It was when I went to the checkout and smiled at Adam that I heard someone mention my name.
“Is that Sienna Jones?” whispered a woman behind me.
I flushed at the comment and was grateful I hadn’t taken off my sunglasses. Although he couldn’t see my eyes, I looked at Adam as he looked at me.
I’d been a customer of his for years, and we’d become friendly. But just how friendly? With me in his store right now, would he sell me out and acknowledge it was me standing before him so his customers would know that celebrities frequented his store? Or would he respect my privacy? I wasn’t sure, so I bit my lower lip and waited for what was to come.
“How’s it going, Deb?” he asked in a voice just loud enough for those around us to hear. “How are the kids?”
Thank God, I thought. I had a feeling you were one of the good ones, Adam, and you are.
“They’re driving me crazy, Adam—thus the wine.”
“Deb?” I heard the woman behind me say. “I could have sworn that was Sienna Jones.”
“Who the hell is Sienna Jones?” another woman asked, which would have made me laugh out loud if my heart weren’t pounding so quickly against my chest. Countless times over the past several weeks, I’d been recognized when I’d been out and about with Jackson, but this was the first time I’d ever been recognized while out on my own. And never in my right mind did I think it would be so unnerving. I was starting to get recognized, and that carried with it its share of risks, especially given the clandestine evening I had planned later tonight with Austin.
“Oh, come on,” the woman said. “I’ve told you who she is. Sienna Jones is Jackson Cruise’s new girlfriend. I swear that’s her.”
“Girlfriend? I heard that Jackson Cruise is gay or something.”
“Jackson Cruise isn’t gay,” the woman said. “I mean, yes, I saw the photos of him allegedly kissing that man, but let’s get real here. Those photos weren’t just blurry, they were also over-the-top photoshopped. Plus, Jackson is being photographed all over the city with Sienna Jones right now. He’s shooting his new movie here. They’re totally falling in love right in front of our eyes. Haven’t you been paying attention? Obviously you haven’t. God, how I wish I were her.”
“How are the apartment renovations coming along, Deb?” Adam asked with a slightly arched eyebrow that told me he had my back.
I owe you one mother of a tip, Adam, I thought.
“It’s going well—if you don’t mind the demo.”
“I know how that goes,” he said. “Mike and I went through a renovation a few years ago. It was hell.”
“I remember when that happened,” I said, which was true. “I also remember that you two didn’t fight even once, which says plenty when it comes to your marriage.”
“He’s a keeper!”
“How is Mike?” I asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“He’s great—just busy. And just so you know, it’s seventeen years for us tomorrow, and somehow there isn’t a gray hair to be found on my head. Obviously when it comes to him, I chose well.”
“Congratulations,” I said, not knowing if he was just providing me the distraction I needed. “Seventeen years. I should be giving you this bottle of wine.”
“Trust me,” he said, “I’ve got all that covered. Tomorrow night, Mike’s not going to know what hit him.”
“Give him my best, OK?”
“I’ll do that, Deb.”
I removed my wallet from my handbag.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Forty-seven fifty. And by the way—you chose well when it comes to this bottle,” he said, wrapping it in bright-yellow tissue paper and placing it into a shiny red bag. “Graywacke is one of my favorites.”
“I chose it because you recommended it,” I said. “And trust me—with the kids off from school this summer, their mother needs a glass of wine at the end of the day.”
“What’s life without wine?” he asked me.
“One not worth living?”
“Agreed,” he said as he rang me up. I handed him a hundred, he gave me my change, and I discreetly gave it back to him as I wished him well with Mike tomorrow night. After that, I got the hell out of there before further speculation could arise that it had been Sienna Jones who’d been in Adam’s store and not somebody named Deb.
As I hustled through the crowds on the sidewalk, I had to wonder. Jackson and I had generated so much press, what would happen if people knew that I lived in this neighborhood?
As far as I knew, none of the paps had ever mentioned where I lived—they were so caught up in Jackson’s evolving life that I was still only considered his It Girl in our fake relationship.
But I was no idiot, because things were changing.
That woman in the wine store might have been the first to recognize me out on my own, but I knew in my gut that it was just the tipping point. Jackson and I had dominated the press for so many weeks that I knew I’d soon be recognized wherever I went.
And how would that affect my life? How would fame alter it?
Worse, how could Austin promise to protect me tonight? Because right now, after having been recognized back there, I wasn’t so sure that he could—which would only compromise everything if we went forward with our date this evening.
* * *
Later that evening, after meditating for an hour to the soothing the sounds of a babbling fucking brook—accompanied with the kind of liquid courage that could only come in the form of an ice-cold martini—I decided that shutting Austin down in person was worth the risk.
Whatever was unfolding between us needed to be handled in private, because with Jackson, Harper, and Mimi always around us, it was almost impossible to talk to Austin alone. Clearly, spending twenty minutes with him in a car wasn’t enough time to get through to him.
But tonight I could. Tonight I’d have plenty of time to put our fire on ice.
At least for the interim…
* * *
In five more minutes, I would leave for Austin’s apartment. I was showered, dressed, and ready to go.
I turned in front of my wardrobe’s full-length mirror and thought I’d nailed it. I’d decided to go with a little black dress that clung to my curves in ways that were so revealing and alluring that I hoped I looked sexy enough to make Austin want to wait seven months for me. As for the shoes, they were pure Prada, they were hot—and for a man who had once massaged my feet with great care, I hoped to hell they were on point.
Before I left for our date, I went into my bathroom to check my hair and makeup a final time before scrutinizing my face.
I’d chosen to go with nude makeup highlighted by thick mink eyelashes and a bold red lip that complemented my complexion. As for my hair, I’d chosen to wear it in a loose chignon held together with a slender wooden stick. Since I knew from my modeling years that perfume should only ever be an intimate experience, I’d spritzed a trace of Chanel No. 5 in the air before I’d walked through it. Carolina Herrera herself had once said to me before a show of hers that “perfume should never overpower. Instead, it should empower. Never forget that.”
I hadn’t, because she was right.
When I was finished, I put my iPhone, lipstick, and powder into my killer Judith Leiber clutch, and when my massive Dior sunglasses were in place, I left for Whole Foods—of all places—which is where the first part of this crazy evening would begin.
* * *
The moment I stepped out of my apartment building, I felt unusually nervous and exposed.
The sidewalk was busy with people either going home after a late day at work or going out for the evening. Thankfully everyone around me appeared to be normal pedestrians and not the paps, which allowed me to take at least something of a breath, because after the past three weeks, I knew just how aggressive the paparazzi could be. But now? Now it appeared that no one was even remotely interested in me, which felt like a godsend for exactly two seconds before I checked
myself.
None of that means shit, I thought as I walked forward. The paps are snipers. They could be across the street taking photographs of me right now. They could be anywhere.
Which is why Austin’s scheme had to work.
Two blocks later, when I entered Whole Foods on West Twenty-Fourth Street, only a moment passed before a tall bald man with a muscular frame and a kind, youthful face approached me.
“Sienna?” he said in a low voice.
“Max?” I answered.
He nodded once before he extended his right hand to me, which I shook. “Come with me. To the far back of the store. Right now, a car is waiting for you outside the receiving area. When I open the doors, I need you to go to the white Prius parked just outside for you. Keep your head down, go toward the car, get into the back of it—and try your best to be discreet.”
While he spoke, we walked swiftly toward the back of the store, which was teeming with customers filling their carts with organic this and organic that. As Max and I came upon an enormous commercial door, with crashing relief I sensed that because everyone seemed to be focused more on the produce than on me, not one of them had recognized me.
He was about to press a red button on the wall to the right of the door when he stopped and turned to me. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. “The car is right outside? A white Prius?”
“When I press this button and the door opens, you’ll find just that waiting for you. Are we good?”
“We’re good,” I said. “And thank you, Max.”
“It was my pleasure, Sienna. Have a wonderful evening with Austin tonight.”
When he pressed the button, the door started to rumble up and roll above us, exposing the side street in the process. People were hurrying by on the sidewalk. The industrial smells of the city wafted in to claim us.
“That’s the Prius,” he said, pointing at the car idling at the loading dock. “Maria is inside waiting for you.”
“Who is Maria?” I asked.
“Your driver,” he said. “Now, go. Austin said that you needed to be quick about this.”
And Austin was right. So, off I went onto the sidewalk. I stepped into the car, I said hello to Maria, I shut the door behind me and fastened my seatbelt, and when Maria found her moment to cut into traffic?
She stepped hard on the gas—and off I went into yet another unknown.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Austin lived a few blocks uptown from me in a sleek, narrow high-rise on West Thirty-First Street.
When Maria swept the car in front of the building’s entrance, a doorman stepped outside and opened my door for me.
“Ms. Jones?” he asked.
“I’m Sienna Jones.”
“Welcome to Turnbille.”
He offered me his hand, which I took as I stepped out.
“Thank you,” I said. “Just let me pay the driver, and you can take me inside.”
“That’s unnecessary,” he said. “Payment has already been taken care of by Mr. Black. My orders are to get you inside as quickly as possible.”
Austin is covering my ass, I thought with a sense of relief. He’s on top of this…
Before the doorman shut the car door, I thanked Maria and then followed the doorman into the building, through a lavish lobby lit with warm, low lighting, and then to a bank of elevators far off to my right. When he pressed a button to call for an elevator, the doors to one of them swished open behind me.
“Mr. Black lives on the thirty-sixth floor,” he said as I stepped into the car. “Unit thirty-six F. When you leave the elevator, take the hallway to your left. His is a corner unit. It’s six doors down.”
“Thank you,” I said as I selected Austin’s floor.
“It was my pleasure,” the man said.
And then, as the doors closed, the elevator began its swift ascent.
This is happening too quickly…
As the car rose, I checked myself in the elevator’s mirrored doors. This was the first time Austin and I would be alone together for an extended period of time, and because I had my own agenda when it came to tonight, I wanted to look my best for him. I adjusted my hair, straightened my outfit, and applied a fresh swipe of lipstick before the car slowed to a stop and the doors opened.
Living here has to be seriously expensive, I thought as I stepped out of the elevator and into a gorgeous space marked by gleaming pearl marble floors and rich mahogany-covered walls. But Harper did say that Austin headed one of the most sought-after security details in the industry, so clearly he’s making serious bank from Jackson. I can only imagine what he thinks of my sorry apartment.
But the moment that thought crossed my mind, I knew he didn’t care. Because I wouldn’t be here now if he had cared. And that knowledge alone made me feel somehow closer to him—which is the last thing I wanted, given all that was to come.
Feeling vulnerable, alive, overwhelmed, and excited at the prospect of spending time alone with him, I came upon his apartment door and stood there for a moment, collecting myself.
End the flirtation. See if he’s willing to wait for you. If he’s not, move on.
I took a deep breath before I knocked on the door, and then I lifted the girls before the door opened to reveal Austin himself.
When I saw him, he took my breath away.
I thought he’d be wearing something casual tonight—maybe a pair of khakis matched with a white button-down shirt. But that was not at all what he was wearing.
Instead, he was sporting a black tuxedo that fitted his muscular body to a tee. He hadn’t shaved since morning, and his sexy dark stubble—not to mention his piercing blue eyes, which were framed with dark lashes—were lust inducing.
He looked beyond handsome to me, and given the drunk look of desire in his eyes, he also appeared genuinely happy to see me.
I moved to speak, but before I could, he held out his hand to me, and I took it. He led me into the foyer before closing the door behind us.
“You look amazing,” he said.
Sidelined by how well he’d dressed for the night, I tried to compose myself when he released my trembling hand.
“Thank you,” I said.
“And thank you for choosing that dress. I hope you chose it with me in mind.”
I was about to tell him that I hadn’t, but why lie? Why deny it? I’d come here looking like this for a reason.
“I did,” I said.
“I’m glad you did, Sienna. You look stunning. Thank you for going to all the trouble for me.”
“I could say the same to you,” I said. “I certainly didn’t come here expecting to find you in a tux.”
“When you’re having dinner with one of the most beautiful women in the world, you wear a tux,” he said. “Now, how about a drink? I have champagne chilling in the fridge for dinner, so that’s covered. But over the past three weeks of watching over Jackson and you, I also have a pitcher of martinis prepared.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “Care to join me with one?”
Austin, you can’tget a martini in my hand fast enough…
“I’d love a martini,” I said.
“No olives—just a twist, right?”
“You’ve been paying that close attention?”
“I’ve been paying attention to you ever since we first met.”
I wanted to say, “You too?” But I couldn’t, and so I didn’t.
“That would be perfect,” I said. “How do you like yours?”
“Filthy.”
God, if you’re listening right now, please get me through this!
“The living room is just ahead of us,” he said as his hand took hold of mine and led me down a long hallway, through which I saw that Austin had a serious eye for art. A whole host of paintings colored every wall in interesting ways that made me want to linger and look at them.
But I wasn’t given the chance to do so.
Instead, as we walked deeper into his apartment, I became awa
re of several mouth-watering aromas. Dinner was clearly in the making, but what was he cooking? I smelled tarragon, mustard, garlic, and what had to be meat of some sort. It was beef—not pork or chicken.
And there were other notes, such as the starch of roasted potatoes—or was that risotto? I couldn’t be sure, but it had to be one or the other. Another undercurrent was the rich, piney smell of rosemary, which I particularly loved.
As we passed the brightly lit kitchen to our right, I caught a glimpse of it and saw that it was gleaming with stainless-steel appliances, a massive island in the center of the room, and shiny granite countertops. It was a true cook’s kitchen, which underscored what Austin had said to me earlier.
He took cooking seriously, likely because of his relationship with his grandfather. When we passed the dimly lit dining room, a saw a low bowl filled with gorgeous white roses in the center of a round table that sparkled with white china and tall stemware.
He’s totally gone all out tonight, I thought. And I’m about to disappoint him. I hate that I am, but what choice do I have? Because Julia is right. I’ve been broke for too many years, and seeing Jackson’s contract through to its end will give me the financial security I need. Will Austin agree to wait for me? I hope he will, but if that’s too much to ask of him, I’ll have to accept it gracefully and just move the hell on.
When I stepped into the large and impressive living room, I was immediately struck by the two huge windows that offered generous views of the city, which glimmered before us like a dream.
Faking It Page 12
