Page 74 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Exactly.’

We both fall silent, for my part silenced by the realization that by this time next week, Mike and I will be no longer. He’ll go back to California. Back to his exquisitely beautiful girlfriend, who seems to be having trouble accepting that their relationship is over. Or any one of a hundred different gorgeous women – the type professional athletes date.

That was always the plan.

Which is great; it makes this whole arrangement cleaner. Like a business transaction. I did work for him and his brother and, in return, he’s fulfilling this agreement for me, then we’ll go our separate ways. I’ll get a new job, find a sensible apartment that I can afford and embark on myrealnew life, post-Andrew and pre-the rest of my actual life.

‘Abbey?’

Shernette’s voice pulls me out of my own headspace. ‘I’m here.’

‘Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt, again.’

I draw back my shoulders and straighten my spine. ‘It’s just business, Shernette, I promise. Can’t wait to see you on Friday.’

‘You too, lady.’

We each blow a kiss down the line and hang up.

I wheel my luggage the rest of the way into the lounge, glance around the plug sockets to make sure I switched everything off, then I leave my apartment.

What if hehaschanged his mind?

The elevator arrives and I wrestle my stuffed over-shoulder bag and cabin case inside. I have no idea what we’ll be doing for the week, so I hope I have enough luggage to cover the eventualities. Maybe I should have brought hold luggage?

Chewing my lip, I only realize I’ve reached the ground floor when the concierge waves and calls, ‘Morning, going somewhere?’

‘Just a few days at home,’ I tell him.

Then I see him. Mike is standing outside, waiting by a black car that looks much fancier than an Uber. Next to him, on the sidewalk, is one small weekend bag and a suit carrier. His usually messed up hair has been styled, like he wore it whenGQcame to interview him, and he’s wearing a blue button-down shirt tucked into smart pants, though his signature sneakers are on his feet.

He looks every inch the man for the task.

‘You came,’ I say, both happy and relieved.

‘We had a deal,’ he says simply.

His tone feels cooler than usual and it makes me wonder whether he’s having doubts. I wouldn’t blame him, though, and he’s here, so I decide to go with it.

‘Nice ride,’ I say, gesturing to the car.

‘I don’t like being late so I pre-booked.’

So he never had any intention of backing out? Wow, he has more conviction than I do about this. He must really want to leave New York.

The driver gets out of the car and takes my luggage to the trunk. Mike adds his own bag and we both get into the backseat, a full seat between us, which is good. We’ll be spending a lot of time together on this break and if he looks and smells as good as he does right now, then?—

‘You look nice,’ he tells me, and as I blush, the devil on myshoulder tells me I wore this blouse and pants combo for all the wrong reasons.

‘Thanks, you too. I did wonder if you’d be in full Giant’s kit.’

He scoffs, right before the driver asks, ‘Have you got your passports? You don’t want to have to make a trip back in rush-hour traffic.’

The flight time from JFK to Calgary is around five hours. Though my mom offered to book us tickets, which would have been coach, Mike refused to let her, so I’m currently sitting in business, courtesy of my fake boyfriend. Another reminder that our lifestyles are completely incompatible.

Not that I’m complaining about the breakfast we’re served and the mimosa I decide to have on the side.

Mike and I are sitting next to each other with a table between us and on it, he’s using salt, pepper, butter and jelly sachets to demonstrate the positions of baseball players during a game. He’s using a fork as a pitcher and I’m holding a knife where the batsman would stand but we’ve been at this for a while and frankly, ‘I’d like to hit a home run now, please,’ I tell him.

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