Faking It

by Christina Ross

  “Austin is single, and you’ve just entered into a fake relationship with one of the world’s most sought-after men. I suggest you start acting the part.”

  “Look, my little crush is just between us,” I said in a low voice as we passed a sea of smiling faces. I smiled cheerfully back at them, suddenly feeling light-headed and fluttery inside. “I tell you everything.”

  “It’s ‘vice’ that you do.” She opened the door to her office and motioned for me to step inside. “I’d ask you to have a seat, but I don’t have any plastic wrap to keep the cushions dry.”

  “Give me a break,” I said, taking the seat opposite her desk.

  She looked at me when I sat down and then let out one mother of a long-assed sigh. “What the hell,” she remarked. “It was time to have the furniture steam cleaned, anyway.”

  “Hilarious,” I said. “So, what’s his story? Strong, silent type? A romantic at heart? I need details.”

  “What you need is to have your ovaries yanked, because clearly there are way too many hormones flooding through your system right now. Listen to me, Sienna. If you want, you can try to tap Austin Black eight months from now. You know, when you’re out of your contract with Jackson and can focus on someone new. But right now, you need to listen to me, because I’m very serious when it comes to the deal you signed today. Yes, Austin is a good-looking man, but you need to get him out of your head. You have a job to do, and I expect you to do it well. Do you even realize that you stammered when you met him?”

  “I know I did,” I said in embarrassment. “It was humiliating. Do you think anyone else noticed?”

  “Everyone noticed. I mean, you literally turned red when Austin shook your hand. And then you were suddenly speaking in tongues. It was beyond apparent that you were attracted to him.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Look, what’s done is done,” she said. “Just forget about him for now. You and Jackson both need to get into character tonight. If Jackson thinks you’re thinking about Austin, that’s just going to throw him off his game. He deserves better than that.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Good. Now, what do you think you’ll wear tonight?”

  “God knows I have a closet full of clothes thanks to the kindness of designers. What do you think would be appropriate?”

  “Something sexy, on-trend, and black.”

  “When I modeled for Carolina Herrera last fall for her spring collection, she knew I was so smitten with the sleeveless black cocktail dress I wore for her that she gave it to me.”

  “I know exactly the one you’re referring to—and it is perfect. Wear that, couple it with some high heels, and style your hair down in loose waves. It always looks best that way. Then paint your face, and you’re good.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said. “And I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Actually, the person you really don’t want to disappoint is you, Sienna, because you are finally on the cusp of real stardom. If you play this right with Jackson—and when solid roles start to come your way, which they will—I do see you hitting the A-list. I mean that, because you’re that good. But you’ll only get there if you remain focused.”

  “I will,” I said.

  She checked her watch. “Off you go, then,” she said. “It’s already past three, which means you only have a few hours to get home and get yourself ready for the evening. Shine tonight,” she added. “Make the world believe in you and Jackson.”

  “I can do that,” I said. “I mean, Jackson isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, Harper.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Now, go and do it. Make me proud. We’ll touch base in the morning.”

  I’d already stood up to leave when Harper stopped me with a look.

  “And…Sienna,” she said, “as RuPaul would say, don’t fuck it up.”

  * * *

  Due to heavy traffic, it was a good thirty minutes before I scrambled out of my return cab in front of my one-bedroom apartment on West Twenty-Second Street—which was rent-controlled and the only reason I’d been able to live in Chelsea since I’d first arrived in the city. After I climbed the three sets of stairs to my apartment, which was sweltering in the June heat, I switched on the air-conditioning as soon as I stepped inside—and got to work.

  Inside my wardrobe, I found the dress I’d mentioned earlier to Harper, which was still fresh, neatly pressed, and ready to wear in its dry-cleaning bag. To complement it, I chose a killer pair of Jimmy Choo Mary Jane leather pumps in black with a four-inch heel and two straps with ties that would wrap around my ankles and lower calves. And even though Jackson would never see them, I chose a pretty lace bra and panties—each in black.

  As time passed, it passed quickly—too quickly.

  I worked on my face, which meant beating it with a whole host of creams, exfoliators, and potent elixirs before I took a shower and tried to relax, which didn’t happen.

  I was so nervous about how things would go tonight that the only thing that could have relaxed me was a martini, but since I needed to focus, I chose to forgo having one. Instead, I ended the shower with a blast of freezing cold water, which I stood beneath until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  After I’d toweled off, I put on my robe and checked my pores in the mirror. The cold water, exfoliator, creams, and elixirs had done their trick, because my skin looked tight and bright. With time running against me, I blew out my hair, which naturally dried in soft waves, and then I did my makeup, the lot of which took me over an hour before I could even start to get dressed.

  You’re going to be late! I panicked when I looked at the clock on my bedside table. You’ve only got five minutes left before Jackson arrives—move it!

  But I didn’t move fast enough, because I had just zipped up my dress when my buzzer rang.

  Jackson was here.

  Shit, I thought as I hurried into the foyer and buzzed him through. I don’t even have my shoes on yet!

  Moments later, when the inevitable knock came at my door, I was still struggling to lace up my heels. I had no choice but to give up on them. Jackson would have to help me into them, because the straps were more difficult to buckle than I’d remembered.

  “Coming!” I called as I hurried out of the bedroom and into the foyer. Unlocking my door, I swung it open.

  There stood Austin Black.

  “Oh,” I said in surprise. “I thought you’d be Jackson.”

  “He’s waiting for you in the limousine,” Austin said, “which is double-parked. We need to leave now.”

  He’d since changed into a black suit and tie. The sexy haze of a five-o’clock shadow graced his face, and he wore his thick black hair parted on the side, raked away from his face. He looked more handsome now than he had when we’d first met. Earlier, he’d worked out with Jackson, and it showed. His chest in particular looked massive to me.

  And then I realized I was staring at it.

  “My shoes,” I said as I shot back into myself. “The buckles are a bitch. I’m ready to go, but I can’t seem to get into them.”

  “May I come in?”

  “What for?”

  “To help you into your shoes, Sienna.”

  “You want to help me into my shoes?”

  “We need to get out of here. Let me help.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I said, trying not to think of his hands on my feet. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he said as he stepped inside. “Where are the shoes in question?”

  “In my bedroom,” I said. “And please don’t judge me when you see it, Austin. Today has been so insane that my bedroom is a mess.”

  He looked patiently at me. “I’m not here to judge you, Sienna, but I am here going to get you to Per Se on time. We can’t afford to keep the press waiting, because they’ll leave if they think Jackson isn’t coming. So, let me help you into your shoes.” He paused for a moment and looked directly at me. “Because shoes are kind of
my thing.”

  Because shoes are kind of your thing? I thought as I looked at him. What does that mean? Are you a master at putting shoes on women, Austin? And if that’s the case, how many shoes have you tied and untied? How many shoes have you had wrapped around that thick neck of yours? How many shoes have you licked and tasted before you ripped them off in a feverish blaze?

  Doesn’t matter. Be professional. Get on with it.

  “They’re just in here,” I said as I turned and started to walk toward my bedroom. “I’ve only worn them once, and now I remember why. They’re hell to get into.”

  “I can take care of that,” he said, following me.

  I literally can feel him at my back. And I literally can’t handle it!

  “Here they are,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I love them because they’re sexy, but it’s like bondage when it comes to putting them on.”

  “Like bondage?” he asked as he kneeled in front of me. “Is that it?”

  “In fact, it is it,” I said. “I mean, just look at them. Look at all those buckles and straps. Who in their right mind could ever navigate them?”

  “I can,” he said with authority. “Hold out your right foot for me.”

  I did, and when I did, his hands touched my heel, which sent a jolt of desire through me.

  What is it about him? I thought. Why am I behaving like this? I never behave like this. This city is filled with hot men. Ever since I left Eric, I’ve wanted nothing to do with men. So, why am I so attracted to him? It makes no sense.

  “You’re tense,” he said.

  “And for good reason. Just look at what I’m about to walk into—the press, flashing cameras, people shouting questions at Jackson and me. Austin, this is all very new to me. And I’m not going to lie to you. I’m pretty stressed out right now.”

  “How about if you take a deep breath,” he said as he gently massaged my foot. “Try to relax. Because I’ve been told that for the next eight months, I’m not only here for Jackson, Sienna. I’m also here for you.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I said.

  He looked up at me with a glimmer in his eyes. “I’m also here to protect you. So, how about if you just lean back a bit and let me release some of the tension you’re feeling? Then I have a good feeling the shoes won’t be an issue.”

  As he massaged my feet and kneaded them in ways that were undeniably erotic, soon my shoes were on, buckled, and fastened.

  “You’re a genius,” I said to him as I kicked out my legs and admired my shoes. “Thank you.”

  “The pleasure was mine, Sienna.”

  Actually, it was mine.

  I popped off my bed.

  “How do I look?” I asked before we left.

  “You look nice,” he said.

  “Just ‘nice’? I was hoping for ‘hot,’ because Harper told me I needed to look hot tonight.”

  A moment passed before he seemed to come to a decision.

  “You look beautiful, Sienna. And yes, you also look hot. You are someone any man would want to be with tonight.”

  When he said that, I was aware of his eyes glancing over my body before he checked himself. And when he did, the desire I’d seen a moment ago was quickly swept away. “We’ve been too long,” he said. “We need to leave. We need to get you and Jackson to Per Se before it’s too late.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “How are you?” I asked Jackson after Austin opened my door and I’d slid in next to Jackson on the limo’s back seat. The sun might have set behind the Manhattan skyline, but it was still light out. “You certainly look handsome. I love your navy suit. It brings out the blue in your eyes.”

  “Sienna, you’re almost ten minutes late,” he said to me. “What held you up? Mimi has leaked to the press that we’ll be arriving at Per Se at eight. If we aren’t there on time—and if the paps have left by the time we get there—I’m laying that on you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, startled by his angry tone. “I had trouble getting into my shoes.”

  “What grown woman has trouble getting into her own shoes?”

  “Someone who chooses to wear something like these,” I said, lifting up my shoes for him to see. “They’re complicated to get into, but I thought they were right for tonight. Do you like them?”

  “They’re fine,” he said dismissively.

  “Jackson,” Austin said, “we’ll get there on time.”

  “I hope so,” he said, “because at least you understand how important tonight is to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Austin said. “If I have to bust a few lights, I will.”

  “All right,” Jackson said. “Thanks for having my back.”

  Was Jackson Cruise a diva in disguise? He certainly was behaving like one. Gone was the warm and welcoming person I’d met just hours ago. In his stead was someone who had gone to a darker place and who was being so cold to me now that I almost asked Austin to turn off the air-conditioning because it was chilly enough in the car. While I got it that I shouldn’t have been late, I also felt this had less to do with me and more to do with something else.

  And then it occurred to me.

  Maybe he’s as nervous as I am, I thought. He’s about to step out into the public with a new woman on his arm—someone most people have never heard of before. And he’s about to be faced with a hell of a lot of speculation when it comes to that, particularly after he was caught kissing another man. Of course he’s on edge. Who wouldn’t be?

  Let him cool off…

  “How was your workout?” I asked.

  “It was a workout,” he said, not looking at me.

  “Jackson,” I said, “I’m sorry I was late. But you have to understand the lengths I went to to pull myself together properly for you. This will be our first time out together, and I had to look my best. Getting ready is different for men than it is for women. If you’d only look at me, you’d see that I’ve given it my all.”

  He was silent for a moment, and then he turned to me.

  “Who designed your dress?” he asked.

  “Carolina Herrera.”

  “And your shoes—the ones that gave you so much trouble?”

  “Jimmy Choo, that motherfucker. He’s clearly a sadist.”

  He cocked his head at me when I said that, and finally he smiled, reached for my hand, and held it in his lap.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be difficult. It’s just that I don’t know what the paps are going to say to us when we arrive at the restaurant. Because the moment they see me with you, it’s only going to fuel more speculation around my sexuality. That’s the last thing I want, even though I know that to get to the other side of this, I’m going to work hard to convince them that this relationship of ours is real.”

  “We can do it,” I said. “I know we can. And I’m sorry, Jackson. I hate that you’re going through this.”

  “Thanks again for helping me out, Sienna.”

  “We’ll get through it together,” I said. “We’ll turn things around for you.”

  “That’s the thing,” he said. “I feel as if it’s already too late for that.”

  “Almost there,” Austin said. “The traffic lights are working in our favor. We won’t be late.”

  “Thanks, man,” Jackson said.

  “Thank you, Austin,” I said. “Again, I apologize for the trouble.”

  And for one heated moment, Austin Black lifted his eyes and looked at me in the rearview mirror, nodding silently at me. We continued to race across the city.

  * * *

  Per Se was located on the fourth floor of the Time Warner Center on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. It was at Sixtieth Street, where CNN had its New York headquarters.

  Harper and Mimi had chosen this particular restaurant for a reason. Not only was it smack in the middle of where Manhattan thrived, it also was one of the finest restaurants in the city. Thomas Keller—the renowned chef who had three Micheline stars to h
is name—owned it. If you could somehow snag a table here, I’d heard from friends that it was one of the places to go for fine dining in this city.

  But if you were Jackson Cruise, getting a table here naturally wasn’t an issue.

  “We’re here,” Austin said as we approached the towering skyscraper and stopped in front of it. “And so is the press. Several dozen of them—and they’ve just spotted us. They’re hurrying over, so get into character now, because photos are about to be taken.”

  “Kiss me,” I said to Jackson. “Think of me as your hot cowboy…”

  He must have done that, because when he swept me into his arms and laid one on me as the limousine’s interior was suddenly illuminated with explosions of light, his tongue plunged into my mouth. I met his brazenness with my own, tugging at his bottom lip with my teeth. And then Austin opened Jackson’s door.

  As our lips parted, what I saw outside was a mob scene.

  “Everybody, stand back!” I heard Austin shout above the roar as his hands swept out at his sides. “Give them room!”

  The only time I’d experienced this kind of hunger and energy was when I’d won my acting award at Cannes. My photograph had been taken by hundreds of entertainment photographers and reporters from around the world while people cheered me on and whistled at me.

  Only this time they weren’t cheering or whistling. Instead, as predicted, the paparazzi immediately started lobbing questions at us.

  “Jackson!” one man called out. “TMZ. Your fans want to know the truth—are you gay? Is the man you kissed before you got on your plane someone who is important to you? Is he your boyfriend? Or was he just a fling?”

  With our heads lowered and Jackson’s arm lodged tightly around my waist, we leaned into each other and pressed toward the building’s main entrance as Austin cleared a path for us through the explosion of lights.

  “You owe it to your fans to tell the truth, Jackson!” one woman called out. “And also to the gay community! You can come out. Your fans will accept you for who you are. Are you gay or not?”