by Magan Vernon
“Mature, Instagram model,” she muttered with a grimace.
I pulled out her chair, and as she sat down, I leaned in, putting lips to her ear. “An Instagram model and the porn star. What a pair.”
She gawked as I went around to my seat at the other side of the table. So it probably wasn’t the best strategy to open with that, but Mary wasn’t leaving. Just as I thought. Everyone else played into her ego, and if I did the opposite, it kept her intrigued.
“You’re a smartass and talk a big game for someone who is supposed to be working for me.” Mary smirked, leaning in closer so I could see down her shirt. If she thought her tits were going to be a distraction, she was right.
“It seems to me, that you’re the one who needs me. You’re the one needing PR, and my agency sent me to meet with you at this way-too-pricey place for appetizers for dinner. I bet these empanadas are made from store bought crust even,” I said, waving my hand over the open menu.
“Would you prefer we go to McDonald's? You can take a selfie with your Happy Meal and post it to Instagram,” she quipped.
“If we’re going that far down this block, we should probably head to Starbucks for some soy, non-fat venti lattes. We could take a joint selfie with our drinks and be hashtag blessed.”
She smiled slightly, leaning in and putting her head in her hands. “I don’t know whether to laugh or leave right now.”
I shrugged. “Hey, if you wanna go, I’ll follow. Maybe we can find a street vendor with some decent empanadas, too.”
She opened her mouth then closed it again as my phone loudly buzzed in my blazer pocket.
“Is that a social media ping or are you just happy to see me?” she asked as the waiter came to the table.
“Sorry,” I grumbled, pulling my phone out to see another missed call from my mom.
Mary asked the waiter for some kind of wine I’d never heard of, and then he left without even looking in my direction.
“A new follower?” she asked, raising her meticulously arched eyebrows.
“No, just my mom.”
“Mama’s boy?”
“Funny.”
She waved her hands. “Talk to your Mom. I really don’t mind. It’s just a meeting between two Instagram celebrities here. Maybe someone will get a picture of us, and we’ll be all over Total Celebrity Network. Be better press than I’ve had in a while,” she muttered.
“I don’t want to do that,” I said, about to put my phone back in my pocket, but it buzzed again.
Before I could press ‘ignore,' Mary’s hand was across the table, snatching the phone from my hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, widening my eyes as she smiled, unlocking my phone and putting it up to her ear. “Chris’s phone. This is Mary.”
The smile widened on Mary’s face, showing a set of pearly white teeth that I would have found gorgeous if I wasn’t completely mortified that this woman, and client, was on the phone with my crazy mother.
“Yes. I’m out to dinner with your son now. He was just telling me we should get empanadas somewhere else.”
“Give me the phone,” I mouthed, putting my hand out.
She just leaned back in her seat, shooting a wink in my direction. “Empanadas at your house? Well if you say you make the best ones, then I’ll definitely have to try them. Abuela’s birthday party this weekend, you say? That could be fun.”
I waved my hands in the air. “Abort! Abort!”
What the hell was this chick trying to do to me? Was this payback for my snappy retorts earlier? Shit, now she had to get my mom involved.
“Okay, Mrs. Garcia. See you Saturday,” Mary said before hanging up and sliding the phone across the table.
“She was disappointed it wasn’t you at first but seems pretty stoked that you’re finally bringing a girl home for your abuela’s birthday party. What do I wear to that anyway?”
An idea struck me that there was no way in hell she could say no to at this point.
“You know, this is the perfect way to revamp your image.”
She raised an eyebrow as the waiter sat her glass of red wine down then scurried away. “What? Mexican food?”
I shook my head. “No. A fake relationship. You and me.”
She laughed, taking a sip of her wine. “Us? No one would believe that in a million years.”
“Why not? An attractive Hispanic boy from Jersey and the Manhattan princess. Everyone loves a reverse Cinderella story.”
“Are you calling yourself Cinderella?”
I shrugged. “Hey, I’m just rolling with the idea. Unless you have something better?”
“You’re the PR person.”
“And your new boyfriend,” I said with a wink, grabbing my phone and tilting it, getting a picture of her chest and wine glass.
“Did you just seriously take a picture of my tits?” she clucked.
“Watch and learn.”
I added a filter and put the photo on Instagram with the word #tapas under it.
“Now get a picture of me. Just my hands and the restaurant menu.”
She pulled her phone out of her fancy purse. “That’s weird, you know.”
“Trust me.”
She rolled her eyes before snapping a picture then I grabbed her phone, opening up her Instagram app, posting the picture with the same hashtag.
“What the hell is the point of this?” she asked with a heavy sigh.
“Just refresh your app.” I smiled, looking down at my phone to see my photo already had one-thousand likes and a lot of questions about who the girl was.
Mary eyed me skeptically before looking down at her phone. “Holy shit. Do people have nothing better to do than stare at social media?”
She faced her phone toward me with already triple my likes on her photo and questions like “whose hands?” “I love that restaurant!”
“So what happens now, Mr. Publicist slash boyfriend?” Mary raised her eyebrows.
“I say we enjoy these expensive appetizers, and then we go from there,” I said with a smirk.
“This may be the most unorthodox first date I’ve ever had,” Mary mumbled before the waiter took our orders and left with a nod and skeptical eye.
“I’ve had worse. You should see the girls my aunt has tried to hook me up with.”
“Couldn’t be worse than the guys I’ve dated,” she muttered, taking a big gulp of her wine.
Her phone buzzed, and she almost spit out her drink, covering her mouth as she held up the device. “Holy shit, my bodyguard just texted me that people are now lining up outside the restaurant, cameras, and phones in hand.”
“People? Here? And I didn’t know you had a bodyguard outside,” I said, looking behind us at the windows that, sure enough, had people staring through and a burly looking man in all black, who I swore looked familiar, holding some of them back.
“Why wouldn’t I bring my bodyguard? You never know what kind of people are hanging around. And besides, what if my first date with my new boyfriend went sour?” she said as I turned back to her.
“Okay, so I wasn’t expecting all of that to happen…with those people out there.” I tugged on my tie. I thought we’d get some social media love, but I didn’t think those people went past their computers and phones to actually show up at the restaurant.
“Please. This is how it works. You’re now famed, Instagram model. Get used to it.”
I took a sip of my water and looked in the reflection of the silverware on the table. Somehow, I got myself into one hell of a mess with a client, and if I screwed it up, I’d lose my job, my reputation, and who knew what else.
Now I just had to make sure none of that happened, for better or for worse, I was famed.
Chapter 4
Mary
For being a fake boyfriend, at least Chris wasn’t bad looking.
He definitely looked like the type of guys I would go for, except they usually had a bigger bank account and job.
It’s not like an
y of my relationships had been normal lately.
Our agents completely staged my meeting with Eddie. Murray told me Eddie would be at the Teen Scene awards and we’d be presenting together so I should introduce myself and comment on his style. Somehow, that worked, and I ended up with the guy for over two years.
Though I should use “with” lightly.
Eddie cared more about his work than he ever did me. Though we were both famous in our own rights, I never felt we were equal. That I was always second, Hell, the third tier to his career.
And all of the songs he wrote. The ones about the girl next door and the girl getting away. I knew sure as shit that none of them were about me and when I did a little internet stalking, it wasn’t hard to find his former neighbor Brooke, who according to TNC, they’re now dating and living together in some small Texas town called Friendship.
If that wasn’t a blow to my ego, I don’t know what was.
Now I had this attractive publicist, sitting across from me and nibbling on egg rolls, and I was supposed to be pretending we had some sort of a relationship.
Not that he seemed like a bad guy or anything, but after being burned, it was hard to ever think of anything real happening again.
“Are you ready to head out?” I asked Chris in the middle of some small talk that I wasn’t even sure what we were talking about anymore.
“Oh. Um. I haven’t paid yet,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
I waved my hand. “It’s done. They know me here.”
His mouth gaped open. “If this is a date, I should be paying.”
“This is the 21st century and New York. I make a hell of a lot more than you do, so I’m paying,” I said, standing up and throwing my purse over my shoulder.
“Fine. Then I’m getting dessert.”
“Dessert?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering how long I’d have to get my ass on the treadmill to burn that off.
“Yeah. You didn’t think I’d end our first date this early did you?” He put his hand out.
“What’s that for?” I looked down at his outstretched hand.
Grabbing my hand, he pulled me toward the front of the restaurant. “Come on, Princess.”
“Wait. You know, I usually take the back door.”
“We can talk more about your love for the back door, later,” he said with a laugh, which caused a few tables to stare at us.
“Wait!” I yelled, and he finally stopped and turned toward me.
“What?”
“You can’t just drag me out there like some Neanderthal. This has to look natural. Like we want to be here together.”
He smirked, taking a few steps forward and closing the space between us. “Do you want to be here with me?”
I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. I hadn’t been this close to him yet, and instead of smelling like overpowering cologne, he had a clean scent to him. Like fresh laundry and soap. There was something comforting that had me want to bury my face in his jacket and inhale all of him.
“We don’t have much of a choice now that we’re Instagram official, do we?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.
He moved his hand to my lip, running his thumb along my now trembling flesh. “We can do whatever you want. Fake relationship or not, but I think the best thing to do is walk out that front door. Hand in hand. Let the press see those pictures. Get them talking.”
I nodded because my mouth felt too dry to speak.
“Now do you want me to hold your hand, or put my arm around your waist?” he asked, putting his arm out.
I reluctantly took his hand, and he intertwined our fingers, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “We got this.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d exited a restaurant to be mauled by paparazzi and fans, but it was definitely Chris’s first time, the way he stopped like a deer in headlights. I tugged on his hand as we stood just outside of the restaurant, but he didn’t move. It was as if he was afraid that the crowd wouldn’t part for us.
Instead of tugging and forcing him through, I turned toward him and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him to me and pressing my forehead to his. I wanted to scream through gritted teeth for him to move, but instead of being able to do any of that, he took my movement as another sign. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly against him before his lips sealed mine.
I’d kissed a lot of guys. For, you know, the acting career. And I was pretty good at faking a kiss when it was subpar or that I was interested in someone.
But with Chris, there was no faking anything, and I found myself gasping in surprise as his warm tongue briefly met mine, teasing me as he smiled beneath our kiss.
I should have pushed him away or broke the kiss, but instead, I found myself melting into him, my body pressing against his as I fisted my hands in his hair.
“Okay, lovebirds, let’s break it up,” my bodyguard’s deep voice bellowed, knocking me out of possibly the best kiss of my life.
Chris gave me one last peck as if he was leaving his stamp on me before reluctantly pulling back, but keeping his arm around my waist.
Every part of my body was acutely aware of his touch, including my aching core.
Jesus, when was the last time I had real sex that wasn’t grinding for the camera and a PG-13 TV show?
My bodyguard, Brian, ushered us toward a waiting black sedan and opened the door, both of us sliding in the back before Brian got in the passenger seat next to the driver.
“You sure know how to make an exit, Mary,” Brian’s deep voice bellowed, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “And so does the new guy. Thought you were meeting with some new PR guy from Tate & Cane, not Mr. GQ for PDA.”
Chris smirked. “I am the PR guy and Mr. GQ. Or you can call me, Chris.” He stuck his hand out, and Brian turned around to shake his hand briefly.
“Brian Graciano. And the driver, here, is Lance. Didn’t know that Mary was mixing business and pleasure now and would like to keep informed of this so next time we aren’t ambushed.”
“No problem. Here’s my card. Send me a text, and I’ll get your number to text you about our plans beforehand,” Chris said, smoothly pulling out a white card from his wallet and handing it to Brian.
“We can take you both home now. Let me know where to drop you off, Chris,” Brian said, practically barking. The guy definitely wasn’t impressed with the new fake boyfriend. Not that he was impressed with anyone I dated and the guy had high standards, even for someone who was still dating my driver.
“Wait! I promised Mary dessert. Can’t go anywhere without that and then I can take the train back to Brooklyn,” Chris said coolly, obviously not rattled by the Italian beefcake with the shaved head and full tattooed sleeves.
“We can call in reservation somewhere. Make sure no paparazzi are around, or if you want them there, give us fair warning,” Brian grumbled the last part.
“You know what? No reservations. How about you just drive us to Brooklyn? There’s a vendor I know. Well, more of a guy on a bicycle. Best granitas you’ve ever had,” Chris said, putting his hands out as if he was reading the words off a billboard.
Brian snorted. “You’re serious? You want to take Mary to a street vendor?”
“Not just any vendor. The best granitas on either side of the river. Whatta ya say, Mary?” Chris asked, nudging my side.
I couldn’t remember the last time I ate dessert or really anything that wasn’t from a five star restaurant or prepared especially for me. If I really did have this princess reputation, and the porn star one, maybe going with an average guy to a street vendor in Brooklyn couldn’t hurt my reputation any more than it already was.
I shrugged as much as I could with Chris’s arm still around me. “Sure. Why not.”
Chris smiled, putting his arm out. “To Brooklyn.”
Chapter 5
Chris
Why I suggested granitas with Mary, I’ll never know. Maybe it was because my dick was still threatening to jump out of
my pants from a kiss with the girl and I needed to cool off.
This was supposed to be a fake relationship for publicity, but when she bit down on that bottom lip, and I felt her mouth on mine, there was no faking anything, at least on my end.
Maybe because she was an actress, she had the part down, so I knew I couldn’t count on anything with her.
This was a job. The next step in my career, but I was at least going to have some fun while we were at it.
“This is the guy. Right up here.” I pointed out the window as Miguel Santos stood next to the little silver cart attached to his old bicycle. There was a little sign attached to the rusted cart that his daughter made, advertising the different flavors of granitas and a little boom box sat on top of the cart, playing some salsa music.
“Are you sure about this place?” Brian asked, gaping out the window.
Lance, the driver, laughed, shoving the guy’s arm as he pulled into a parking spot. “Like this doesn’t remind you of our old neighborhood in Queens. Back when your Nanu used to give us a dollar and a note, so we could go down to the bodega to get him his smokes. The day that old bastard died was one of the happiest days of both of our lives,” Lance said, his voice way higher than the brooding bodyguard in the passenger seat did.
“Times have changed,” Brian grumbled.
“Come on,” I opened the door, sliding out then turned to Mary, putting my hand out.
She did the same upper lip curl the first time I saw her, and I was afraid she’d get in the car and get the hell out of there, but instead, she took my hand and leaped onto the sidewalk.
An announcer said a few things in Spanish over the radio before a Carlos Santana song started playing. I could recognize his guitar riffs anywhere, even if he was doing work now with different R&B stars.
“Music like this gets you moving, doesn’t it?” I asked, turning my back toward the cart and moving my feet to the beat.
“What are you doing?” Mary raised an eyebrow, Lance and Brian giving the same quizzical looks as the followed behind us.
