Page 2 of Just My Fake Husband

Please. For all that is holy, River, say nothing about the poetry you wrote in high school about those freaking dimples.

“And what do you need my help with, exactly?”

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “I just need some crisis management done, some work on . . . well, on my image, I guess.”

“Your image, you guess? You’re going to have to be more specific. You as a person? Or your father’s company? Or what?”

“It’s complicated. But I guess me personally.”

The guy is clearly struggling here.

“Did your father send you? I’m confused on how I can help you, exactly.”

His back straightens. “No, no. He didn’t send me. He’s—um. Well, no. This is more of a personal thing.”

“Personal?” What kind of help is he needing exactly? Wild thoughts race through my head. Did he just get bailed out of jail? Does he have a baby mama who is giving him trouble? Was he charged with larceny? Extortion? Jaywalking?

I chuckle internally. There’s no way. Gabriel Tate is a saint. I still think that despite his breaking my little fourteen-year-old heart.

He shoots out a breath. “I can’t say much about it. But I need to, uh, help my father’s company’s image? Through helping my image?”

“That’s a whole lot of question marks. You’re talking in riddles.” I uncap and then recap my ball point pen, over and over. Consider it a fidget toy to distract me from the dimples crowding the room.

“I haven’t thought this through. Sorry.” He exhales again, grinding a palm to his eye. “I’ve been out of the country, so I’m still jet-lagged.”

I toggle my computer awake and create a file so I can take notes and start making sense of this.

When he doesn’t say more, I shake my head. “Alrighty then. The facts as I know them are . . .” I start typing. “You’re here, in my office, to ask for help with something PR related.” I pause, letting my gaze go to his. After his curt nod, I continue. “But it’s not in an official capacity as the director of philanthropy for Foundations Financial, correct?”

He hesitates, squirming in his seat. “Correct.”

“You sound about as sure of that as when my mother said, ‘Yes, River, you can go get a tattoo.’” I offer a laugh. “I didn’t, though. I haven’t yet.” I scratch at my cheek. “I might. Anyways . . .”

Something in him wakes up, like he’s making an important decision in real time. He stows the picture frame between his side and the arm of the chair. “Can I hire you as a PR consultant? On the side? I’ll pay you ten percent more than the going rate. I can have a contract worked up before we get started.”

“But Foundations Financial has their own PR department.”

“Like I said, this is out of their scope.”

I rotate in my swivel chair, back and forth. Back and forth. Again, this is probably another fidgeting thing so I don’t fangirl over Gabriel Tate being herein my office.“You’ll have to giveme more information, but I don’t see why I can’t. I’ll okay it with Sebastian first—”

“No.” Gabriel’s blue eyes are thin slits before he blinks rapidly. “I’d appreciate you not saying anything to Sebastian or anyone else.”

I laugh. “Why? Did you do something illegal?”

At his hesitation, I gasp. “It’s illegal? Are you asking me to do something against the law?”

“Not you.” He groans and slumps in the chair again, stretching his long legs out to one side and flexing his neck to the left and right. “You don’t have to do anything against the law. It involves some things that were . . .tricky . . . in the legal arena . . .”

I shake my head again. “I’m confused. And I don’t feel right about working on something behind Sebastian’s back.” I shiver. I’ve worked for Sebastian for years, but am I going to get a side gig from his brother without his approval?

When chickens have teeth.

“It’s not behind his back,” Gabriel insists. “Look. Okay, I’ll talk to Sebastian about it. But this is something very personal and for the sake of my father’s company, I need you to be discreet.”

“I’m in PR. We’re nothing if not discreet,” I assure him.

Oh my gosh. What’s he going to ask me to do? I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to break the law with my former idol slash the guy who was party to an embarrassing moment when I was a teen.

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