Page 22 of The Holiday Fakers
“I had a boyfriend, but he dumped me for someone else a few months ago.”
My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. It’s like being in high school all over again.
“I didn’t tell my mom,” I plow on, “I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was so happy. You know how she is about love.”
Brody’s eyes are focused on the road ahead, his posture rigid, but he gives me a small nod in agreement.
“I promised to bring him home for Christmas. And I thought I could find a replacement. I never told Mom his name because I didn’t want to jinx it.”
I let out a huff and shake my head. “But I haven’t been able to. So, when I thought about Marv’s idea … I …”
“So … you need me to pretend to be your boyfriend.” Brody’s words aren’t a question but a statement. He delivers them slowly, as if tasting their truth.
I shrug.
“And getting me to advertise a printer is, what? Just to fuck with me?”
“No! I actually really need you to do that,” I reply quickly as his tone sharpens with anger.
“My company is merging with another in the new year, and we’ll be competing for our jobs. The new owner’s son is also a graphic designer, and my ex.”
“And you think using me to promote the printer will make them choose you over him?”
“I don’t know! Maybe? But it’s the best bargaining chip I’ve got.”
Brody doesn’t reply, so I gaze out the window at the road ahead. Cars stream out of the city, wipers flicking as a flurry of sleety snow hits us. My mind starts throwing out scenarios for how the next few days might play out, like a stylist trying to satisfy a picky client. But every idea, even the sexy ones, sends a prickle of nerves through my stomach, and with each mile closer to Hideaway, my anxiety builds.
“Have you thought about a backstory?” Brody asks, jolting me from a vision of Ethan dressed as a Puritan, challenging Brody to a duel while I swoon dramatically in my mother’s arms.
“About us?”
He nods, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Stop asking stupid questions!
“Not yet. Probably best to keep it simple. Maybe you were dodging fans and came to hide out at the coffee shop, not realizing I was in the far booth until you slid in and saw me.”
Brody’s jaw is so tense and chiseled, I almost wish I had a match to strike against it.
“That’ll do,” he finally replies.
Feeling a nervous ramble coming on with the speed of a bullet train, I continue, “I mean, as far as meet-cutes go, it’s not the most exciting. Not like I was being mugged and you saved me. Or like you were rappelling down a waterfall when carnivorous birds cut the rope, sending you a thousand feet into the swirling waters below. And I was kayaking nearby, observing said birds’ feeding habits, dragged you onboard, then used my ninja paddle skills to protect us.”
“In New York?”
“Well, King Kong was once up the Empire State Building.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Any other ideas?”
Even the tiniest sign of his amusement is enough for me to keep going.
“Mercury went so retrograde that the Earth spun into an alternate reality where dragons and elves roamed, and you were a warrior elf searching for the lost sword of Tlygonne. Instead, you found me, a plucky mortal, held captive in the tower of Khlessid-dhug, and you knew I was the key to your quest.”
Brody frowns, as if recalling something he’d rather not, and I stop talking.
“You’ve got quite the imagination … Do you still draw?”
I nod, my mental eye flipping through the hundreds of sketches I’ve done of the man sitting beside me. I feel like an obsessive stalker right now, even as part of me yells, “It’s his fault for being so gorgeous!”
