Page 43 of Faking It

“You’re tense. Unfocused. Why, I don’t know, but I’m positive about one thing. You won’t get into those scenes if you’re not relaxed.”

“I am relaxed.”

“Saying those words don’t make it true. Let’s take a break and unwind while giving those bloggers something to do. We don’t even need to go far. There’s a pizzeria down the street.” The entire strip is a popular area for other celebrities, with paparazzi flocking like flies to honey. Perfect for our storyline.

Ana seems to mull over it for a beat, her forehead still decorated with thin creases. Finally, she nods. “Okay, but I won’t be doing that lovey-dovey bit with you just yet.”

“No sitting on my lap. Got it.”

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, but it triggers an image of Ana straddling my lap, her fingers running through my hair as she rocks herself against me. Sparks of pleasure erupt from the brief fantasy. My body comes alive unexpectedly, the stirrings in my groin hinting at a possible discomfort if I don’t turn off these thoughts.

And I need to turn them off. I can’t fuck Ana, even if she showed any interest in me. I’m not interested in anything more than a fling, and something tells me Ana is quite the opposite. Fucking around with her could cause issues in our working relationship, and I can’t afford that. Not with so much at stake.

Ana’s eyes are fixed on my lap, a flicker of curiosity within them. That long, searing gaze isn’t helping matters one bit. I rise to stand, blowing out a pent-up breath. “Ready?”

A flash of hesitance runs across her face before she says, “As long as you’re paying, I’m game.”

“That goes without saying. A gentleman always pays.”

“Not always,” comes her muttered response.

“Keyword,‘gentleman’, princess. Stingy assholes don’t count.”

Ana snorts. “Princess?”

“It’s quite fitting, don’t you think? You’re delicate, beautiful, with flawless skin—”

“Ooh. Sounds like a compliment. You need to save that for an audience,” she says with dry amusement, although a soft blush spreads from her face to neck.

“Indulge me. I love to practice before the main event. Makes it more convincing.”

She stands, searching my face with those beautiful blue eyes, her stare so intent I’m tempted to draw for a mirror, just to see what’s she’s looking at. “I’m trying to figure you out,” she finally mumbles, her response surprising me.

“Figure me out? Why?”

“I don’t understand what’s in this for you. This fake relationship. How does it benefit you?”

“It doesn’t.”

Her eyebrows tighten. “Then why?”

“Do I need a reason?” I ask. “Can’t I just do something from the goodness of my heart?”

“You could, but—” A hefty, frustrated sigh flies from her mouth. “I’m trying to understand your endgame.”

I half-chuckle. “Ana, you’ve lost me.”

“Don’t make me spell it out, Carter. What are you up to? What do youreallywant?”

The about-turn of our conversation leaves me open-mouthed for a moment. “I seriously don’t understand.”

A stare-down ensues until Ana bites her lip and shifts her gaze. “If you say so.” She rolls up her script and slides it in her purse. “Let’s have lunch.”

Following her out, I can’t help feeling like there’s a missing piece somewhere, like we’re on opposite ends of a conversation with a gap in the middle. Ana’s expression tells me she’s done talking about it, but I’m so not done, not when I suspect it’s connected to her fear of me.

***

“Grow a thick skin, Ana. You won’t survive this industry otherwise.”

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