Page 3 of My Fake Lover

»Hello? Ivy? Is everything okay?«

Max stood up straight in front of me, gentlemanly pulling my skirt back down and buttoning his pants while I tried to regain my composure.

»Yeah, um... just a moment, please!« I jumped off the countertop and met Max’s gaze. The hard, emotionless mask he usually wore had returned. The man who never smiled. He ran his fingers through his hair, straightened his shirt, and grabbed his jacket hanging by the entrance.

He looked back at me one more time, and for a split second, I thought I could see regret. Or was it just my imagination? I was completely disoriented, and my heart pounded heavily against my chest. »You should take the truck to a mechanic first thing tomorrow.«

He opened the door and stormed out. Gerry poked his head through the gap. »Is everything all right? You’re not usually out here this late.« He gestured behind him in the direction Max had disappeared so quickly, as if he couldn’t wait. »What was...«

I quickly shook my head, trying to erase the images of the past few minutes. »Mr. Holmes was helping me. The truck was smoking, and we were searching for the fuse box inside, just to keep the cooling going. Apparently, it’s the head gasket.« I looked around nervously, as if traces of our passionate moment were plastered everywhere. But nothing. Thankfully. It had been a mistake anyway.

»Oh, okay.« He looked confused. »Do you want me to drive you home?«

»No, thanks, I’ll take the metro.« I gave him a forced smile, smoothed my skirt, and still felt that heat which simply wouldn’t leave my body. The way Max’s fingers had felt on my skin, his breath in my ear, and his kisses on my lips... shivers ran through me.

After I had left a note on the window and locked the truck, I looked around one more time. As my gaze traveled up Holmes Tower, there was only one office with the light still on. On the twentieth floor.

4

Ivy

In a gigantic inferno, the pan burst into flames. I shook the handle, distributing the oil and rosemary within, lifted it, and the flames extinguished themselves. Haze hung in the tiny kitchen of our Brooklyn apartment as I frantically cooked a four-course meal for two for the past two hours.

»What’s going on here?« My best friend and roommate Marlow stood at the entrance to the kitchen. She was wearing her dance outfit and still had her key in hand. Her reddish-brown curls were piled into a wild messy bun, and her cheeks were flushed. »The whole place smells like Jacques.« A four-star restaurant where we couldn’t even afford a glass of wine. »Not that I’m complaining, I’m as hungry as a bear.« She approached me and peeked over my shoulder. I let the filet simmer in its broth before wrapping it in foil and putting it in our rickety oven at eighty degrees for twenty minutes.

»I felt like having a really good meal today.« I turned to her and watched as she tossed her key onto the kitchen table in annoyance and collapsed into one of the two chairs. Our entire decor came from a secondhand store two blocks away. I loved the chaotic, cozy atmosphere we had created in our tiny apartment. It had a hundred times more feeling and flair than the house I had lived in with my parents. At least for a while.

»Really good food sounds fantastic.«

»Was training that bad today?«

»My dance teacher is truly Cruella de Vil. Not just because of the eyebrows.« Marlow was training for a new Broadway show, auditioning for the lead role. She sang like a Disney princess, but dancing wasn’t exactly her forte. That’s why she worked harder than anyone else I knew. I gave her an amused grin, put the filet in the oven, and took out two wine glasses from the cabinet and opened a bottle of wine. The cork said goodbye with a pop, and I tossed it like a pro basketball player into the trash can behind me.

»Three-point shot for Ivy Jordan Wescott!« Low exclaimed, raising her arms.

»Here.« After filling the glasses with red wine, I slid one to her. »We can both use it today.«

»So, what’s up with you?« With a deep sigh, I sat down next to her and took a huge gulp of the wine. This had nothing to do with savoring the drink; I just wanted the buzz. So I could forget as quickly as possible how Max’s kisses had felt.

»I hope you’ve prepared a good eulogy, Betsy’s gone.«

»Oh no, Ivy! What happened?«

»Lots of smoke and supposedly the head gasket.«

»I’m so sorry! I know how much you’re saving for your dream. And now? Do you have to buy a new truck?«

I shrugged and played with the stem of the wine glass. »I still have some installments left on Betsy. I can’t afford a new truck, but if I don’t buy one, I can’t make money or have to work somewhere as a dishwasher.«

Low grimaced. »No way! You’re not wasting your talent working as a kitchen assistant for some arrogant chef! You’ll have your own restaurant, I’m sure of it.«

I sighed and gave her a half-smile. »And you’ll get that role, Low.«

We clinked our glasses together. »Because we’re awesome!«

»Because we’re awesome!«

For a while, we were lost in our thoughts, and only the ticking of the egg timer filled the room. Until I heard Low’s voice. »How did you come up with the head gasket? Have you gone into mechanics like Antoine?«

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