Page 1 of My Fake Lover

1

Ivy

Ibit down on my lower lip with focus. With the utmost precision, I drizzled the melted butter over the red flesh of the lobster and sprinkled my special spices onto the dish. Freshly caught lobster in a baguette roll, tossed in butter and spread with mayonnaise. It was perfect.

»Here, Gerry, enjoy!« I stood on my tiptoes and handed the narrow tray down from my food truck onto the street. By now, a small queue had formed in front of my truck. It was lunchtime in Manhattan, and thus rush hour on 5th Avenue. Though, you couldn’t really pinpoint it, as New York never stood still. And I loved it. This pulsating energy, the life, and even the bustling atmosphere that prevailed especially in this part of the city.

»Thank you, Ivy, I’ve been looking forward to your food all day.« I winked at the investment banker who visited me every lunchtime, like many of his colleagues and people who worked in the surrounding towers. I not only loved preparing outstanding food that surprised people, but I also wanted to give each of my visitors a welcoming feeling. This was precisely my thing. »I sure hope so. And give my regards to your wife.«

»I’ll pass them on! See you tomorrow, Ivy!«

»Bye, Gerry!« I wiped my hands on my red polka-dotted apron and turned to the next customer to take their order. As I turned to my stove to prepare the food, I glanced at the clock above the door with one eye. Twelve-thirteen. Only two more minutes. It happened every day at the same time.

I really tried not to get nervous, but it was getting harder and harder for me. »Here, please! Bon appétit!« I said, serving the next customer who paid and wished me a great day as well. I looked up and saw the broad silhouette emerging behind the revolving glass door of the building opposite, like a shark beneath the water’s surface. Twelve-fourteen.

Again, I wiped my damp fingers and attended to the next customer, even though I knew precisely that it was him who wouldn’t let anyone take his place at twelve-fifteen by my cart. Maxwell Holmes. His name alone exuded an aura of power, as if he had chosen it on purpose. To save the poor guy in front of the cart from a reprimand, I hurried. A shadow fell over my hands as I fished for change from the antique cash register.

Slowly, I looked up and met the gaze of stormy gray eyes beneath dense, dark brows, which I only knew furrowed. Max Holmes was known for many things in New York, but definitely not for his smile. Although I was sure that with his full lips, it could only be beautiful. I hoped for him that there was at least one person in his life who knew it.

»All good, Max?« I asked casually, and his gaze grew even more skeptical. His tailored suit strained over his broad shoulders, and his posture was aloof. He was so well-known everywhere that none of the other guests waiting patiently in line complained about him cutting in. As far as I knew, he left his office on the twentieth floor of his company building, Holmes International, only for business reasons. Except once a day. At exactly twelve-fifteen.

»One of Ivy’s Lobster Dinners. No mayonnaise.« His voice was deep and a bit rough, and with anyone else, the name of the main dish on my menu sounded a bit silly, but not with him. Every day we played this game, even though I knew exactly what he would have, for he ate the same thing every day.

»The mayonnaise is the best part, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?« The icy gaze from his stormy gray eyes was enough for an answer. No. »Alright, coming right up!« I set to work preparing the dish. »So, what’s new in the ivory tower?« I asked, just as I did every noon, and he answered just as he did every noon. With a dark, dismissive grunt that sent shivers down my spine. »How long have you been visiting me now, Maxie?« I teased him and received another disapproving look. Somehow, I liked provoking him. I couldn’t imagine many dared to do this with him, but what could he do to me? Perhaps put me over his knee. I suppressed the tingling sensation that was building up inappropriately within me. »For a year, right? Hey, we’ll have an anniversary soon!« I continued to chatter, filling the silence between us. I had always hated silence. In the house of my childhood, it had been silent at all times. Even music had been forbidden by my father.

Using a sun-yellow pair of tongs, I picked the shredded lobster from the container to spread it on the roll and wrapped it in wax paper. With my broadest smile, I handed Max his meal. Of course, I had spread mayonnaise on the sides, as it tasted so much better that way. As he took it from me, our fingertips touched for a moment, and my breath caught. This happened every day, and each time, this tiny touch felt like fireworks. It was as if his gaze grew even darker, more piercing, and more intense. But only for a fleeting moment. He then handed me the money, including a generous tip, turned without another word, and disappeared back into the mirrored glass building that towered imposingly towards the sky.

Only then did I turn to the next guest, offered them a smile, and spent my day pretending not to think about the fact that he would return tomorrow. At twelve-fifteen.

2

Max

Istepped closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office and looked down at the ridiculous lobster, spray-painted in a bright red color on the roof of the food truck. It wasn’t just the lobster that was ridiculous. The names of the dishes were too, as was the forced smile of the owner. And yet, I couldn’t get it out of my head.

I was a man who acted rationally and didn’t plunge headfirst into emotions. I was a problem-solver, mulling over solutions until they felt right. One wrong decision in my job as the CEO of one of the most successful IT and investment firms in the country, and I could lose millions of hard-earned dollars. Money that could cost hundreds of jobs, affect human lives, and alter destinies. And I was preoccupied with a damned feeling I had around a woman whom I fundamentally found dreadful. Her entire demeanor, that ever-cheerful mask she wanted to sell everyone, I didn’t buy it for a second. And yet, she was the only person, apart from my younger brother, who stood up to me. It was maddening.

I shoved the last bite of the roll into my mouth and tossed the paper it had been wrapped in into the trash can beside my desk. The food was good, quite so, and that should have been reason enough for me to sacrifice ten minutes of my day. Besides, I liked rules and consistency. I told myself that I only went to her truck every noon for that reason. Stretching one’s legs when spending at least twelve hours a day sitting behind a desk wasn’t necessarily wrong.

I woke up every morning at 4:30 a.m., worked out in my apartment building’s gym until 5:30 a.m., went for a jog until 6:30 a.m., showered, and then drove to the office at exactly 7:15 a.m. Sure, I was a control freak, but it was this trait that had gotten me this far. Meanwhile, my brother planted flowers on some field and claimed to be happy living in a dilapidated house at the end of Richmond.

The phone on my glass desk rang, and I walked over to answer it. »Mister Holmes, your appointment is here.«

»I’m coming.« I hung up, buttoned my jacket, and grabbed the folder with the documents I needed. My thoughts should now be entirely focused on the upcoming meeting with a small, promising IT company. Three guys had built it a few years ago during their college years and had interesting approaches to some apps. They reminded me of my humble beginnings, which had started in the same way. Despite this pesky sentimental memory, they had to give me pretty good reasons why I should invest in them. I didn’t do things halfway. Never.

My gaze fell on the trash can and the crab-red paper inside. Perhaps I should get to the bottom of this problem to finally get those doe-brown eyes and red-painted, smiling lips out of my head.

3

Ivy

»Damn it!« In anger, I kicked the tire of my truck. The dark smoke continued to rise towards the sky from the open hood. Just great. So, the stuttering Betsy had been showing for the past few weeks actually meant something. I shouldn’t have listened to Antoine who said everything was okay. He was a pizza maker, the best in the world, but not a mechanic. Neither was I.

People on the sidewalk streamed past me towards the end of the workday. No one took notice of me; that was something you had to get used to in a metropolis like New York. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and the battery showed a mere two percent. I quickly dialed the number of my best friend and roommate, Marlow. If I was lucky, she was on her way home and not at a casting for the new Broadway role she’d been preparing for months. »Ivy, what’s...« Connection lost.

»Fuck!« Well, I would just collect today’s earnings and leave Betsy here. At best, I’d only get a parking ticket. At worst, she’d be towed because the roadside wasn’t a permanent parking space. I’d already had trouble with the police more than once because of this. Maybe I should call a tow truck myself, but if I’m honest, I’d rather save the money for a new truck. Somehow, I knew that Betsy would soon be saying goodbye. At least the cooling system still worked, and the food wouldn’t be spoiled tomorrow.

»Is everything alright?« A deep voice made me jump. I slowly turned around. Max stood before me, looking as he always did: unapproachable and incredibly hot. Under his arm, he held an elegant black portfolio, and on his wrist, he wore an expensive-looking watch. No frills. No ring. Not that I hadn’t noticed this before.

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