He rolled off to the side, staying close but not so close it made critical thinking difficult. “You’re right. I’m not waiting for marriage. If that night in Chicago didn’t make that clear.” His throat moved when his eyes found mine. “I’m waiting for you.”
I felt my eyebrows knit together. “I just said I’m ready—”
His head shook. “Not for that.”
“Then for what?” I asked, sitting up on my elbows.
His mouth opened, but a sigh came out of it instead of words. “That night, I didn’t really know you. Or I guess you could say I knew enough to realize I wanted to get into bed with you, but I didn’t know you. The real Hannah Arden I’ve spent the last three months learning about.” He shifted on the bed, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “That girl I was content to share a night with, no expectations, no conditions, no commitment—but the girl beside me now, I want more from. I need more from.”
My leg slid out from beneath his. “What more do you want?” My voice was cool, encroaching on cold, as I digested what he was implying.
“I want you to know exactly how I feel about you,” he said, his eyes reading a rare innocent. “And I want to know exactly how you feel about me too.”
“I care for you. But you already know that.”
“The woman I met in Chicago deserved more than a one-night stand from some guy afraid of commitment. That woman deserves everything a man can give her.” His forehead creased. “I need you to know that while I care for you, I feel so much more, Hannah. The word catches in my throat every time I try to say it, but you know what that word it is. You know how I feel about you.”
When his hand reached for mine, I couldn’t move to accept or reject it. Instead, my hand rested limply in his, as though the bone and muscle had dissolved from inside.
“And even though I might not deserve it, I need to know if you feel the same.” The words stuck in his throat, his eyes closing in an attempt to free them.
“Don’t, Brooks. Don’t say it.”
I didn’t know if he heard me as he finished. “I need to know if you love me.”
A bolt of ice shot down my spine. That word.
In every other context, the L word was my purveyor of hope and happiness, the pillar of my profession, but coming from him . . . on this night . . .
“I told you not to bring that up. I made you promise you wouldn’t pressure me with such a loaded word.” My hand came back to life, yanking out of his as I shot up from the bed.
“Wait.” He blinked as he sat up on the bed. “You think this is still about some stupid job? That everything I’ve done, everything I’ve just said, is part of some master scheme to score a promotion?” With the look he was giving me, it was as though I’d just sentenced him to death by a million paper cuts.
But truly, how could he not consider I’d arrive at that conclusion if he brought up the love word? Brooks was neither dumb nor naïve. Not to mention, I’d warned him no fewer than a dozen times never to push me to confess certain feelings or to assign designations to our relationship; not until this whole Romance Versus Reality circus was behind us.
“Last I checked, you hadn’t bowed out of the running for the job.”
“Look around you. There are no cameras. No spectators to prove anything to. It’s just you and me and the moment when it’s time to define exactly what this is.” His finger circled the room as his voice grew. “I’m able to put into words how I feel—I just damn well did. Now it’s your turn.”
My feet carried me farther from him, not sure if I wanted to throw a bottle of perfume at his face or myself at him. He was saying everything I wanted to hear . . . at precisely the worst possible time.
“No cameras?!” A burst of air exploded from my mouth. “Maybe not tonight, but there sure as hell will be cameras tomorrow. Cameras catching every moment of our last date together, and on the other end, millions of viewers will be ready to cast their vote as to who proved their point.”
He inhaled slowly, as though he were taking his time to gather his thoughts. “This, us”—his finger motioned between us—“has nothing to do what any of that.”
“No, Brooks, this has everything to do with that.” My arms crossed when my vision blurred. “You’re here because of the job and the show and because you’re Mr. Reality trying to prove to the world that you’re right.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s what brought me here, but that’s not what’s kept me here.” His hands clasped as he stared up at me. “You. You’re what’s kept me here. My feelings for you are what’s kept me here.”
“Kind of convenient this is all coming to light the evening before the show’s finale, isn’t it?”
His brows lifted. “I thought it was a better time than bringing it up tomorrow night.”
“Unbelievable. You promised you wouldn’t do this to me. You swore—”
“Do you love me?” he cut in. “It’s my turn to ask a question, and this is the one I’m asking. You know the rules—be honest, no bullshit.” His neck rolled as he searched my eyes. “Do you love me?”
Tears burned in my eyes as I backed away. “Veto.” When his head fell, a heavy breath falling from his lips, I added, “I knew you’d save the worst question for last.”
“The worst for last? Is that really what you think of me confessing that I love you and wanting to know if you feel anything close to the same for me?” His voice broke toward the end, the pain carved into his face so real it almost convinced me.
But I remembered he was playing a part, an actor reading a script. This wasn’t real. The man I’d fallen for wasn’t real. His professed love wasn’t real. Not even the ball in his throat was.
But my broken heart, my tears, were very real.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” My head shook as I started for the door, grabbing my sweater. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think you actually cared for me in a way that extended past your career ambitions.”
“Hannah!” He shot up from the bed, coming after me, but he stopped when I gave him a warning look. “I don’t give a fuck about the job or proving my point or whatever else you think this is about. I care about you. I love you.”
The words rebounded off of me, feeling cheap and hollow. “Liar.”
“What am I lying about?”
“Loving me.” I forced myself to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t fair. A man shouldn’t be able to appear so convincing when he was lying. “You don’t believe in love, remember?”
I didn’t wait for whatever his reply might have been, because as soon as I slid into my shoes, I was out the door, Dean falling into place a step behind me. As I noticed quiet tears creeping down my face, I felt this unfamiliar sensation deep in my chest. As though something inside was being torn apart, a little at a time.
Maybe love really was a big sham. A façade only the naïve fell victim to. What the hell did I know? I was the woman who’d gone and fallen for the very last man on the planet I should have.
This was almost over with. All of it. The show. The cameras. The stress. Him. In a few hours, I could file it all away in the history compartment.
The viewers would be the ones to decide who’d proved their point, but on the off-chance Mr. Reality was voted the winner, I had a plan. One that involved handing in my resignation to the World Times first thing Monday morning and looking for work elsewhere. Preferably far enough away I’d never have to run into Brooks North on the sidewalk in passing.
A frown was all I was capable of as I stared at my reflection. The red formal gown the studio had sent over for the big finale made breathing, not to mention walking, a challenge.
When the knock on the door came, I sucked in as much a breath as the stitching would allow, then checked my teeth to make sure I didn’t have any red lipstick splashed across them. That would be my luck—to be remembered as the lipsticked-teeth girl who wrote about romance and love and was responsible for proving them dead.
My lasting legacy.
Stuffing my phone into the small clutch, I headed for the front door, repeating to myself that the sooner this got started, the sooner it would be over.
“The car’s downstairs waiting for you, Miss Arden.” Dean stepped aside to make room for me, having exchanged his standard dark suit for a tuxedo.
“You clean up nicely,” I praised while I locked the apartment.
“Not as nice as you.” He cleared his throat as he gave my dress a brief scan. “Shall we?”
“I suppose I’m in too deep to attempt an escape now.”
“Doubt you’d make it far if you tried.” This time, Dean stayed one step in front of me as we passed down the hall. “Your face has got to be almost as recognizable as Oprah’s by now.”
“Except her face is synonymous with philanthropy and mine is with fraudulence.”
Dean’s head slightly tipped back at me. “You’ve made a believer out of me.”
“You don’t need to give me a pity pep talk.” I worked up as much of a smile as I could. “But thank you all the same.”
“That isn’t pity, Miss Arden. You’ve confirmed your point to this disbeliever.”
I patted his arm. “It’s nice to know some good will have come from this hellish experiment.”
Dean was silent the rest of the way, opening doors and scanning shadows as we made our way to the gleaming black car waiting outside the building.
Two hours. Maybe three. That was all I had to endure before the cameras would finally be turned off for good. I could hold my emotions in check for a handful of minutes if that was what it took. Amiable meets distant, that was my goal for the night. The less emotion the better, because feelings were not what I wanted viewers to pick up on. I needed to prove love was real. I had to show my life’s work, not to mention my worldview, was not some epic lie.
“Wow. I mean, really, wow.” Jimmy blinked at me as I climbed inside the car.
“Thanks, Jimmy. You have a real way with words.”
“You’re the writer, not me.” He flashed a smile as he prepped the camera on his head. “You ready for this? Last line-up of questions. I bet you’re going to miss it, right?”
“Like a boil on my ass in the summer.” When Dean and Jimmy’s heads flicked toward me, I shrugged. “I have a way with words.”
Jimmy grunted in acknowledgement before giving the countdown with his fingers. As he did, I encased myself with the numbness I felt on the inside, praying it was thick enough to prove impenetrable.
“We are live for the very last time with Ms. Romance, Hannah Arden, on the season finale of Romance Versus Reality,” Jimmy started, while I reminded myself to smile. “We’re on our way to meet Mr. Reality and have a few minutes for some questions. These ones we pulled directly from our viewers.” My back tensed, but the smile held. “Our first question comes from Callie in Houston. She wants to know what’s been the best part of the Romance Versus Reality experiment.”
I didn’t need a moment to consider my answer. “That it’s almost over.”
When Jimmy mouthed, “Whoa. Harsh,” I capped my response with a chuckle. One that suggested I might have been teasing, but might not have been.
“Okay, moving onto our second question leading into the blockbuster last date.” Jimmy checked the notes on his phone. “This one comes from Rachel out of Cleveland. She wants to know how your opinions on love have changed throughout the course of the show.”
“They haven’t really,” I said, my hands wringing in my lap. “If anything, this all has only further confirmed my beliefs where love is concerned.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes; my response hadn’t budged from the first time I’d been asked it. I wondered if he could hear the deceit in my voice, see the lie in my eyes. The truth was, my views on love had changed, but if I admitted that, I lost. And I’d already lost so much, I couldn’t bear to lose my chance at my dream job.
“You are just tearing through these questions, so we’ve got time for a few more.”
My nails dug into my palms. Talk slower. Add a bunch of fluff. Whatever it took to keep me from answering any more of these god-awful questions than necessary.
“The next question comes from Gus in Seattle. He wants to know if you were the last woman on the planet, Brooks were the last man, and the fate of civilization rested on your shoulders—”
My hand raised as I waved. “Bye-bye, civilization.”
Jimmy’s chest rocked with a contained laugh, and he checked outside before consulting his phone once more. “Kaitlyn in Brooklyn would like to know why you dislike Mr. Reality so much.”
“Why I dislike him?” An endless stream of answers flooded my mind—right before it all went blank.
When my silence stretched, Jimmy rolled his hand at me, looking as surprised as I was that a torrent of answers weren’t spilling from me.
“For one, we have totally different views where relationships are concerned.”
“Yes, but does that mean you dislike everyone who has an opposing view as you?” Jimmy asked.
“No, not at all,” I said, rethinking my answer. “It’s just that Brooks is so conceited, so unwilling to even consider the possibility that he might be wrong.”
“And you’re not?” An angelic smile formed on his face when I shot Jimmy an annoyed look.
I allowed myself to take a breath before replying. “It’s one thing to be passionate about what you believe in. It’s another to insist you’re infallible.”
From the way Jimmy lifted his eyes, I guessed he wasn’t impressed by my answer. “And we have just enough time for one more quick question as we roll up to the surprise location of our last date.” Jimmy motioned for Dean to stay put as the car pulled up to the curb. “Lexie in Tulsa wants to know one valuable lesson you’ve learned from this experiment.”
Dammit, Lexie. Thanks for the sucky question. Why couldn’t someone want to know what my sign or my favorite color was?
“I suppose I’ve learned to trust my instincts.” I cleared my throat. “To go with my gut when I feel conflicted.”
Jimmy allowed a few moments of quiet to let me expand, but I wasn’t adding one more word. “Let’s get this date rolling and find out, once and for all, who will be the victor in the final episode of Romance Versus Reality.”
On cue, Dean threw open the door and scanned the surroundings before waving me out. Jimmy followed as I inspected what was around me to attempt to figure out where I was. It didn’t take long. We were parked in front of one of the more iconic skyscrapers in the city, standing like a silver pillar stretching into the night sky.
Dean held open doors, examining every square foot as we whisked toward the elevators. Jimmy stayed in his position a few feet behind me, not making me self-conscious at all.
My teeth worked at my lip as I watched the numbers light up in ascending order. He must already be there. Brooks was waiting. After last night, I wasn’t sure what would happen when we saw each other. He’d in so many words issued an ultimatum, and I’d stormed out.
I’d confessed I cared for him. He claimed he felt even more for me. The man who was a stout believer in the lie of love wanted me to believe he felt that very thing for me?
He was a liar. A manipulator.
And I was a sucker. A fool.
As I rode the elevator to the top floor, I reminded myself not to show any emotion, to not give away anything that might make viewers question my sentiments for Brooks North.
“Nervous?” Jimmy asked, as though he’d forgotten he had a camera on his head that was being streamed to millions of screens around the nation.
“Not one bit,” I said, though if someone had pressed their fingers to my neck, my pulse would have told a different story.
When the doors finally opened, I found a scene straight out of a romantic’s fantasy playbook. Strands of lights ran along a path, creating an aisle that led up a bay of stairs, creamy white rose petals sprinkled along the floor.
Pushing through the door, I foun
d myself standing on the roof of one of the most recognizable buildings in the country. The décor made the hallway scene seem lackluster by comparison. The volume of lighting and flowers rivaled even the most lavish of weddings I’d attended; it was a dream.
A dream encapsulated in a nightmare.
It didn’t take long for me to notice the tall figure waiting in the shadows, the whites of his eyes targeting me the moment I stepped onto the rooftop. I couldn’t help thinking back to the last time he and I had climbed the stairs to another roof, our first private date feeling like another lifetime ago.
When Brooks stepped into the fringe of the light, the breath siphoned from my lungs, little by little, until I felt lightheaded.
No man—especially one who believed as he did—should have this effect on a woman.
As Jimmy swiveled around so he was in front of me, I cleared my expression and focused on putting one foot in front of the next. I might have felt like my insides were melting from the way Brooks was staring at me, but all the viewers would see was a woman bored with the charade.
Brooks stayed frozen in place as I moved toward him, a swish of red silk and veiled spite. It wasn’t until I was within a few feet that I registered the look on his face.
Where I was hiding everything, he concealed nothing.
Not that the awe ironing out his face could be taken as truth—it was some last-ditch effort to trick me into buying he truly was in love with me.
When I stopped in front of him and he stayed silent, I waited. I wouldn’t be the first to speak.
But the silence became too uncomfortable to bear.
“You’re staring,” I said, trying to ignore Jimmy as he prowled around us, searching for his angle.
Brooks finally moved when he exhaled. “Because I have no words.”
My arms twitched at my sides, desperate to cross, but I held them in place. No reactions. Stone cold. Robotic aloofness. Those were my marching orders for the rest of the night.
As more silence crept between us, Jimmy waved a notecard at us, keeping it out of the camera’s view. It looked like a schedule of events for the night, penned in Conrad’s blocky letters.
Dating the Enemy Page 22
