by Remy, Cate
Deacon lifted an eyebrow. “Something keeping you from traveling?”
Tracy thought about her aunt, who needed weekly dialysis treatments. She usually drove her to her appointments. If she wasn’t in town to do them, then she’d either have to arrange for her aunt’s transportation or ask her sister to pitch in a little more. Tracy felt a pang in her chest. She hated the idea of leaving her aunt. But ninety thousand dollars was a hard deal to leave on the table. It would take care of her aunt’s medical bills, plus she’d have more than enough left over to pay her rent and bills.
Deacon rested his chin in his hand. “You look like you’re deep in thought.”
Tracy refused to meet his eyes. She didn’t see the point of telling him about her aunt. He was unhindered, one of those creative, free spirit types. He was also a guy who seemed used to getting what he wanted. He wouldn’t understand. “I’m just thinking about what this all means if I agree to it.”
“It’s all legit. You’ll get the money and have all your expenses paid.”
“No, I mean, this is strictly a pretend relationship, right? We’re just acting for the cameras and your fans. Nothing...physical.” The last word trailed off in a half-whisper. Her face and neck were on fire as she waited for Deacon to catch her meaning without her having to go into broader detail.
“Nothing like that,” he responded quickly, almost too quickly. “We may have to fake a quick hug in public or a peck on the cheek. Just junior high stuff, you know?”
“Not really. I didn’t date in junior high.” Or high school, and she didn’t date that much in college, either. But she wasn’t about to give out all that information. She heard how loud Deacon could project his voice. His laughter would be no different.
“You’re funny.” His face beamed in triumph. “So you’ll do it?”
She conceded. “Like you said. It’s a good deal.”
“I wish all women were as easy as you. I mean, easy to talk to and reason with.” He cleared his throat and took a drink of water. “Cheers.”
Tracy raised her glass to his. The waiter came back with their orders. He set the linguine down in front of Deacon and the chicken parmesan in front of Tracy. “Alright, folks, tell me what we’re toasting to tonight and I’ll bring out a bottle of something worth raising a glass to.”
“New beginnings.” Deacon winked at Tracy. “And success.”
She set her glass down and tried to look as pleased as he did. She hoped she put on a good front because she was going to do plenty of acting for the next several months.
After dinner, Deacon drove her back to Peachtree Records so she could get her car. He left the engine idle in his Alfa Romeo while he parked in the lot. “Dinner was good.”
“It was.” Tracy unbuckled her seatbelt, fumbling with the latch. Nervousness made her throat dry. The after dinner mint she just swallowed felt stuck in her throat. “Thanks for introducing me to Giada’s.” She looked over and realized he was furiously typing out a text on his phon. “I should get going. You look like you’ve got more plans for the evening.”
He pushed send before sliding the phone back into his black jeans. “I just sent a text to Ash about our agreement. He’ll stop by in the morning with the legal stuff for you to sign.”
Tracy cleared her throat. She didn’t think about the potential contracts and legal mumbo jumbo she’d have to get into. Then again, Deacon was about to invest ninety grand into their off-the-wall agreement to be pretend boyfriend and girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he want her to sign a binding contract? She’d do the same if the roles were reversed.
Except the roles would never be reversed. She couldn’t imagine asking him or any guy to go on a bunch of fake dates with her. However, she wasn’t a rock star with an agenda. She was a struggling twenty-two year old college grad with a truckload of student debt and an aunt who needed better healthcare. She needed Deacon’s money. So zip it with the hypocrisy, she told herself.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You get still and really quiet. You did it a couple times tonight at dinner.”
She snapped to attention and gave Deacon a casual smile. Was it the least bit convincing? “I was thinking about how I wanted to do the upcoming photo shoots. Sometimes it gets me lost in thought.”
“I get that way, too, when I’m writing new songs.”
“Must be something all creatives do.”
“Maybe.”
Tracy opened her door. “See you later.”
He gave a quick wave as he reached in his pocket for his phone again. She shut the door to let him have his privacy and so she could get to her car without saying sillier, awkward things.
Before she could make it to the door of her car and hit the unlock button on the remote entry, she heard his car engine thrum before he zipped out of the parking lot.
Chapter Four
At seven the next morning, Tracy heard a knock on her studio apartment door as she waited for the coffee maker to start brewing. Was maintenance there about the water leak in the bathroom sink again? “Just a moment,” she called across the twelve foot space between the door and her little kitchen.
“It’s Ash,” Deacon’s manager called from outside. “I’m here with the papers.”
Already? “I’ll be there in a sec.” She set her coffee mug down on the folding tray next to the kitchen counter that served as her dining table and breakfast nook. She went towards her closet and grabbed a rumpled hoodie from the basket of clean laundry she didn’t have time to fold and put away. She threw the sweatshirt over her tank top and looked for a pair of jeans to change into from her owl-printed pajama pants.
“It’s starting to rain out here.” Ash’s voice sounded impatient.
“Coming.” She snagged a pair of shorts from the closet floor. They looked ridiculous with the oversized hoodie, but she figured the owl pj pants would leave a less favorable impression.
No time to take her hair down and style it. She tied a scarf around the braids she wore to bed last night. It wasn’t the classiest ensemble, but it was going to have to do since Deacon decided to send his manager to conduct business first thing in the morning.
She opened the door and invited the manager in. “Don’t mind the mess. I was about to do some editing this morning.”
Ash stepped inside and waited in front of the door while she cleared the foldout sofa of computer and camera equipment. He remained standing even after she transferred the items to the already loaded bookshelf by the bed. “Deacon already signed the contract. All we need is your signature.”
Tracy plucked a pen from a cup on top of the bookshelf. “Ready.”
Ash took a sealed envelope he tucked beneath his arm, opened it, and presented her with a slim document containing a bunch of neon sticky note arrows. “Sign your name next to the arrows.”
She sat down on the couch with the contract in hand. She pushed her glasses higher on her nose as she skimmed the first several paragraphs. The legalese was enough to give her a headache and she hadn’t had her morning coffee yet.
Ash tapped his fingers on his cell phone. “If you need me to explain a term, I can. The contract is just a long statement of everything you and Deacon verbally agreed to last night.”
“No need.” She didn’t want Deacon’s manager in her cluttered apartment any longer than he did. She caught him frowning at the coffee mug on the folding tray. Tracy signed her name next to the arrows on each page before handing the contract back. “Now what?”
“That’s it.” He tucked the contract into the envelope. “You’ll get a copy mailed to you tomorrow.”
“And the money?” She felt uncomfortable asking, but it was the only reason why she agreed to any of this.
He made his cell phone disappear in his suit jacket. “I already wired the first forty-five grand to your bank account while you were reading the contract. You’ll get the second half in another couple months, provided how successful this idea turns out to be.”
“Sounds fair.”
He turn
ed to leave. “I’ll tell Deacon you’re good to go. He’ll see you at the studio tomorrow for more in-house photos.”
The coffee maker beeped as it finished brewing. Tracy got up. “Do you want some coffee? I have to-go cups.”
“I only drink Italian Roast.” Ash closed the apartment door behind him when he left.
She picked up her phone by the coffee maker and checked her bank account. Sure enough, the forty-five thousand dollars was there, bringing her account well out of the overdraft danger zone. She breathed as weeks of pent-up tension flowed out with her exhale. She filled her mug and then dialed her aunt’s landline.
“Hello,” Auntie Olivia answered on the third ring. Tracy heard the vacuum cleaner in the background.
“It’s me.” She raised her voice to be heard over the noise.
“Hold on one moment, sweetie. I got to turn this loud thing off.” There was rustling as Auntie Olivia set the phone down. Moments later, it was quiet on the other end. “Alright, Tracy, I’m back.”
“Auntie, why are you vacuuming? You’re supposed to be resting after your doctor’s appointment yesterday.”
“I slept all night. I’m fine. This house isn’t. You should see the dog hair Kissie shed on the floor.”
Tracy giggled as her aunt’s Chow Chow yipped in the background after hearing his name. “Well, let someone else deal with Kissie’s hair. I’m going to call a maid service for you. Sit down and relax.”
“A maid service? That involves money.”
“It’s no problem, Auntie. I...got an advance from my new job.” She chose her words with care.
“From the music photography job you texted me and your sister about?”
Tracy forced out a simple yes. If her aunt knew the details of how she came to get that money, she would be so embarrassed. “It pays well. I want to treat you.”
“You don’t have to do that for me.” Her aunt could be so proud and stubborn.
“But I want to. Just sit down and put your feet up. Pretty please?”
“Just this once, though. I don’t want you spending all your hard-earned money on me.”
“You took care of Candace and me when we were kids. You deserve it and much more. Don’t argue with me.”
“I won’t this time. Thank you, Tracy.”
“You’re welcome. I’m going to ask that maid if you sat down and put your feet up while she was there.”
Auntie Olivia giggled. “I’ll have her take a picture of me and Kissie on the couch and send it to you. How’s that?”
“I just might hold you to it. Bye, Auntie. Love you.” Tracy got off the phone and searched the internet for a maid service in her aunt’s area. She scheduled an appointment for the service to come within the next hour. Then she searched through her phone log and called one of the medical bill collectors with whom Auntie Olivia still owed thirteen hundred dollars. She toggled through the automated menu to get to customer service.
“Sun Dialysis Billing Services,” an operator answered.
“Yes, I’d like to take care of a balance in full.” It felt so good to say that. Tracy decided to concentrate on the feeling rather than the uncertainty that crept in the background of her mind, always questioning whether this Pretend Girlfriend of Deacon thing was a good idea.
THE NEXT MORNING, TRACY put in her two weeks’ notice at the Jumpy Java Coffee Shop. She managed to talk to her supervisor into letting her work a flexible shift during her last days
“I’ll be sad to see you go, Tracy, but I know that you have to move on,” her supervisor said. “What are you doing at your new job?”
Tracy refrained from telling her exactly what her new job entailed. Being a paid girlfriend sounded icky and sketchy. “I’m going to be a photographer for a band.”
“Wow. Congratulations. I know photography is what you really want to do. I’m happy for you.”
She smiled, wishing that being a full-time photographer was her real job instead of being Deacon’s arm candy. Make that fake arm candy.
She went into her new job at Peachtree records later that afternoon. Perhaps today she could take pictures for the band’s website. She found Deacon waiting outside of one of the recording studios. “Hi.”
He nodded and proceeded to study her from head to toe. Tracy grew uncomfortable. “Something wrong?”
“We need to start thinking about your style.”
“My style?”
He pointed to her sneakers. There was a dirty smudge at the tip of the white rubber toe. “You’re a photographer for Deacon Wonder, not some no-name indie band. You have to step it up. Do you like heels?”
Tracy shook her head. “I am not wearing heels while I’m taking pictures. You know how hard that is?”
“Understood.” He put his fingers to his chin as though contemplating. “You can save the heels for our date nights.”
She got a tickle in her throat and coughed. “What?”
“Pretend date nights. Come on.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Let’s get you a new wardrobe. You can borrow the band’s stylist.”
“Wait.” She put a hand on her hip. “I’m not sure I want to do this.”
“Do what, get new clothes? I thought most women loved shopping.”
He was pushy and he made gender stereotypes. Deacon sounded like a sure winner. “If I’m going to be taking pictures of the band, I need to have a wardrobe that’s functional.” She proceeded to explain why. “That means jeans and shirts with room for me to move my arms. If you want me to go to a formal event with you, I don’t mind wearing dressy clothes. Otherwise, it’s not a good for me to change my everyday wardrobe from head to toe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She didn’t smile at his joke. “No heels while I’m taking pictures.”
“No heels. Got it. The least we can do is get you a pair of clean sneakers.”
She bit her tongue to keep from saying something snarky in reply. Her second day at work and already she was getting into it with... was Deacon her supervisor now, technically? If so, this was shaping up to be a rocky day on the job.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Maeve my stylist and ask her to bring clothes here for you to try on.”
“Here? At Peachtree Records?”
“Why not? There’s a ladies lounge on the fifth floor where you can change.”
“You’re serious about this wardrobe thing.”
“Hey, can you tell me your dress and shoe size?”
Her hands and face grew warm at the idea of giving him personal information. She mumbled something in reply to him and kept going for the elevator. “I’ll be on the fifth floor.”
She expected the stylist to take a long time. She was wrong. In less than an hour, a chic woman with short blonde hair and legs that stretched for miles below her mini skirt came charging out of the elevator, pushing a full rack of clothes. Deacon came out of the elevator behind her, pushing another rack.
“Hi, I’m Maeve.” The stylist extended a manicured hand towards Tracy. “Deacon said you were looking to expand your style so I brought a few things from my studio.”
Tracy stole a glance at Deacon. “Was that what he said?”
Maeve folded her arms and tilted her head to study Tracy. “You’re right, Deacon. She is very casual in her dress. Almost boyish.”
Tracy huffed at the comment. “There’s nothing boyish about this body.”
“I have to agree with her,” Deacon added. She noticed that his eyes went to where she had her hands on her hips. Promptly, she dropped them at her sides. “Maeve, Tracy and I are going out tonight. Let’s see some dresses.”
They were going out tonight? This was a surprise. Tracy had no intention of mimicking Maeve’s style, especially not those two-inch long skirts. “I like my dresses to hit at the knee or lower.”
Deacon scoffed. “What are you, eighty? We’re going to Tap Rocket, that new restaurant, to see one of my friends in town. You need something modern to wear.”
“I’m not a doll you can dress.” She turned her attention to his stylist, who was already rummaging through the racks. “I don’t wear anything short or tight.”
Maeve exchanged a look with Deacon. “Your girlfriend is clear on what she wants.”
Tracy stiffened at the title of girlfriend. She narrowed her eyes at the two of them. She made sure Deacon saw her expression. Why did he and his team of people seem to always speak about her as though she were not in the room?
The stylist gathered four outfits in her arms and nodded for Tracy to follow her. “Go into the lounge and try these on. I’ll be standing at the front in case you need me. Deacon will wait out here so you can model for him.”
She was supposed to model for him? She watched him smirk as he sat down on one of the overstuffed couches and made himself comfortable. Tracy clamped her mouth down so hard in the attempt to bite back her growing anger that she bit the inside of her jaw.
She went to the lounge and tried on the first garment on top of the stack Maeve left on the table. It was a short and slinky black tube dress with no support. The fabric stretched so thin that Tracy could see her hand through it. She didn’t even bother to try it on. Next was another dress. While it was a little longer and not so stretchy, the spaghetti straps looked dangerously dainty. She was sure to have a wardrobe malfunction within minutes. Nope.
She came across a blue dress next. This one appeared to be classy with a fitted waist and A-line skirt. She changed out of her clothes to put it on.
Deacon sat up when she came outside the lounge. He regarded her before shaking his head. “Way too basic.”
“I like it,” she insisted. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you’re going out for drinks with a politician. The place I’m taking you tonight is urban and trendy.”
“There are plenty more outfits for her to choose from,” said Maeve.
Deacon looked at his smartwatch. “We don’t have much time before we have to be there. I saw a red top and gold skirt in the stack of clothes you gave her, Maeve.”
“Ah, yes. One of my newest designs. I think the color red will look great on her, especially with the brown in her hair.”
