steady myself, shoving the feelings back down.

It’s been weeks since Chloe left for London. She seems to have kept at least a few clients, including my mother, despite fleeing the country.

No calls, no texts. She wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted to end things.

“Mom, I’m really swamped right now,” I urge her to leave me alone, turning my attention back to my laptop.

“Chloe misses you,” she says suddenly.

My attention snaps back to her. What?

“Did she tell you that?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

“I can tell,” she nods, which really means no, Chloe didn’t actually say that.

I deflate, frustrated. “I don’t have time for this.”

“But here’s the thing,” my mom continues unfazed, “her dad’s girlfriend, Laura, keeps trying to set her up with men out there. Can you imagine?” she chuckles, as if it’s absurd.

My stomach churns at the thought of Chloe with someone else.

“There’s no way Chloe can move on that quickly after what you two had,” my mother says confidently, dismissing the idea.

I study my mother as she nonchalantly sips her coffee, but I know she’s playing a deeper game.

“I see what you’re doing, Mom.”

My mother disregards my comment and continues as if she’s simply chit-chatting. “She's been out with a British guy named Henry a few times. I’ve looked him up on Facebook; he’s not nearly as handsome as you, but that accent might compensate a bit?—”

“Mom, stop,” I interrupt, feeling a rush of irritation. “I can’t believe Chloe would discuss all this with you. Her sessions are supposed to focus on you, not her personal life.”

“Well, they did,” she replies with an innocent shrug. “But at the end, I asked her a few things, and she opened up.”

My heart sinks. I can’t stand to hear any more.

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