Page 9 of Faking It

With a groan, I drop my body on the velvet couch in front of a massive flat screen TV I hardly watch. “Give it to me straight.”

Cynthia sits in the loveseat, and I twist my head to regard her. “Your father is concerned, and so are we. That bar fight did you no favors, James.”

“Good, because I wasn’t looking for any.” I cock my head with a smirk. “Did Daddy dearest send you here to spank my butt-butt, Cyn?”

She doesn’t smile back. No surprise. In fact, I can’t recall seeing Cynthia smile in the entire year since Dad hired her. I’m not looking to make friends. She’s the best PR manager out there. As long as she keeps putting out the fires, nothing else matters.

“Chill with the jokes. This is serious,” Ryan says, coming to join me on the couch. “Your family can’t handle another carted-off-to-jail scandal. You know that.”

“Let’s make one thing clear. The bar fight wasn’t my fault. I was only defending myself,” I point out.

“That’s not what the photos say online,” Craig speaks up. “We literally saw you hit that guy over the head.”

“Afterhe shoved his hand up that girl’s skirt,” I growl.

“What girl?” Cynthia asks, sitting up.

“Was that the girl who just left?” Ryan’s brows lift questioningly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Cynthia slaps her forehead with a sigh. “You got into a fight over a one-night stand. Are you serious?”

“Actually, she became a one-night stand because I defended her honor.” I shrug. “Her way of thanking me, I guess.”

Cynthia gapes at me.

“What?” I ask her.

She links her hands, both elbows resting on her knees, her thin lips pursed, the skin between her shapely brows pinched tight.

“Just say it, Cyn. Whatever it is.”

“Please tell me you haven’t started drinking again,” she blurts.

Her question comes from left field, rendering me to a speechless, open-mouthed shell of myself. Just for a moment. I swallow my surprise and shake my head. “I had one moment of weakness. That was it. I haven’t touched a drink since…” I let the sentence trail. We don’t need to rehash that awful night three years ago.

Well, Cynthia seems hellbent on doing that, anyway. “Since you got behind the wheel while drunk and totaled your car. Almost killing yourself. One would think a DUI charge would be enough to set you straight.”

“I am straight.”

She scoffs. “When was your last AA meeting?”

“Cyn, come on. After years of being sober, I had a few drinks. Just once. I don’t need to go back to those boring meetings where I’m forced to discuss my feelings. Hard pass.” With a groan, I massage my temples.

“Are you okay?” Cynthia asks, leaning forward, a flicker of concern on her face.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I grumble.

“Trick question, dude.” Ryan scoffs. “Trick question.”

“Is it?” I query, confused.

“Let’s see.” Cynthia raises her index finger. “You’ve totaled your car because of drunk driving. Ransacked not one, two, or three bars—”

“So thisisan intervention.” I glare at Ryan. “Good looking out, dick.”

“It’s not an intervention, although it should be,” Cynthia replies. “We’re concerned about you. When your father hired me, I assumed your antics were a thing of the past. Yet here you are, resurrecting that monster. Should we expect a repeat of what happened three years ago? Driving under the influence. Jailed for resisting arrest. You’ve been in more fights than anyone could count—”

“No need to list out all my sins. I was there,” I interrupt, the reminder pissing me off. Besides me, there are only four people who know exactly what happened. That I was a scapegoat. There’s no way I can reveal the truth, not without exposing the real monster.

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