Page 93 of The Fake Dating Plan

Tiago sat down next to me. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not exactly the relationship expert myself.”

My vision was getting focused as the drunken cloud around my brain dissipated. The surroundings also became clearer. I noticed the papers strewn across the living room table and some on the floor. There were two laptops on standby as well, and empty takeaway boxes. “Were you working?”

“He finally notices. Yes, I was until you tried to hack into my apartment.”

“That’s because you changed your code.”

“I might as well do so with everyone barging into my apartment whenever they want.”

“Everyone?”

“You fool!” Dad came strolling into the living room wearing blue silk pajamas.

“Are you wearing my PJs?” Tiago looked dumbfounded. Did he not know his own father? Dad loved grabbing things he didn’t own and making them his.

“What did you want me to wear to sleep?” He asked as if the idea of going to bed with day clothes was ridiculous. “That’s beside the point. You,” he pointed at me, “are a fool for letting her go.”

“Dad. How are you?”

“You let a good woman go and you come to your little brother drunk and complaining about it!”

“Do you have to call me the little brother all the time dad,” Tiago said?

Dad ignored him. “And now that she’s with the Heron kid, you’re crying. You deserve it!”

I threw my head into my hands, feeling all the aftereffects of drunkenness set in. “You’re right, I was stupid.”

“Wait. So, it really wasn’t fake.” Tiago said.

“Never was, was it, son?” Dad said.

“No. What should I do?”

“What else is there to do? Fight for her. Get her back. Don’t do what you did last time. Or you’ll lose her forever.”

I marched into my office the next Monday morning with purpose and vigor. I used the weekend to hash out my plan. It was going to be hard to pull off, but I had never had clarity like this before or since.

Fight for her. Win her back.That was exactly what I planned to do. The first step would be to deal with Heron and what he had been unleashing on her. I had already put it into motion on Friday after learning about Heron’s involvement. I got to my desk and made a call to the first person I could think of. It didn’t take long to get through to her. She answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Maggie.”

“Ax.” She put on a throaty purr that was more irritating than she was aware. What I saw in her in the first place, I did not know. “What a surprise. We missed you at the after-party.”

“Are you sure it’s a surprise.?”

“I guess not. I heard you made an open call to the press that you’re willing to let your usually reserved self be subjected to interviews. Am I wrong to suspect I’m first on the list?”

“You are not on the list, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Please, Maggie. Why would you need access to someone like me when you have a big fish like Heron in your pocket?”

She cleared her throat. I heard a shuffling of footsteps and a door being closed. The distant buzz of a press office turned to silence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. If it weren’t for him, you would never have put out that hit piece on Steel Cute. How much did he pay you?”

“Excuse me? I will have you know that I’m a respected journalist.”

---