Page 78 of Faking It

Her hand slips into mine as we enter the restaurant, and she only lets me go when we get to our table. Our server soon arrives, wearing a short, tight skirt and a buttoned shirt that’s even tighter. I catch her subtle flirting while she takes our order, and by Ana’s scoff as the server leaves, she noticed it, too.

“You must miss that,” she murmurs, fiddling with her napkin.

“Miss what?”

“Flirting back, taking numbers, one-night stands,” she lists. “With this fake arrangement, you can’t put a toe out of line.”

I shake my head. “Can I be honest?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” she replies.

Shifting my seat so I can stare directly at her beyond the floral centerpiece, I go on. “I haven’t gotten laid since we did our screentest.”

She stares at me deadpan. “I thought you said you were going to be honest with me.”

“I am.”

“Really, Gideon,” she says dryly. “I saw those posts on ANON. You had a new woman every week. There’s no way a guy like you would last three months without hooking up.”

“Wonders do happen. Trust me.”

Silence. She keeps staring, her expression giving me nothing.

I lean in, wanting her to believe me. Maybe this is the reason she’s afraid to let go. “Ana, even without this fake relationship, I wouldn’t have flirted back with that server. Or took her home tonight. I haven’t looked at another woman since I saw you in the reading room that day.”

Ana sucks in a gasp, the force of my words hitting hard, I can tell. Her face has gone all red, blush spreading down her neck and chest, almost matching her dress.

“You can’t say that.” She shakes her head.

“What, the truth?” I lash her with an intense stare. “Ana, I’ve been holding back, waiting for a sign, hoping you felt something for me, too. After tonight, I’m taking that plunge, even if I drown. Deep down, I know it’s not a mistake telling you how I feel. Whether you admit it, you have feelings for me, too.”

“Gideon—”

Fragments of doubt remain on her face, so I interrupt. “I’m not saying we should get matching tattoos, or move in, or get married. Let’s just throw this fake shit out the window and date each other for real.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” The skin between her brows crunches as she frowns. “Can we handle working together then?”

“How about we focus on the positive, instead of what we don’t want? God forbid that happens, but we’re both mature enough to understand that business and pleasure can co-exist.”

A long silence ensues as she reflects on my response. Finally, she asks, “Can you promise me that whatever happens won’t change our working relationship? Can I have your word that my secret will remain hidden if we break up?”

I understand why she needs that reinforcement, so her request doesn’t offend me. Like her, I’ve had my reservations about taking things from fake to real. We can’t afford to ruin our business arrangement, but I’m assured that will never happen. In time, Ana will, too.

“I promise.” I stretch my hand across the table. “Ana Kent, can I date you for real?”

Ana stares at me for a beat, then finally smiles, the effort making my insides balloon with happiness. “Gideon Carter, I’d like that very much.”

She giggles when I take her hand and kiss the back of it. The server arrives with our order, slipping a piece of paper under my plate after she sets it down. Without looking, I know what it is. I crumple it into a tiny ball then, consider leaving it on the table. Knowing the server might find it while cleaning up and not wanting to hurt her feelings, I tuck it into my front pocket.

The Gideon Carter show has one leading lady, and she’s sitting right across from me.

Chapter 29

Ana

Gideon closes my door, and I relax against the leather seat with a sound that’s between a sigh and a chuckle. Tonight had been crazy. I started out with a vow to keep my hormones in check, despite wearing the sexiest dress I’ve ever slipped on my body, and now I’m someone’s girlfriend. I think.

The second I stepped out of Tori’s guest bedroom and saw that look on his face, I knew I was out for trouble. That silk buttoned shirt and those thigh-kissing pants didn’t help, either. I wanted to yank the scrunchie from that ponytail and run my fingers through his hair. I wanted to capture those thick lips and kiss my sexual frustration away. Yet, I kept my composure, played it off cool, hiding how much he affected me.

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