Page 93 of When the Fake Snow Falls

My eyes widen. “She’s going to ruin me.”

He stares at me for a beat too long, like trying to figure something out. He needs to understand that it’s not a matter of just not wanting to lose those clients. I can’t afford to lose them.

“How much?”

“What?”

He keeps his eyes steady on me. “How much do you make from them each month?”

“A lot.”

“How much?”

I let out a breath. “Close to a grand? Sometimes more.”

He shrugs. “Cut my hair instead.”

“No,” I say with a snort of laughter. He can’t be serious.

Chase doesn’t crack. “Charge me whatever you want, and I’ll pay it. There’s no reason for you to be stuck under her thumb.”

“Because being stuck under yours is so much better?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for the first time since getting here, he looks more like himself. “Yes, being stuck under me is better.”

He knows exactly where my thoughts have gone on that one because his lips pull into a subtle smirk. I stare at him, my eyes narrowed as I try to figure him out. “When did things change?”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“When did you want this to be real?”

He stares at me, his expression open and vulnerable. “Right after I met you.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Right after you met me,when?”

He swallows. “At the coffee shop.”

That doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t until a week later that we got drinks, and a week after that when we went on ourfakedate. My emotions swirl beneath the surface, but I make sure to keep my expression neutral. He’s lying. As much as I wish Chase were different from the other guys I’ve gone out with this year, hehasto be lying . . .

His jacket suddenly feels too hot. The few people walking the streets fade away. Even the paper in my clenched fist threatens to burn my palm. I pull my hand out and unfold it, no longer caring if I look nosy. It might be a receipt. It might be a gum wrapper. I don’t care. I need something to look at other than him. But what I pull from Chase’s suit pocket isn’t either of those things.

It’s a woman’s phone number.

forty-five

The small,crinkled paper looks like the top corner of a page that’s been torn out of a notebook. The neat handwriting unmistakably belongs to a woman, and if that weren’t enough to give it away, there’s a small heart drawn under it.

Chase says something, but I barely hear him. I can’t stop staring down at this small strip of paper that validates every doubt I’ve had. I wonder where they met. Was she blonde? Did she come up to him? Did he pursue her? Have they gone out together? Did they sleep together?

That last one feels like a punch in the gut.

My eyes burn, but there’s no reason to cry. I knew this was the case. Every part of me knew getting involved with Chase was a bad idea. I knew I’d get hurt, I knew I’d regret it, and I knew it would mean more to me than it did to him.

“Candace.” Chase’s voice finally breaks through my anger-induced fog. Is it even anger I’m feeling? I might just be disappointed.

I look up and collect my bearings in a matter of seconds. The small paper crumples in my fist again. “I’m sorry you want more.”

He gives me a questioning look. “You’re sorry?”

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