“You’re actually serious.”
“Yes, I am. Can you really say no to me when I’m naked and serious?” he asked archly. I shook my head.
“No, I can’t. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ll marry you. For real—or for fake, I guess.”
“It’s better than real—it’s all the benefits, none of the drawbacks. Because we’re not in love and not trying to make it work forever, there’s no pressure. No resentment or hurt feelings or fear about the high stakes commitment. Just friendship and sex. I get a better image, you get an improved living situation, and we have each other. Thank you, Abby. You won’t regret it. I’ll be an excellent fake husband.”
Chapter 7
Josh
I waited until morning to call my agent and publicist. I let them know I was engaged to the girl I’d rescued and told them to set up interviews. I had my assistant call Harry Winston for a selection of rings and made an appointment for us to go choose one together. I called Abby to check with her about it.
“Tonight’s okay to choose a ring, right?”
“Wait, are you asking if it’s okay with me if you take me to some fancy jewelry store and let me pick out the ring I want you to buy me? Yeah, I think that’s fine. Thanks for clearing it with me. My schedule is so full of appointments with other men wanting to buy me engagement rings,” she joked.
“Is six-thirty fine?”
“Yes!”
“My assistant can set up the movers for this afternoon. They can pack your stuff and bring it over here.”
“No way! Do not pay movers. I don’t have that much after the fire. I can toss it in a few boxes, and I have a friend with a truck. We’ll bring it over before the ring appointment.”
“Okay, if you insist. But it’s no trouble to hire the movers, I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather do it this way. And thank you for caring how I want to handle things,” she said almost bashfully.
“You’re welcome. My fiancée.”
“That sounds so weird,” she said.
“Maybe don’t say it’s weird in the interviews,” I suggested, and she laughed.
I wanted to take care of her, to take care of everything, but I respected that she had to make her own decisions. I’d just never been with a woman before who patrolled her independence like that and didn’t want me to swoop in with my money and influence and fix her problems. I loved being a problem solver for the people I cared about. So stifling my protective instincts took a minute. I wanted to stake my claim, which sounds arrogant, but I also wanted to make her life easier, to show her the benefits of being with me. That I was thoughtful. I genuinely wanted her to be happy and successful.
So I went to a meeting with the studio heads about my contract with Caitlyn at my side. She argued that the last film in my three-movie deal should be my choice, that I’d done two top-grossing buddy comedies where I dropped my pants and walked into lampposts. Melvin, who had brought me on board with the lucrative deal three years ago, shook his head.
“You wanna go to Sundance, do it on your own dime. This is a business. You know that, Cait. And what makes money is what you do best. So get back in your workout routine, because I’ve got a script coming your way. Your character inherits a business and can’t do anything with it. Your impulsive, well-meaning but stupid decisions threaten to drive it into the ground until hot-shot consultant Jennifer Lawrence comes on board to save the day. She gets the business back on track, assigns you a role where you can’t do any damage, and learns to loosen up and have fun by going bowling with you.”
I sighed. “At what point do I take a crotch shot or have to shower on camera?”
“There’s a shower sex scene where you slip and fall and hit your head, and she takes you to the ER. It’s hilarious. Before that, at the bowling alley, you take one in the nuts from some kid who lets go of his ball.”
“Do I have to be so stupid I nearly ruin the business?”
“Yes. That’s why it’s funny. Plus, the feminists will love it because the girl saves the day, and the man is incompetent. Female audiences love this formula,” Melvin crowed.
I nodded. It was my job. Caitlyn shrugged, “All right. Let us know the timeline, and we’ll see what his schedule looks like.”
“You’ll see, Josh. I’ve been in this business for a long time. It’s the perfect role for you. If it’s as successful as I think it will be, we’re looking at a sequel. Possibly another three-film deal.”
“Thanks, Mel,” I said, shaking his hand.
As we left, I asked Caitlyn why she didn’t mention the engagement.
“You’re only attached to this project. Once we break the news in a big way, he may reconsider. Either put you on a different film or change the balance of power in this one.”
“No one is going to believe I have to bail out Jennifer Lawrence because she’s dumb.”
“Obviously, but you know that rewrites happen. This could effectively change the direction of your career. Particularly with your track record of box office hits and your contract with the studio coming up, you’ll be in a good position to negotiate for more creative control. Produce one of the three projects, dictate the type of film or a costar on a second, and let the studio pick on the third—that sort of deal.”
“That would be great.”
“Then go forward with the plan. Good luck tonight,” she said.
“Thanks, but I don’t need luck. I have everything planned out. As soon as Abby gets to the house with her stuff, I’m whisking her off to the jeweler and then a private dinner where I’ll propose. We’ll do the interview that’s scheduled day after tomorrow. But tomorrow there’s going to be a brief press release stating that I’m engaged, no further details. The publicity office really thinks that’s the best way to whip up enthusiasm for the interview.”
“Has Abby agreed to this?” Caitlyn asked.
“Yes. I’ve spoken to her about all of it. I wouldn’t spring this on her. She knows there’s a media blitz involved. That getting attention and changing my image is the point of this.”
“Good. Make sure the two of you are on the same page and stay that way. I know she’s signing a nondisclosure, but we don’t want this to spin out of control and backfire.”
“It won’t. We’re friends. We have a deal,” I said.
“Is it at all alarming to you that you just said the most naïve thing I’ve heard in my twenty-five years in this business?” she asked.
“No. Because you’re naturally cautious. That’s a good thing. I’m an optimist. If I weren’t one, I’d still be waiting tables. So that’s why I pay you to look out for my interests. I can afford to be hopeful.”
“I’ll allow it, but be advised, that was some idealistic bullshit you just shoveled. If you tell me she’s different, or she’d never hurt you, I’m going to send your ass to rehab.”
“I don’t take drugs. Nothing stronger than Tylenol.”
“No honey, in my business, rehab is where we send you to cover for your bad decisions. Made a racist remark? He’s going to rehab—it’s alcohol. Left his pregnant wife to party with hookers? He’s going to rehab for sex addiction. Thought some girl was different from everyone else on the planet? Rehab for mental illness, code word exhaustion.”
“There’s an entire language in your line of work that I’d rather not know. Thanks for everything, Cait. I’ll talk to you after the interview.”
“Right. Try to stay smart, Josh.”
“I will,” I said. “I’m not stupid. I just make millions pretending to be.”
“Keep it that way,” she said grimly.
I was home in my Spanish-style villa up in the hills by four and changed and ready by five. I wanted to welcome Abby to her new home. The cook had made us a fruit plate and some sangria for a snack, and I was eager to see her. Ginger, one of my assistants, had helped the housekeeper move stuff out of the second walk-in closet in the master bedroom, so she had plenty of space. I a
lso had my stylist send over some things for her because she really hadn’t taken time to restock her wardrobe.
Security texted to let me know Abby had arrived and been admitted through the gates in a Toyota pickup. I stood out front, waiting for her, two of my staff beside me ready to carry her boxes. As the truck came to a stop, I realized who was driving her. This was not the best friend Sara and her boyfriend. This was the ex-boyfriend to whose house I’d delivered her after the fire. The man she’d been with for two years. The man she slept with before me. I felt my fists clench at my sides but gave a determined smile. I went to the truck and opened her door. She stepped out laughing. She leaned back into the truck to say something that made both of them laugh. It felt…wrong. It felt horrible, in fact. I wanted him gone. As far as I was concerned, he could drive off with all of her boxes and never look back. I’d get her new things. Hell, I already had. She didn’t need her old things and sure as hell didn’t need an old boyfriend bringing her to my house. To our house. She was engaged to me, and I’d offered to have movers deliver her belongings. But no, she had asked Wyatt’s help—not mine.
He was her ex. As in former. He was supposed to be left behind. It was revolting to me that he would be any part of this. That he would be part of her new life. I didn’t want his truck in my driveway or his boots on my porch. I didn’t want his fingerprints anywhere on my fiancée.
I was surprised by the instant rush of jealousy and ownership I felt. Maybe Caitlyn was right. Maybe I had fed her a line of bullshit. What I felt right then was not a friend watching another friend unload boxes; it was a man watching his woman with another man.
I cleared my throat. “Abby, let Martin and Danny get those,” I said, referring to my staff.
“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” Wyatt said.
She shrugged and hopped off the tailgate and joined me. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed my cheek and then handed a big tote bag and her laptop bag to Martin. “Thanks,” she said.
“I’ve been waiting for you. Did you have any trouble?” I asked.
“No, we just wasted a lot of time reminiscing, you know?” she said.
That, my dear, was the wrong answer, I wanted to say.
“Really,” I said flatly.
“Yeah,” she said. “We’ve known each other ever since I moved out here. So we have a lot of history. And it seemed fitting that he drove me out here to start the next chapter, you know?”
“If you think so,” I said guardedly. I did not think so.
“Hey, Abs, catch,” Wyatt said as he suddenly threw a basketball. I dodged to keep from being hit in the face, and Abby laughed and caught it.
“This was over at his place. I guess I’d left stuff over there through the years. There was a time when I decided I was going to join the basketball league at the studio where I was a script supervisor. He was going to teach me to play. Then I remembered why I was on the newspaper in school and not a sports team. I’m slow. I’m uncoordinated. I don’t like to sweat.”
“We got sweaty last night, and you didn’t seem to mind,” I said. She colored and shot me a look that said she wasn’t pleased with that remark. I smiled. Two could play at this game.
Wyatt carried a few boxes to the front steps. I nodded to Danny, who picked them up, and Martin went around the truck and got the last box.
“Come on in,” Abby said to Wyatt with a smile.
“We don’t have time, honey. We have plans for the evening.” I turned to Wyatt. “But I really appreciate you going to all the trouble to come out here,” I said, taking out my wallet and peeling off a fifty, offering it to him. He shook his head and took a step back.
“No,” he said. “It’s cool. See y’all later.”
Abby elbowed me as he got in the truck and drove off.
“Did you really just refuse to let him come inside?” she asked.
“What? I offered him a tip. There was no reason for him to come out here when I offered to hire movers. And we do have plans. We have an appointment at Harry Winston in an hour.”
“You offered him money. You were smug and condescending, and you acted like an ass, Josh. I didn’t think you were like this.”
“In the house, please,” I said, steering her indoors where there wouldn’t be any risk of our being observed or overheard.
She stalked inside and kicked off her shoes. “I can’t believe you acted like that. Do you even get that you were rude to him? And to me?”
“I was being gracious. When someone performs a service, they should be compensated. Don’t you tip at restaurants?”
“He didn’t ‘perform a service.’ He was helping me out. And you wouldn’t even let him come in! That is so disrespectful. Am I not allowed to have anyone over? Do I need to spend my days sitting here admiring you and stroking your ego?”
“No. Your friends are always welcome here, Abby.”
“Well, Wyatt is my friend,” she said, and she was seething. I could see the tightness around her mouth and hear the strain in her voice.
“No, Wyatt is your ex-boyfriend. He isn’t your friend. Just because I’m on amicable terms with former lovers doesn’t mean I would ever invite them into our home. That would be disrespectful to you. I wouldn’t expose you to a situation like that where you felt uncomfortable or insecure.”
“I’m not insecure. Evidently you are,” she snapped.
“I’m confident that my behavior was appropriate. If you disagree, that’s your opinion, and you’re entitled to it. But don’t call me an ass and snap at me like I’ve committed a crime. I’m not going to sit out on the terrace and drink sangria with some guy you used to fuck.”
“That’s lovely. Very rational, not defensive at all. Way to prove you’re not insecure,” she said with an eye-roll. “And I won’t be drinking sangria or anything else with you after the way you acted.”
“He does not belong in this house or in this relationship.”
“This isn’t a relationship. It’s fake, Josh. We both know that, which makes it more pathetic. You were jealous that your fake bride rode up to the hills with her ex. We didn’t do anything, but it doesn’t matter. That kind of crap isn’t going to fly with me. I’m your fiancée for the purpose of convenience. You didn’t buy me at an auction, so don’t expect to be my master.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Abby! I’m not acting like I own you. I’m holding you to the terms of the deal. Two years. No hint of impropriety or cheating. Nothing that casts suspicion on our perfect love story. You laughing and wasting time with your ex is exactly the sort of thing you agreed not to do.”
“Really? So I can’t laugh? Or talk? Or get a ride with one of my oldest friends just because we had mediocre sex and a relationship? If we’re not talking to our ex-lovers, I wonder how you can have a conversation at all, considering how many women you’ve screwed in Hollywood!”
“Don’t go there, Abby,” I warned. “First of all, many of the women you’ve seen me paired with at premieres and events were orchestrated by my publicist. Those weren’t personal relationships. I’m on good terms with my exes, but there are not many of them. When I was first out here, I thought I was in love. She was older, glamorous, this very talented and famous actress. She broke my heart, I told you. After her, there were a couple of other industry people, but I quit dating actresses before I even signed on for Say It with Flowers. I’m not nearly as promiscuous as my publicity team would have you believe. It was good for my sexiest man image supposedly. For example, the room you were in last night? The club packed with beautiful people, industry A-listers? I have never touched a single one of them. So don’t get on your high horse with me about socializing with ex-lovers. You’re far more guilty of that than I will ever be.”
I didn’t like disclosing all that, but for some reason, I felt like I needed to justify myself. I didn’t want Abby thinking I was a fuckboy. The whole situation was uncomfortable. I wanted to turn it around, get her to see reason and go to the jewelry showroom for our appointment
. But by the looks of her expression and posture, that wasn’t a possibility. She was truly pissed off, and she acted like it was all my fault.
“So you’re the Virgin Mary?” she said. “I don’t think proclaiming your innocence at this point is going to get you anywhere. I don’t care if you’ve slept with two hundred people or just me, it doesn’t excuse the way you treated Wyatt and the way you treated me!”
“You shouldn’t have involved him!”
“He is involved because he’s my friend. Get that through your head!”
Angrily, Abby stomped off, cursing.
I heard a door slam. Then the lock clicked into place. She had locked herself in a guest room. That could mean anything. Either she wanted time to calm down so we could discuss this reasonably, or she wanted to get cleaned up for the jewelers, which seemed unlikely. Maybe she was planning to leave in the morning and never come back. It could be over. The deal could be dissolved before I ever put a ring on her finger. I raked a hand through my hair, pacing back and forth. Then I changed and got on the treadmill for a run to clear my head. Crowding her would be counterproductive. I was angry and embarrassed, and a run might help with that. If nothing else, it would keep me away from her door for a few minutes and give us both some space.
Chapter 8
Abby
What was I supposed to do? Happily skip into his home like nothing was wrong when he’d just insulted one of my oldest friends? Okay, so maybe bringing Wyatt up here wasn’t the best decision I’d ever made, but the way Josh acted—like a lion with a thorn in his paw or an alpha male whose territory got peed on by a rival—was way over the top. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him an ass. Maybe he shouldn’t have acted like an ass. I sat on the bed, dejected. I scrolled through my social media feeds then looked at my calendar.
I saw the appointment pop up that his assistant had shared with me. We were supposed to meet privately with a rep at Harry Winston to choose an engagement ring. My stomach ached at the thought. We’d had a stupid fight. What if it ended with a stupid fight? I had to draw a line in the sand about the way he could treat my friends—not like they were servants he could dismiss. But we had to figure out how to be together. There were bound to be bumps in the road. I kind of hoped he wasn’t going to kick me out of his palatial Spanish villa because I talked back to him. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who was so insecure he couldn’t stand an opposing opinion, but until half an hour ago, I would’ve said he was way too confident to be threatened by an old boyfriend driving up.
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