by Karina Halle
Regardless, I text Autumn: She’s on for dinner tonight. Sounds interested.
And then I set off for home.
But once I get to my house, everything seems cold and empty. I have to admit, sometimes the beautiful things feel the most hollow. Even though Alyssa’s apartment was tiny and messy, it was full of life and energy. It reminded me of the way I used to live, especially when I was in London and doing theatre. I was often alone, but never really felt it. Being around Alyssa in her space…even for a short amount of time, it felt strangely comforting.
Guilt comes for me again, as it often does when I look at everything I have.
I remember where I came from.
I remember everything I’m still looking for.
It’s time to pay Jimmy a visit.
Chapter 7
Alyssa
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jackie asks me for the millionth time.
I sigh into the phone, cradling it between my chin and my shoulder while I wash the dishes in the sink. “I’m okay. Really. Go back to having sex with your husband.”
Jackie laughs. “You know we were having plenty of sex before we got married. The whole purpose of sex on the honeymoon is to produce a baby and guess what, we’ve got a bun in the oven.”
“And how is that bun making the oven feel?”
“Tired, actually. Plus, the traveling has taken it out of me. And I’m totally showing now, I’m just not huge, so when I walk around in a bikini, people can’t tell if I’m pregnant or just extra fat.”
“You look extra beautiful and you know it. You better go enjoy that sunshine. And I better not drop this phone in the sink.”
“Okay,” she says warily. “But text me. I know this whole thing is so fucking bizarre and I really hope no one gives you shit at work tomorrow. If they do, tell them they’re fired. On behalf of Will.”
“Jackie,” I can hear Will playfully chastising her in the background.
“Ha, will do,” I tell her. “Talk to you later.”
It takes me a moment to dry my hands before I hang up the phone. Normally it’s Carla’s job to do the dishes but today I needed something to do.
I’ve cleaned the entire apartment.
Anything to keep my mind off of Emmett.
I even tried to listen to an audiobook while vacuuming but the dirty talk that the hero was spouting reminded me way too much of Emmett. Fucking hell, he’s like a book boyfriend come to life.
And I might be his girlfriend.
Fake one, that is.
Ever since this morning when my entire world was flipped upside down, I’ve been faced with a dilemma unlike any I’ve ever faced before. Basically, Emmett asked me to not only be okay with those photos, but to actually do more of them. Staged of course, but still. I’ll be purposely thrust into the sleazy limelight.
To my credit, my first reaction was no fucking way. I mean, I figured he had practically stalked me and came over to tell me that he was filing a lawsuit against Perez Hilton or something and was going to find out who took the photograph and beat his fucking ass down. But then he opened his stupid mouth and came up with a proposition only an immoral fool would consider. And while I may be loose with my morals sometimes, this was something that really shook the ground I stood on.
But then I started to think about it. Obviously this whole thing would benefit Emmett and I really couldn’t give a shit if I help his image or not. He seems to think there’s some conspiracy against him, like it’s totally unfair that the media is painting him a certain way when he is, in fact, a certain way. They’re just reflecting the truth.
Then he said it would benefit me. Money, plus anything else.
And honestly, I could use the money. My savings account is nonexistent, I’m tired of scrambling from paycheck to paycheck. I’m twenty-eight and I feel like I have miles to go before I’m an adult. I want something to fall back on, a sense of security in a life that increasingly feels insecure. Plus, I have dreams that are probably fruitless and futile but money could at least give me a shot at them.
Of course there’s also the curiosity factor. The excitement. I’m not really sure what else Emmett could give me and I wouldn’t feel right asking for it but when he told me I would be treated like a queen with him, a little thrill ran through me. Every woman dreams about being swept off their feet but the way things have aligned in my life, I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. I’ve just had a string of dates and short-term boyfriends who never really looked at me as more than just another person taking up space.
Does that make me epically shallow, the fact that I’m considering all of this just to feel special and doted on? Maybe. But for the first time in years, I’m actually excited about something.
I sigh and look around the apartment. It’s spotless. When Carla gets home from her shift, the place will be fit for a queen.
It’s not long before six-thirty rolls around. I’ve spent a good hour getting ready, spending way too much time on the dress, hair and makeup, trying to look just right. I keep telling myself it’s because I want to look good for his publicist–who knows why–and that I rarely go on fancy dinner dates. I tell myself everything in order to pretend I’m not looking good for him.
See, I’m an expert at faking it already. And especially to myself.
When the buzzer goes off, I practically jump out of my skin. I grab my purse and hurry over to the intercom.
“Hello?” I say into it, hoping I don’t sound nervous.
“Hey sunshine.” God, even through a crackly speaker, his voice sounds sexy. I swear, I’m getting a little wet just hearing it, like it’s some sort of automatic reaction.
I clear my throat, ignoring the heat between my legs. “I’ll be right down,” I tell him. Then I take a moment to compose myself and get my hormones under control. I swear to god, earlier today I was so close to pushing him back on my bed and taking off his pants. It was so bad, I could barely look at him. Every time I met his eyes I was hit with a pang of desire, like a punch to the chest.
Not that looking elsewhere helped. His body in that shirt was just…there are no words. All I wanted was to grab hold of his arms and shoulders and climb him like a monkey. Then there was all the lewd and crude dirty talk coming out of his mouth and I was practically melting on the spot. There was a war inside me, a bitter battle between my brain and my vagina and I know next time my vagina might be the victor. I can already see the victory dance. Very similar to a touchdown but it results in an orgasm.
Ugh. I should have just had sex with him. Gotten it out of my system…again. Now if I actually end up going through with this crazy plan, sleeping with him has to be taken out of the equation. It’s one thing to be paid to be someone’s girlfriend. But when sex enters the question…no thanks. That going into pretty dicey territory.
You haven’t agreed to anything yet, I remind myself. Just go out for dinner and make your decision later.
I nod at my internal pep talk and go out the door.
Emmett is waiting outside the lobby. Of course he looks amazing, slightly more dressed up now. Jeans, a white button down shirt, skate shoes. Casual and completely fuckable all at once.
Shut up vagina.
“You look beautiful,” he says to me and for once his eyes don’t leer at my breasts.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the compliment as coolly as possible. Just because he said I look beautiful, doesn’t mean I need to swoon.
“Trying to impress me?” he asks as he starts toward an Audi, its silver sheen gleaming under the sun.
“I knew you were going to say that,” I tell him. “I was tempted to show up in what I wore this morning, just to prove a point.”
“Go braless? Best decision you ever made. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you did that for me too.”
“I didn’t even know you were coming over. You’re the crazy person who stalked me and showed up at my door.”
“Persistent as a mosquito,” he says as he opens the pass
enger door for me. “After you, sunshine.”
I snort and slide on in. Obviously my nickname is an ironic one.
“So where is this Autumn?” I ask him as I casually glance around the car. It’s really fucking nice. All black leather interior, walnut trim. But I can’t let him know I think that.
“At the restaurant already,” he says, starting the engine. It purrs like a dream. When he starts driving down the street, I’ve got that thrill going through me again like a rogue wave. I’m nervous and I’m excited. Just to be in a car like this, with a guy the world is talking about, off to some fancy restaurant. Maybe being his pretend girlfriend wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Maybe it would just be a lot like this.
As if he can hear my thoughts, he turns to me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I say, my eyes fixated on his hand on the gear shift, his tanned, muscular forearm, the white shirt sleeves shoved up to his elbows.
“Why did the concept of money make you change your mind?”
I swallow, feeling a tad uncomfortable, even though I shouldn’t. It’s why I’m here. “Money talks, doesn’t it? Didn’t it buy you this car?”
“So that’s what you want? Cars? Designer clothes? Expensive shoes?”
I shake my head. “No, actually. I mean, those are all nice, though I doubt I fit into any designer clothes.”
“Baby, you have got to rethink your body issues.”
I give him a sharp look. “You just called me baby.”
“I did,” he says, grabbing a pair of aviator sunglasses from the center console and slipping them on. “You have a problem with that?”
He flashes me that stupidly handsome grin of his.
So of course, no, I don’t have a problem with it.
“Back to my question,” he goes on. “What do you need right now?”
“What do I need?”
“What will money buy you? This money. What are you looking for? We all have needs, we’re all looking for something. What do you think all of this will solve?”
I frown as I study him, wondering why he’s getting all philosophical.
“Is this some kind of test? Find out if I’m spending it on drugs or something?”
I expect him to laugh but he doesn’t. “I’m being serious.”
Well okay then. “I don’t know,” I say after a beat. “I’m working paycheck to paycheck. I have nothing in my savings. I feel like I’m just…surviving. Not living. I want to have enough money, or just some money, so that I can live for a while.”
“You mean not work?”
“No…I want to work. I just…”
“You don’t want the job you have anymore. You want to do something else.”
What is he, a mind reader? I rub my lips together. Definitely need some more lip gloss.
“You can tell me, you know,” he says. “Will is my friend but whatever you tell me, I’ll keep to myself. I know you don’t believe me but I don’t kiss and tell.”
Yeah right!
He reads the look on my face. “Okay, so sometimes I do. But whatever is between us, I’ll keep between us. You have my word, Alyssa. It’s good for something.”
I sigh, not willing to trust him yet. “I just need money.”
I can tell he’s not satisfied with that answer but he lets it go. “Well, don’t we all. But we haven’t even started negotiating yet. What if it’s not enough? What if it’s more than enough?”
“We’ll find out soon then, won’t we.”
The drive from my apartment in East Van to the restaurant is long, especially during rush hour. I wish I could say it was easy and comfortable between Emmett and I but I would be lying. All I could think about was his hands on the steering wheel and how they felt to grip me–strong, assertive and yet desperate. His fresh, herbal scent didn’t help either, it just added to the growing sexual tension between us. How on earth was this even going to work? I mean, really. What the hell was I doing?
But once we arrive at the seafood restaurant, things get down to business.
Emmett takes my arm like a gentleman–even though I know he’s anything but–and leads me toward the entrance where a tall, slim woman is waiting near the hostess desk.
Once she sees us together, she gets up, a big smile on her face.
Fuck. This must be Autumn.
She is absolutely gorgeous. Dressed in a short white shift dress that shows off her bronzed limbs and gleaming golden hair. Teeth as white and straight as a toothpaste commercial (gotta be veneers). Minimal makeup and a scattering of freckles across her nose. A fuchsia, velvet Gucci tucked under her arm.
In my flowy black maxi with flutter sleeves, my cheap sandals and straw clutch, I feel frumpy as hell. Any progress I thought I made earlier with my makeup and hair has suddenly evaporated next to this Giselle Bündchen clone.
They’ve got to be screwing. In fact, as I see them both together, they look like a match-made in heaven, the Canadian version of Brangelina, pre-crazy break-up.
“Autumn, this is Alyssa,” Emmett says to her.
“So nice to meet you!” she exclaims and damn it, she has that throaty sex voice too.
“Likewise,” I lie. Okay, I’m already being unfair about this woman and I just met her. I have to remind myself to give her a chance.
The hostess takes us over to a table, situated in a low-lit corner by the windows overlooking the water. The place isn’t overly swanky but from the fact that I recognize a hockey player and a news anchor, I know it’s got to be expensive.
Both Autumn and Emmett sit across from me at the table and suddenly I feel like I’m being inspected like a prize cow.
While Emmett takes care of the ordering, getting a bottle of wine for the table and some kind of tataki appetizers, Autumn studies me with bright eyes. I can just tell this whole idea is some form of entertainment for her, that Emmett and I are puppets on a string.
“So, Alyssa,” she says, folding her hands in front of her. Long slender fingers adorned with sparkling rings. “I’m sure you have many questions for us about the whole deal and we’re here to answer them all to help you make the best decision possible.”
I glance at Emmett while she’s saying this. He’s watching me, rather warily I might add, and I realize he has no real idea what I might say or do.
“Okay. I’ve only heard it from Emmett so let’s hear it from you,” I tell her. I was prepared for her to give me a speech but instead I just barrel on and throw questions at her. “How the hell do you think him dating me is going help his career? Do you really think people care that much about who he dates, enough that it influences the work that he does? He’s a grown man…well, a grown man-child,” Emmett frowns, “and I would think his own personal life should have no bearing on his professional one. I guess I just don’t get any of this. How is it so important that you’d be willing to spend money on someone like me?”
Autumn laughs and I detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. Good. She should be prepared to answer this shit. “Wow, you are thorough. But that’s good. It’s great. And I totally hear you on this, which is why we’re all here right now. This doesn’t have to be so complicated. But let me just tell you, I’ve been working in this business for ten years. My father was a PR man and he took me under his wing. He was in charge of Bryan Adams, among others.”
I roll my eyes.
“You don’t like Bryan Adams?” Autumn asks in a hush, as if saying it out loud will result in us getting kicked out of the restaurant.
“Have you heard the lyrics to Run to You?” I ask her.
Emmett laughs out loud. I wish he didn’t have such a nice laugh, it makes my heart positively buoyant.
I push the feeling away. There’s no place for feelings here.
“Fair enough,” she says. “I guess in some ways he’s like Emmett here. The country thinks he’s a good boy when he’s got that bad boy side to him.”
“Are you seriously comparing this guy,” I point at Emmett,
“to Bryan Adams?”
“Hey,” Emmett says, his blue eyes flashing. “I can sing, I’ll have you know. You can’t survive in London theatre without being able to.”
I can tell my comment bothered him and I’m just petty enough that it makes me happy. The man’s ego can definitely use a few rounds in the ring, that’s for sure, and there’s something rather appealing about pissing him off. Like, if I actually do become his fake girlfriend, I foresee three months of getting under his skin. That alone might be worth it.
“Anyway,” Autumn says, glancing between the two of us like she’s just realizing what she’s dealing with, “my point is that I’ve got experience and I know the ins and outs of the industry as well as how it plays into public image. And I know this might surprise you, but the way an actor is perceived in public definitely has an impact on how his career goes.”
“I don’t know, Sean Penn has a terrible attitude and he’s done just fine.”
“But Sean Penn is established. He’s won awards. He has a lifetime of work behind him and more in the future. And when he was going through his worst, he was with Madonna…she was an easy scapegoat for the blame. Simply put, Sean Penn is well-respected, no matter his past behaviour.”
“And I’m not?” Emmett questions gruffly, twisting in his seat to give her a steady look.
Just then the waiter appears with the wine, distracting us all. I’m watching Emmett closely though. Again, I’m seeing his sore spots. He brings up the London theatre because he feels it gives him credibility even if not fame. But the fame he gets is from playing a dweeb on one of Canada’s cheesiest shows (and that says a lot) and a superhero villain. Not exactly respectable material. It’s like there are two sides of him, one that wants the respect, the other that wants the fame. And so far he’s been unable to have both at the same time.
I think I’m starting to understand this man a little bit more. Even though I probably shouldn’t.
When the wine has been tasted and poured, Autumn raises her glass to me. “Let’s make this toast to Alyssa. Thank you for being gracious enough to hear us out.”
