Mister Fake Fiance

by Lee, Nadia

  Must be the lack of scratches, I think, feeling a little better. Then I realize I have no clue how to set it up so it has my number and everything. I should’ve mentioned something when I ordered it, but it slipped my mind. I huff out an annoyed breath. I’ll have to go into a store to get that done.

  I grab my purse and leave. Then I recite the mantra I’ve lived by since my mom’s death: Be a clam. A silent, mysterious, impossible-to-get-to-know clam that never opens its mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Erin

  On the off-chance that there are still some annoying reporters hanging around, I take the garage exit to reach the cell phone store a block away. It’s virtually empty, just a few clerks chatting. They straighten up and say hello.

  I approach one and ask her to set my phone up with the number I had before, then fill out my information so she can verify that I’m not some phone number thief. Then, while she’s configuring my new device, I look around the store, slightly bored.

  A few minutes later, the clerk says, “It’s ready.” I start to turn toward her, then freeze as a fashionably dressed redhead walks by outside the window, holding a small girl’s hand.

  The hawkish nose and thin lips… Those hooded eyes.

  Katrina?

  I blink. It’s her. Has to be. My heart rate jumps, and I crane my neck to see better. She laughs at something the little girl says, and they look at each other warmly.

  I start to go out of the store, then stop. Part of me is tempted to run after her…and ask what she’s doing here. She’s part of my past that I wanted to leave behind in Saintsville, not confront again in L.A.

  But a well-dressed man opens the door to a black Escalade, and she and the girl slip into the vehicle. The man goes around to the driver’s seat, and they’re off.

  I stand there frozen, watching them vanish through the store window. Katrina and I don’t have anything nice to say to each other. And why do I care that she’s in L.A.? It isn’t like we’re going to have tea and catch up.

  The last time she spoke to me was when she wanted a favor to help her family business. I told her I couldn’t help. She got really mad and said terrible things. The wound still hurts.

  “You think you’re so special because of your daddy, but think again, Erin! The second you start acting like your mom, nobody’s going to care about you, not even your own father!”

  I shiver, then shake myself to throw the memory back where it belongs—in the past. But there’s a mean, petty part of me that’s bitter; she seems so happy with a husband and a child.

  It might not even have been Katrina. Just somebody who looks like her.

  Still… That doesn’t lessen the pain in my chest.

  “Ms. Clare?” the clerk says.

  Forcing a smile, I turn and take the phone. The call log is flooded with my dad’s number—I don’t need to have the contacts restored to recognize it. He also texted half a dozen times.

  –Unknown: What are you doing???

  –Unknown: You know he’s just playing with you.

  –Unknown: Your boss doesn’t know you.

  –Unknown: Isn’t he a playboy?

  –Unknown: He’ll leave you when he knows the real you.

  –Unknown: It’s not too late. Warren knows the news wasn’t your doing.

  I see texts from another number.

  –Unknown: I’m worried about you. David Darling doesn’t know you like I do. I don’t want to see you get hurt.

  Must be Warren. I start to put the phone away, but it starts ringing. David said his mom was trying to reach me yesterday, so…

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Erin, thank God!”

  I tense up immediately. Warren.

  “I was worried when I couldn’t reach you,” he continues. “Your dad said he couldn’t get in touch either. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I say stiffly. Hearing his voice after seeing somebody that could’ve been Katrina is making me feel worse. They’re reminders of happier and more innocent years…and the painful end to that phase of my life.

  “I can’t believe David Darling! Is he serious about marrying you? Does he even know everything?”

  Every question makes me bleed. I grit my teeth.

  I want to snap at Warren, tell him that David isn’t some shallow douche, but something stops me. Seeing Katrina—or whoever that was—is stoking my fear. She was sweet and nice too. She’s the girl I shared my dreams with while giggling under the sheets at sleepovers, the one I joked around with and told my secrets.

  Then she changed. It happened when Mom died, and Katrina learned that I could end up like Mom. Every word I shared with Katrina came back to cut me. My dreams and secrets were openly mocked and laughed at.

  The saddest and most frustrating thing is that I don’t even know precisely why she turned on me the way she did, when witnessing Mom’s public breakdowns hadn’t bothered her enough to end our friendship. It’s like a switch got flipped inside her, and the only thing that mattered was that she didn’t want a weirdo like me around.

  David isn’t an immature teen, but that doesn’t mean he won’t change the way he views me. I can’t bear the thought of it.

  “It’s really none of your business,” I say finally.

  “So you haven’t told him. I knew it. Erin, you need to rethink this. He doesn’t know you like I do. He won’t care for you the way I do—”

  Resisting the urge to throw my brand-new phone against the wall, I hit the red button to end the call, then block his number. I can’t listen to him anymore. It hurts too damn much.

  Warren wasn’t lying when he said he cares about me. He cares about the pity I’m going to elicit. He cares about the contribution I can make to his career. He cares about how good it’ll look when he doesn’t abandon his mentally and emotionally deteriorating wife.

  But I don’t want that. I want what I just saw outside—a normal, happy life. Katrina—or her lookalike—seemed so content, walking with her child and a husband who dotes on her. And I’d bet money that the man she’s with isn’t with her because an eventual mental illness is going to help him.

  I accept that that’s why I proposed the fake engagement to David. It wasn’t about my dad or Warren or the reporters swarming around me. It was about my selfish desire to have something normal for a while, even if it’s make-believe.

  The skin around my eyes grows hot, my nose stuffy. Shit. I’m about to cry.

  Tightening my jaw, I blink away the tears and sniff. Don’t want people staring or whispering. I had enough of that back home.

  Remembering what David said about his mother trying to get in touch, I find her text.

  –Unknown: Regarding the party, what would you like to have? Any allergies or special requests? We’re very flexible.

  Sniffing again, I start typing that I’d love some of those brownies that David raves about, then I stop. I shouldn’t—it’s a step toward opening up. People think that sharing a favorite food or making jokes isn’t intimacy. And they’re sort of right, but those things lead to more. With food comes conversation. Jokes that can make you laugh. And when you laugh with people, you feel safe with them.

  I just want to be perceived as normal…as long as possible. That means not letting anyone in too deep.

  Inhaling, I delete the text and start over.

  –Me: I’m really not picky. Anything will be fine. Thank you for asking.

  There. The perfect answer. Distant but polite, so she can’t complain about it. But part of me is dissatisfied and sad that I can’t give her or anybody the kind of openness and warmth they deserve.

  I take a moment to compose myself and gather my thoughts. This is only for three months. As long as I’m careful, it’s going to work. I’m going to have the ordinary, normal and happy experience I want, and I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.

  I stick my phone into my purse and head to the bar to join David and the team.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven />
  David

  I wouldn’t normally say yes to a happy hour on Wednesday. Not after Gerry humiliated us and his disgraceful behavior is the biggest gossip topic at the water cooler. Sure, everyone’s whispering, but voice volume doesn’t correlate to interest level.

  Matt and HR are going to look into the incident, but only because Gerry said it was just a big misunderstanding. But since I can’t stand the sight of him, he’s on unpaid leave for a week until everything is sorted out. We’ll know for sure once we get the security video from the bar. If it really was a misunderstanding—yeah, sure—we’ll give him the back pay.

  But everyone in marketing worked their butt off for the presentation. Even though we haven’t won the Ivy Foundation contract yet, it’d be unfair to take away their reward just because of Gerry’s behavior.

  Plus Erin did really well, and I want her contribution recognized. She’s come a long way since she started working for me two years ago.

  My phone beeps.

  –Mom: Okay, you have to help me. What’s Erin’s favorite food?

  –Me: I thought you were contacting her about it.

  –Mom: I did, but she’s being overly circumspect. She’s going to have to be more demanding if she’s going to join this family.

  Hmm. Erin can be a bit reserved. It took me a while to get her to smile and relax when she first started working for me.

  –Me: Why don’t you tell her that?

  –Mom: Because it’ll be easier if you just tell me! Plus it’ll be a fun surprise. I want to be a great mother-in-law. And that means being nice to your fiancée. The relationship starts early, kiddo, even before the wedding.

  Mom’s excitement comes through the text. And I feel like a shitty person because I can’t help her. Despite the fact that Erin and I have known each other for two years, I honestly have no clue what she likes. I’m pretty sure it isn’t what she’s been baking and feeding me. But at the same time…

  I think back. Erin almost never expresses a preference one way or another. She just smiles and says she’s okay with anything.

  –Mom: Well?

  I can’t tell her I don’t know. But at the same time, I can’t lie about this. What if she plans the menu according to what I say, then it turns out Erin’s allergic to something? Mom’s going to wonder why I didn’t know. Even if she doesn’t suspect it’s because our engagement is fake, she’ll scold me for being oblivious.

  Must—fix—this.

  –Me: She really is okay with whatever.

  –Mom: Ugh. You’re as bad as she is, which I suppose is why you two are together. Fine. I’ll figure something out. But do ask and let me know if she’s craving anything, you hear? I just need a day’s notice to shop and whip it up.

  –Me: OK, will do. Love you.

  –Mom: Love you back, hon. Send my love to Erin too.

  I smile at how her farewell now includes a line for Erin, then put the phone back in my pocket and head for the bar.

  The place isn’t overly busy. It’s still too early and it’s the middle of the week. I spot my people grabbing drinks. Erin’s here too, giving the bartender a polite, reserved smile as she takes a glass of wine from him.

  The sight makes me stop as I finally figure out something that’s been bugging me for the last few hours. It isn’t just that she avoided meeting my eyes today. She gave me that exact same smile all day. Which is weird, because she wasn’t like that yesterday. Or the day before.

  What changed?

  Cora said a woman has to feel pretty comfortable with a guy to ask him to buy her that time-of-the-month stuff. So doesn’t that mean Erin feels comfortable with me?

  I don’t like it when women swing hot and cold. It’s confusing, and I don’t like games. Except Erin never struck me as the type to play that kind of thing. Very different from Shelly—she liked to mess with me from time to time, saying that it kept things “interesting.”

  I grab a whiskey and walk up to Erin. “Hey,” I say, determined to figure out what’s going on. It’s important, more than I care to admit. And combined with the gratitude in her eyes earlier, everything about her attitude is making me restless and agitated.

  “Hey,” Erin says.

  There’s that same bland smile. Ugh. “Everything good?” I put a hand at her back.

  She moves away smoothly. I wouldn’t have noticed anything was wrong if she hadn’t stiffened under my palm. Before I can react, she sits primly at the scarred wooden counter, her knees and ankles set side by side, then shoots me another smile that’s about as exciting as saltines. “Yes,” she says. “I got a new phone set up, no problem. I also responded to your mother.”

  No problem, my ass. I’m not dumb enough to trust that smile. I might not have any sisters, but I grew up with four female cousins. Plus Mom.

  What Erin gave me isn’t the smile of “it’s all good.” It’s the smile that means, “Nothing’s good, but I’m not going to tell you just because…and it’s up to you to find out if you care to exert yourself.”

  “Nobody bothered you about…you know.” I swing a finger back and forth between us because I can’t think of another reason she’s being so odd. Although people at the company are discreet around me, she’s not me. Some might insinuate things that aren’t true—like how she slept her way into her position.

  Erin doesn’t deserve that kind of smear. She worked her ass off—and not in a pornographic sense—for every raise, every bonus and every favorable performance evaluation.

  “Nope.” The smile stretches on her face. If it goes any wider, she’ll rip something. “Not at all. All good.”

  Translation: You’re not even close to the mark. Nice try, though.

  This is frustrating! But losing my cool isn’t going to make her tell me the truth. “Well. That’s nice to know,” I say with a fake smile of my own, then knock back the rest of my drink in exasperation.

  Before I can place the empty glass on the counter and signal for another, two arms wrap around mine like vines. “David! I had no idea you’d be here!”

  Every cell in my body freezes at Shelly’s overly bright tone. I yank my arm out of her grip. “Don’t touch me.”

  “But David!” Her gaze darts to Erin, then back at me. “Is it because of her? She’s just your assistant,” she says snidely.

  A smooth blankness comes over Erin’s face. It’s the expression that says she’s going to distance herself emotionally from the situation before anything can hurt her. Jan used to do exactly the same thing when she was younger.

  Okay, now I’m getting angry. I didn’t say okay to happy hour to have some kind of other-woman drama unfold. And I don’t want Erin’s feelings hurt. She’s worth a thousand times more than my shitty ex.

  “She isn’t just my assistant, Shelly. She’s my beloved fiancée. Haven’t you read the news?” My words are extra hard.

  She laughs, the sound grating. “But they’re just tabloids! They’ll say anything to make a buck.”

  “Sort of like a woman who’d sleep with someone to get a job. Or lie to the media to cause trouble.”

  Red blotches Shelly’s face. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Warren Fordham said he and Erin were like this!” She crosses her fingers. “Practically engaged. They almost got married. They’re probably going to marry soon.”

  “Over my dead body.” I snort. Then I sense Erin trying to slink away. No way!

  I reach over and thread my fingers with hers, feeling the ring against my skin. I raise our linked hands and kiss the back of hers. Her palm flinches against mine, and a small gasp escapes her lips.

  “David,” Erin whispers, torn between embarrassment and something else I can’t quite pinpoint.

  Shelly’s staring at me like I’m a monster. Then her gaze lands on Erin’s ring, and a killer rage fills her eyes. “You gave her that?”

  “Uh-huh.” Is that petty satisfaction surging in my gut? I like it. A lot. “It’s a Masako Hayashi original,” I explain, determined t
o pour a metric ton of salt over the wound. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  “You bought her a Masako Hayashi original?” she shrieks.

  People’s gazes swing toward her. “Why don’t you say it a little louder? I think there might have been some people out in Palm Springs who didn’t hear you.”

  “But you bought her—”

  “You’re screeching like this over a ring? You must want to make the tabloids, too.”

  Erin’s palm is twitching against mine. I pat her hand to let her know I got this.

  Shelly’s chest rises and falls. “It’s not just a ring!”

  “True. I plan to give her much more than this. A mansion here in L.A. A nice vacation home, maybe in the Hamptons. Children.” I lower Erin’s and my hands, but don’t let go. “Now listen, Shelly. This is a company event. And you weren’t invited. So get lost.”

  Even Shelly’s cleavage is bright red now. “How can you talk like that? You’re humiliating me in front of everyone.” Tears instantly glitter in her eyes.

  She must’ve taken some acting courses. She couldn’t pull that off so easily when we were dating.

  People from the company are craning their necks now. But I’m not going to stop. If she thoughts tears would affect me, she thought wrong. I don’t give a damn about her anymore.

  “David, we’ve known each other forever. Doesn’t that mean anything? I need you now. As my man, not my friend.” She reaches for me again.

  This time I’m ready. I pull away before she can grasp my arm. “Go back to Seattle, Shelly. I’m not interested in anything involving you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Erin

  David stands and walks away from his ex, pulling me along with him. Shelly’s gaze pierces me from behind, but I ignore it. She betrayed David in the worst way possible by sleeping with another man while they were still dating. She doesn’t deserve him. I would’ve been disappointed if he’d weakened at the sight of her tears. I hate people who cry to get what they want, and I hate it even more when others buy the transparent act.