Page 46 of One More Made Up Love Song
It’s more a question of whether I’ll have the courage to actually leave him. I’m so completely enmeshed in Freddie’s life, I’m not even sure what mine would look like without him.
But how long can I keep that up?
How longshouldI keep it up?
Telling him I want to move out as soon as we’re back in Nashville was a minor miracle. And asking for a new job title was another step in the right direction.
But getting myself fully and completely out of his grasp? I might need to gamify things—give myself a guaranteed exit strategy.
“I’ll do it,” I blurt out, startling us both. I take a steadying breath. “I’ll do whatever Kat thinks is best. Fake a relationship. Make public appearances. All of it.” It suddenly occurs to me that might mean kissing him again, and my skin flushes with the thought. I lick my lips. “But only on one condition.”
Freddie nods. “Okay. Lay it on me.”
I swallow against the anxiety clawing its way up my throat. “As soon as your album releases, you call your record label and get them to hire me. I want to work for Voltage Records.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ivy
After my conversation with Freddie,it takes me a very long time to fall asleep. Mostly because I can’t stop cataloging all the reasons why faking a relationship with Freddie Ridgefield is a terrible idea.
A small part of my brain wonders if I agreed because of how much I wish we could be in a relationship for real.
If we can’t be, maybe faking is the next best thing?
It’s a ridiculous thought. But as I toss and turn, readjusting my hotel pillow for the millionth time, my brain keeps circling back to the feel of his lips on mine, and I find myself hoping that at some point, I’ll have a reason to kiss him again.
I manage to grab a few hours of sleep, but I wake up just after six a.m. and make the mistake of reaching for my phone. As soon as I see the screen, lit up with dozens of notifications, any hope of goingbackto sleep quickly vanishes.
I glance over at Carina, still snoring softly on the otherside of our king-size bed. As early as she crashed yesterday, she can’t sleep much longer, but I try to be quiet anyway. We need to have a serious conversation as soon as she’s awake, and I’d rather have my wits about me—read: coffee in my bloodstream—before we do.
After a shower and a latte I have delivered from the coffee shop a block away from the hotel, I sneak into the bathroom with my cell phone and laptop and start wading through my many notifications. They’ve doubled since I first woke up, and they include a text from my mom that, based on the first few words visible in the notification, I’m nervous to read in full.
Bracing myself, I open the message and squint at my phone, reading it through one eye.
Mom
IVY CLARE CONWAY, why did you not tell me your boss kissed you? THIS IS SO EXCITING! Assuming you’re excited. You are, right? This is a good thing? I always suspected there was something going on between the two of you. I want all the details as soon as you have time!
Well. Okay, then. I thought her all-caps use of my name might take the message in a different direction, but this isn’t that bad.
Except, itisbad. Because now I have to decide if I tell my parents that it’s all a publicity stunt. Mom would understand, but my salt-of-the-earth father would find the whole situation utterly ridiculous. He hates pretense. He’s honest and straightforward and thinks the truth shouldalwaysbe most important.
I don’t disagree with him—most of the time. But thesituation is so much more complicated. Too complicated. Which is why I settle on a benign response to my mom that feels true, even if it isn’t theentiretruth.
Ivy
Definitely exciting. I’m swamped with work—kind of a lot of PR stuff happening right now—but I’ll call soon and fill you in!
Mom
Sounds good. How’s Carina?
I exhale slowly, happy she bought my excuse. At least for now.
Ivy
Still sleeping.
