Page 15 of Fauxmance in the City

“Anyway,” I say. “We have another problem. Karen is e-mailing the contracts today. She needs you to sign them.”

Sam considers. “Forward them to me when you get them.”

“What about—”

“It’s no big deal. It’ll just be a standard contract. I’ll sign it, and it’ll go in a file somewhere. No one will even look at them.” His phone rings, and he steps outside the kitchen to take the call.

Okay, maybe it’s not a big deal, but signing a legal document worries me. Not that we’re doing anything illegal. At least, I don’t think so. Deceiving the American public isn’t illegal, but the media and the public would persecute us if the truth came out. Shaking my head, I try to forget the grave deception I’m embarking on and walk around the counter, running my hands over a black spatula, a wiry utensil, and something that looks like a squat metal hammer.

“Catie, get your butt over here,” Patrick yells, making me jump and drop the hammer thing to the floor with a loud thunk.

“I’m here. I’m here. Geez.”

“Karen said they want shots of you preparing Max’s favorite foods on the day. Good Day will share your menus and recipes on their website, and we’ll do the same. I’ve already talked to Jacquelyn about it.” Patrick scans the menu Natalie has printed out. “I see Gillian sent over the list of the dishes he loved from his childhood. Wow, this guy has a sweet tooth. This pumpkin-toffee cheesecake looks amazing. Or you could do this simple apple pie. Wait, are you a baker or chef?”

“Chef,” Natalie explains. “But our mamé loved baking, and she taught me how to bake too. I just can’t do the fancy decorating. My hands are too inept for precision work.”

“The cheesecake sounds complicated. Will I be able to do it?” I ask, squeezing in between Patrick and Natalie.

“We’re about to find out.” Natalie slides the recipe for the pumpkin cheesecake in front of me, which I scan as she pulls out ingredients from a grocery bag she’s brought and hands a receipt to Patrick.

She always pays cash so the expenses can’t be traced back to her.

“Can’t we skip to the part where I dump all the ingredients together and put it in the oven?” My breathing quickens as I watch Natalie pull out over a dozen ingredients.

“Remember, I’m not going to be there.” Natalie hands me the butter. “I can do some prep before I leave for my trip, but you’re going to be on your own.”

“Good Day will have someone to assist me. I never have to prep the food when I go on the show. One of their lackeys always does it.”

“With my help.”

“What?”

“As far as Good Day is concerned, I’m one of your assistants. They call me before each show, and I walk them through what you’re making and what needs to be prepped. I’ve told you all this before.”

I need to listen more, but if it doesn’t have to do with interior design, I have selective hearing. Relying on Natalie has become second nature.

“Well, you can still talk to them before you go and tell them everything that needs to be done.”

Natalie’s lips tighten. “But you still need to know how to make this cake—and all the recipes—from beginning to end, just in case something happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Don’t say that,” Patrick yells. “Don’t ever say that. Are you trying to jinx us?”

“But a lot of stuff—the canapés and brunch—will be made ahead of time. Not on camera.”

“This will be made on camera. Without me nearby.” Natalie narrows her eyes, and I nod.

The door swings open. Sam walks back in, sliding his phone into his pant pocket, and I grab his arm, pulling him next to me. “Pay attention in case I forget this.”

“I always pay attention.” His eyes scan my body.

“Shut up,” I say, still feeling the warmth of his arm in my hands. “It’s both our asses on the line here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” The strength in his voice wraps around me, and my fear grows wings and flaps away.

Sam’s infuriating, but he’s turning his life upside down for me. Add in the toe-curling episode in the elevator and my heart presses against my ribs, swelling to the point of pain. Mentally, I squeeze it back down. He’ll only burst it in the end.

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