Page 44 of Fauxmance in the City

“Right.”

It isn’t true. When a camera is on, I’m quick on my toes. Otherwise, I’d never have made it this far. Even if I’m freaking out on the inside, I keep it together on the outside.

Amusement crosses Max’s face.

“What?” Natalie presses.

“Well, you were both a little manic. But whenever anything went wrong, Catie always had a witty comeback or a clever save. And you were right there beside her. Not on camera, but whisper-yelling at her off camera. I think you thought you were being discreet.”

Natalie whips her gaze toward me for confirmation, and I shrug. “It’s true.”

“Usually, you’re so calm and collected,” Natalie says.

“Personal stuff was weighing on me,” I say as an excuse for Max’s benefit, but it’s not a lie.

“Were you happy with the result?” Natalie asks accusingly. “You told me it went smoothly.”

“As I said, the meal was perfect in the end.” All thanks to Sam. The reminder causes a pang in the side of my ribs.

“How was the dinner shoot afterward? You said you nailed it.”

Bailey leaps onto the sofa. When he licks Natalie’s face, she tries to dodge his wet tongue, but she struggles with one able arm.

“Bailey, sit,” Max commands.

Immediately, the dog sits on his hind legs at Natalie’s feet. She pets the soft fur on the dog’s back, and he settles against her legs.

“You have a way with this one,” I say.

“Dogs like to know who’s in control. It’s in their nature.” Max pets behind Bailey’s ears. “I’m still fostering him, but I’m hoping I can adopt him once the shoot is over.”

“Any luck with your memory?” Natalie asks.

“No. But it’s okay. I can’t be sad about what I can’t remember.” Max smooths his hands over the fabric of his charcoal, military-style coat. “Now, stop overdoing it on the Percocet.”

“You’re worried?” Natalie brightens.

“I’ve seen firsthand how lethal the drug can be.” Max walks to the door, and Bailey leaps off the sofa. “I have to go talk to my aunt and uncle upstairs, but be careful. Don’t use the pills to numb what’s bothering you, because I know it’s more than your arm.”

He leaves, and I gape at the empty space where he stood. How much does Max know? Our little charade may have fooled Gillian and the Good Day production team, but Max is a journalist with a more discerning eye.

“Is Max right? Is something else bothering you?” I ask.

Natalie has never been one to admit when she needs help. She doesn’t like to bother others with her problems.

“I’m all right.” Natalie stands, steadier on her feet. “How did you save the meal?”

“Sam had a backup plan,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“He preordered a whole catered meal nearly identical to what we prepared, except it was cooked and edible.”

“So, all was fine in the end? Max made it sound like a near disaster.”

“It wasn’t that bad, but it was far from perfect. Karen and David were a bit annoyed, but luckily the segment went smoothly. We were so far behind, they didn’t pay much attention. They may catch some inconsistencies in post. The best part was watching Gillian try to pry Max’s brain open and pull out the most significant childhood events.”

“TV is so bizarre.” Natalie smooths her light hair, but the static only makes more pieces stick up.

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