Page 46 of Fake It 'til You Make It

I don’t like it. I can’t stand this guy or what he’s done to Abbey. I hate the way his presence alone is sparking this reaction in her, making her question whether she’s good enough. It’s a reaction that thrusts me right back to my own circumstances and Fleur’s threat to turn up here, regardless of whether I’m ready for her.

Empathizing completely with Abbey, I drape an arm around her shoulder – playing the part of a protective boyfriend, like I did that night she first met her ex’s new woman. I press a kiss to her temple.

‘Shall we go order dinner?’ I ask.

She glances up to me and there’s so much warmth in her look. It’s not like the scathing looks she usually gives me. It’s the kind of look another man, who isn’t mentally all over the place, would kill for.

Then she smiles, and that other man would melt under the sincerity of it.

‘Let’s go,’ she says.

As we turn to walk to the elevator, she slips her hand into mine, our fingers becoming entwined, and she squeezes, as if to thank me. Andrew is still looking at us when we step inside and as we start to ascend, Abbey and I both whisper, ‘Dick.’

18

ABBEY

I offer to host our takeout in my apartment, but on the grounds that Mike needs to shower more than I do, we end up in his penthouse.

‘Any preferences?’ he asks, tapping away on his phone, his elbows resting on the kitchen island as I get us two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and locate the bottle opener.

‘Sushi would be good. Do you like sushi?’

‘Love it. Any allergies?’

‘None.’

‘Dislikes?’

‘Eel.’

‘Same. Mixed nigiri platter, salmon hand roll and chili edamame suit you?’

‘Perfect.’ I hand him a beer. ‘How much do I owe you? I’ll transfer.’

He submits our order and sets his phone face down on the countertop, as if he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Then he clinks his bottle against mine as I come to sit next to him on a stool. ‘My treat.’

‘No, I owe you the going rate for eight hundred yards of piggy backing and being my fake boyfriend, again.’

His lips curve up behind his beer bottle. ‘What kind of man would I be if I charged a damsel in distress?’

I gasp. ‘I was not! I was independently striding toward home. You imposed your white knight-ness on me.’

He raises one brow. ‘Are you complaining?’

I raise a leg and bend then flex my red and sore toes. ‘I guess not. But you also just pretended to be my boyfriend again downstairs and spared me being tongue-tied and undignified in front of my ex. Just because you’re…’ I gesture around the luxury pad, beer bottle in hand. ‘…rich, you don’t need to always buy.’

‘How about you just say thank you and we call it quits?’

‘Thank you. Despite your frosty demeanor andfilthyhouse guests, you’re kind… sometimes.’

In truth, he doesn’t know how helpful him paying is. It’s a stark reminder that I need to start bringing money in and not send it exclusively in the other direction.

‘A qualified thanks if ever I heard one.’ Despite his words, his eyes are shining with good humor. ‘Speaking of frosty demeanors, I’m struggling to put you and your ex together. You don’t seem alike.’

Maybe that’s because you don’t know me well enough to know that I’m just a numbers geek and Andrew is in finance, too.I don’t say that part.

What I do say is: ‘We’re both from small town Canada. Our families still live there and they’re very close; we were marked for each other from a young age. He ticked boxes on the pre-thirties goals checklist.’ When Mike gives me a look of confusion, I explain, ‘Career, marriage, babies.’

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