Page 23 of Silver Fake

She grins, nodding her head. "That's right. It's good to see you again, John."

"Likewise," I say, shaking her hand. "It's been a while."

Suddenly, from behind Denise, a tall figure emerges. The man must be over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and an air of easy confidence about him. He walks with a casual stride, a friendly smile playing on his lips as he extends a hand towards me. "Hey there, you must be John," he says. "I'm Brett. Nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Brett," I respond, firmly shaking his extended hand. His grip is firm, and there's a sincerity in his eyes that immediately puts me at ease. Despite the complex situation that brought me here, this unexpected meeting feels strangely normal, almost comforting.

As I turn to leave with Lisa, Denise calls out after us, "Have a great weekend, guys! And John," she pauses, shooting me a meaningful look, "take care of my friend, will you?"

"Of course," I reply, though my mind is racing. I can't help but wonder, just how much has Lisa told her about me?

I chuckle. "Will do."

As we walk down the steps, Lisa pokes me in the ribs. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my boss?"

I quirk an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"

Lisa stops and looks up at me a strange expression on her face.

"I mean you. Us. This," She says. "This is...different. You're different."

"How am I different?"

Lisa smirks. "Well for starters you're a lot less grumpy."

I smirk back. "I just figured that since we're in a fake relationship we might as well get to know each other."

She starts walking toward the car again. "I guess it's just weird because in the office you always act like you hate me."

A spike of pain sears through my chest at her words.

She thinks I hate her?

The last thing I want is for Lisa to think I hate her. Was it my aloofness that led her to this conclusion? Or was it the wall I'd built around myself at work, my strict professional demeanor that had given her the wrong impression? I may have been distant, even cold at times, but it was never out of malice. It was a defense mechanism, meant to hide my. . . my feelings.

Feelings that I hadn't been ready to face or address. Feelings that, now, I can't seem to ignore or suppress, regardless of how hard I try. I can't help but hope that she understands. That beneath my icy exterior lies a man who...admires her, respects her.

And more than that, a man who is desperately trying to keep his emotions in check, to keep from blurting out the truth - that this charade we're playing is more genuine to me than she could possibly know.

Lisa keeps walking, putting distance between us as she strides towards my parked Maserati. I can't let her think that I hate her, not when the reality is so drastically different.

"I don't hate you, Lisa," I growl.

Lisa rolls her eyes as she attempts to open her passenger door. "Whatever, John."

She says it in that tone she uses like she doesn't believe me, like she doesn't want me to know she cares.

I put my hand on hers and stop her from opening the car door. Then I reach out and cup her cheek.

"Look at me," I tell her. After what feels like forever, her honey eyes finally sweep up to meet mine.

"I don't hate you," I say firmly. "I couldneverhate you."

"Okay," she says softly.

I open the car door for her and she slides in, the scent of her shampoo filling the air. It's a light, almost tropical smell, a mixture of coconut and vanilla. I climb into the driver's seat and take a deep breath, trying to inhale as much as I can into my lungs.

As I slide the key into the ignition, the Maserati purrs to life. I pull out of Denise's driveway and onto the sun-dappled streets of Barton Beach. I glance over at Lisa, who's fiddling with the radio, her fingers dancing over the dials until the car fills with the soft strumming of a familiar guitar riff. "Have you decided where you want to go shopping?" I ask.

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