Page 28 of The Fake Script

His brow furrows as he tilts his head to the side. “Well, we have to arrive together to walk the red carpet.”

I swallow hard. “Can I just meet you outside the car or something?”

His eyebrows twitch together as he studies me. “What’s going on, Emma?”

And without a hint of warning, my eyes begin to water. What’s happening? I never cry, and it’s not about to happen today. I look away, forcing my tears back in. The truth is, I don’t do cars, especially not when they’re driven by people I don’t know. Not that I need to anyway, living in a big city.

As it dawns on him, Auston’s cheeks redden. “I’m so sorry. I should have realized.” Closing the space between us, he takes my hand. Sparks seem to burst from our entwined hands, his touch electrifying me. Probably remnants of the anger and resentment I still feel for him.

“What if I drove?” he offers,his voice soothing. “I promise I’m a careful driver. I’ve never had so much as a speeding ticket in my life.”

My heart leaps, warmth seeping into my cold chest. “Really? Is that even possible?”

He squeezes my hand, sending another electric jolt through me. “Of course. It’s absolutely fine.”

I suck in a breath. “Thank you.”

The fact that he would offer to drive to an event like this—in New York, no less—means the world to me. I’m sure he’s more used to being driven around in limos, especially to the red carpet. Yet he offered without thinking twice. I guess he’s still a gentleman after all. Which is definitely going to complicate things.

12

Revelations

Emma

When I swing open the trailer door to leave, Robyn is waiting for me with a glittering smile, and I do my best to return it. Even if making new friends isn’t exactly my strong suit, she seems nice.

“Hey,” she peeps. “Ready to go?”

I nod. “Let’s do it.”

We chat about the production during the stroll to the subway station, but when the train arrives, she spends most of her time answering calls, which works perfectly for me. That way, I can mindlessly stare outside.

Soon enough, we arrive at Fifth Avenue, and Robyn seems to know the place like her own backyard. “I’m so excited to take a girl shopping,” she says, clasping her hands. “I usually only shop for men.”

I try to smile. “Oh, I didn’t realize you did Auston’s shopping.”

“Yeah, buying underwear doesn’t exactly top your priority list when you’re a world-famous actor.”

“Right.” I clear my throat, trying not to dwell on the fact that Robyn buys Auston’s boxers. “Well, I hope I’ll live up to your expectations. I’m not really a fashionista. And in case you were wondering, black is my color.”

She glances at my black leggings and black sweatshirt, then winks. “Yes, it certainly is. Trust me. I’ll find the perfect dress.”

Soon, we stride into a large department store, where everything is bright and shiny. I’m clearly not in my element here. Stylish women are carrying what seem to be bottomless shopping bags, their perfumes making me choke as they strut past.

Robyn knows her way around the store too. True to my word, I do trust her, but I’m not going to lie—it’s a little scary.

Finally, Robyn has curated half adozen dresses with matching handbags and shoes, and we head to the luxurious fitting rooms. Everything is trimmed in velvet, and the dimmed lighting makes me feel like I’m in an old boudoir. Far from the fluorescent-lit, sterile fitting rooms at Uniqlo or Gap.

“Just so you know,” she begins, hanging the dresses in the fitting room, “it’s very unusual for Auston to ask me to go shopping with his girlfriend.”

“Oh,” I say, realizing she still has no idea we’re faking it. Auston was going to tell her later.

“Actually, in the five years I’ve worked for him, he hasn’t dated anyone.”

I frown, trying to find an appropriate answer. “Okay.” What else am I supposed to say?

“But here we are—”

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