Page 23 of The Love Hoax
As I take the last turn before my property, it occurs to me this is the first time I’ve brought a woman back to my place in the mountains. For a variety of reasons. I like my privacy. I don’t want prying eyes or curious people judging me for what is obviously a pricey piece of land in the heart of the park.
Since selling the app, I’ve learned that people view me—and treat me—differently when they know about my money.
Still, that’s only part of the story. Truth is, I haven’t yet met a woman I wanted to bring back to my place. Not that this isthatsort of situation. We just met.
Sure, I’ve experienced the occasional one-night stand back in college. Even a geek like me could find temporary companionship. But those days are behind me. As much as my sister believes I’m a frat boy in disguise, nothing could be farther from the truth. I’ve never been that guy, and now in my thirties, I want to find a true connection with someone, not a passing fling.
Yet, I didn’t have a second thought inviting Evie to stay with me to save the late-night drive to Merced following the exhausting ordeal. The offer came out instinctively. All that went through my mind was hoping that she would accept. When she did, it felt like when my team won the Superbowl.
There’s no way to dismiss it. If we spend any more time together, as it appears we’re about to, I’ll soon be a goner.
I approach the black iron gates and slow the car, clicking the remote attached to the dashboard. The gates slide open, silently. I drive up the long driveway, the gravel causing the car to shudder.
Evie stirs as the car comes to a stop. Blinking her eyes open, she seems momentarily disoriented. Then she looks outside. The house is lit from within, the sensors at the gate having triggered them. I never liked arriving home to a dark house.
The house is modern, made of stone, wood, and lots of glass. During the day, the expansive windows allow in a great deal of lightand offer breathtaking views of the mountains. It looks enchanting.
A look of confusion crosses Evie’s face. “Where are we?”
“At my place.”
Evie blinks once again and looks around. “Thisis your place?”
“Yep.” I want to apologize but realize there’s nothing to feel sorry for.
Evie seems to be reading my expression, assessing if I’m playing a practical joke on her. Something in my face must convince her I’m serious. The corners of her lips lift in a show-stopping smile.
I feel a flutter in my gut. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.”
Chapter Sixteen
Evie
I’m sure Adam is conning me. I mean, that is his M.O., after all. But the look on his face says otherwise. I do my best to keep my jaw from dropping. The house is something out ofArchitectural Digest. Even Caroline would stay here, happily. Not to mention the rest of the Fab Fifty club. Sam would move in and never leave.
No way a man of Adam’s age, vocation, and chilled-out temperament can afford the house I’m gawking at. It’s massive. A combination of glass and earth-toned stone, the ranch-style home blends seamlessly with the surroundings. At least what I can discern from the ambient light coming from inside the house. I can’t wait to see it in the morning.
Wordlessly, I follow Adam inside, unsure where to look first. A spectacular two-sided glass-encased fireplace serves as a divider between the living and dining rooms, a fire roaring in the hearth. Maybe someone else ishere.
Adam made it clear he has no significant other. That’s why he needs me to be his fake fiancée. Maybe it’s someonenotsignificant? The thought makes me uncomfortable. But obviously, someone has kindled the fire.
Reading my mind, Adam says, “The sensors at the front gate get the house ready for me.”
I’m inexplicably relieved. “They do, do they?”
Each wall, not made of glass, is adorned with a brilliant display of art. Modern pieces with bold colors hang beside western-themed oils and black-and-white photographs, depicting spectacular mountain ranges. It appears to be Adam’s private gallery.
“Is that an Ansel Adams?” I ask, approaching the photograph, in awe.
“Good eye,” Adam says, coming up beside me, looking on like a proud parent, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I moved out here a year ago. Fixed up the house the way I like it.”
Aretha Franklin begins crooning, the sound so clear I could swear the Queen Of Soul still lives and is singing in the next room over.
“Sensors?” I ask.
He nods.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are trying to seduce me.”
