by Lila Kane
The Setup
Faking It Book Two
LILA KANE
THE SETUP
Copyright © 2019 Lila Kane
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This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Summary
Newsletter Signup
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Preview of THE PROPOSAL
SUMMARY
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
That’s all I have to ask. Five little words, find a girlfriend, and get a promotion.
But when my friend says she’s found the perfect woman for me, I had no idea it was the same woman I had a weekend fling with a year ago.
I’d walked away to protect her but only because I wanted her more than I could deal with at the time. Back then, settling down was a prison sentence.
Now, I need someone to pretend to be my girlfriend. But I want her.
The one who got away.
The Setup is the second book in the Faking It series, but can be read as a standalone, full-length novel. No cliffhanger or cheating, and a Happily Ever After is guaranteed.
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1
I was either a genius or totally screwed.
I’d just told the partners a whopper of a lie before they’d left for lunch and now I was sitting in the spacious meeting room with only my assistant and her disapproving stare.
Melanie cleared her throat, and it sounded too loud in the otherwise empty space. “Well, that’s one way to try to make partner.”
I rubbed my hands over my face and couldn’t help the quiet groan. “What else was I supposed to say?”
“How about that you don’t have a girlfriend? Or even a plant. Not even one of those little pet rocks—”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you,” I said dryly. I didn’t need her to point out what I already knew.
My personal life could use a little work. A spark.
Melanie pressed her lips together, wisely keeping her mouth shut. But she had to be thinking the same thing I was. My personal life needed a lot more than just a simple spark.
It needed a resuscitation.
But I had a plan. First, get my career on track and then see what came next. I figured life would follow after that. Or maybe not. In all honesty, I hadn’t cared all that much in the past.
I mean, come on, how many relationships had I seen over the years that had been painful or destructive? That had ended up in a break-up or divorce?
Relationships were overrated.
Just like love.
Love could be lost just as quickly as it was found.
“Do you need anything else before I head out?” Melanie asked. She stacked papers in front of her, clearly more eager for the weekend than I was.
I imagined Melanie had a very full life. I knew that she had a dog and a boyfriend. Two checks on a list where mine was blank. She probably even had plants. And friends. Family. Acquaintances.
I had a lady named Zoe who cleaned my house for me each week, and I imagined she had more of a life than me, too.
With another groan, I got to my feet and walked to the wide bank of windows that looked out over the city. People were living their lives out there, too. Working, laughing, dating. But most of my days were spent in here, where I drafted mergers and acquisitions and spoke with clients all day to make sure they knew they were in good hands.
Just like my father had done.
So, I was making my mark in my own way. And once I became partner, I’d have more of an opportunity to balance that life out.
I gave Melanie a nod. “Nothing else for today. Thanks.”
She offered a small smile and then gathered the files to leave the room.
Only ten short minutes ago, Baker, Browning, and Dupont were in this same room with their assistants and the other associates—ones who I had no intention of seeing promoted above me.
I deserved that position. I’d put in all the hours and networked. I was the ultimate team player.
I thought I checked all the boxes, so sue me if the lie had slipped out. I’d been caught off guard.
I left the board room and walked past Melanie at her desk as I made my way to my office—a space I’d worked hard for, too. It was a corner office that ironically had two plants. It also held a spacious desk and ample room for me to pace in front of my very own wide windows.
I could see the apartment building across the street and sometimes looked over there as I worked in the evenings. They held amazing rooftop parties over there, ones that reminded me of a few I’d gone to before Dad had died. When life felt more full.
Behind the mahogany desk, I had a single picture of my family on the wall of shelves. It was all of us. Mom, Dad, my sister Aubry, and me, standing in front of the large colonial I’d grown up in.
It was the summer before law school, just after Aubry graduated high school, when life had been just about perfect. And so had our family.
Swallowing hard, I turned to the windows. There were already people across the street setting up for one of those epic parties, putting out tables and chairs, making room for people to mingle. In a few hours, they’d turn on lights that glowed on strings and loud music would drift into the air. It was loud enough that sometimes I could hear the pulse of it while I sat in my chair finishing up work for the night.
I gave a reluctant chuckle. What the fuck had I just done? Lying to them about having a girlfriend? That was pretty desperate—making up a fictional person to make myself look good. And really, how much of that did they believe considering I was usually working my ass off here night after night instead of going home to someone.
Funny how the partners didn’t seem to care how much I worked. Or how many connections I brought them. They just wanted to be sure I had more than work. Something on the outside to keep me balanced.
A support system.
So basically they wanted me to have the life my dad did.
A fake girlfriend seemed like the most logical option.
Melanie stepped into the doorway. “Mr. Davis?”
“Yes?”
“The paperwork for Donovan Banking is finished and I’ll be sure to get a courier to bring it over Monday morning.”
I nodded. Melanie worked her ass off, too. We utilized our legal assistants at Baker, Browning, and Dupont, especially because we were a learning firm. Hard work meant they learned a lot and we got shit done. I didn’t doubt she’d finished every single thing on her list.
“Thank you, Melanie,” I said, angling back to the window.
I didn’t hear m
ovement behind me, then she asked, “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”
My lips curved. Plans? Me? Didn’t happen.
“Nothing exciting,” I muttered. “Have a great weekend.”
“You too.”
I heard her footsteps move away from the door and stared out the window. The words I’d said to the partners echoed over and over in my head. The lie I’d told them.
I had a shitload of work to do this weekend, but it would have to be put on hold for the moment.
This weekend, I had a new purpose.
I needed to find a girlfriend—and fast.
2
Mornings were best because my boss and asshole extraordinaire wasn’t in yet. That meant the coffee shop was actually a fun, relaxing place to work. We could listen to real music, talk to customers instead of trying to get as much money from them as possible, and I got to put out The Jar.
It was a thing of beauty. A large glass jar that had the words Save the Griffin Theatre! in fun writing across the front. My co-workers had helped me jazz it up with stickers and ribbon as well. I’d even added a quote from one of my favorite actors, Gregory Peck, on the side.
The Jar was my one hope to help save the Griffin Theatre from being sold. Every extra bit of money helped.
“I love your hair,” I told Mrs. Dennis as she entered through the front of the coffee shop. Mrs. Dennis was always doing something fun with her red curls, which was why I had dubbed her Shirley.
I gave all the regulars names from old movies or movies stars. They loved it.
Mrs. Dennis was Shirley because of her red hair, but also because she’d told me once that she liked to tap dance in her room at night when she probably should have been sleeping.
“Very sexy,” I said, smiling at her and ringing up her usual order.
Her cheeks flushed but she fluffed her hair. “Well, now. You’re making me blush.”
“You know what you need now? A pair of tap shoes to balance out the whole look.”
A dreamy smile flashed on her face. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“It would be perfect.”
She waved her hand. “It’s just a dream.”
“Hey, we all have dreams,” I said. I lifted a paper cup and wrote Shirley Temple on the line. “We just have to be smart enough to go after them.”
If I had any spare money, I’d get those shoes for her myself. Mrs. Dennis was my favorite customer. She was basically older than electricity, but she was the sweetest person I’d ever met. We both loved classic movies and had bonded over that the first time we met.
“What’s next up at The Griffin?” she asked.
My smiled widened. Working at the Griffin Theatre was one of my weekend pleasures. I’d been helping Mr. Griffin out there since I’d moved to the city and after a few months, he started letting me do late-night showings of classic movies. Not a lot of people came, but there was a small group of us who were fans.
We’d sit together in the middle rows of the theater, eating popcorn and drinking soda, and getting lost in fantasy worlds with the great actors of the past. I’d have to get up occasionally to fix the film on the projector. The Griffin Theatre was one of the only places in the United States that hadn’t switched to using digital film yet.
That, along with the marquee in front and the velvet curtains, was part of its charm.
But that was also what was dragging down businesses. People didn’t see things the way they used to. They were less about nostalgia and more about newer and better things. They wanted reclining seats and the newest releases.
I preferred the experience, especially with the click and hum of the old projector.
If I had the money, I’d purchase that place without a second thought and then remodel it so it looked just like it had when it had opened when they had real-life musicals on-stage. Then I’d show classic movies every night and the building would be a historical landmark in the community instead of a building that had seen better days and was destined for demolition.
No, it wasn’t if I had the money, it was when. Once I had that money, that was exactly what I was going to do.
The Jar was already filling up to help me on my way to my goal.
“We’re doing 12 Angry Men,” I told Mrs. Dennis.
She put her hand over her heart. “That swoon-worthy Gregory Peck.”
I grinned and poured espresso into her cup. “Definite man candy.”
She chuckled. “No kidding.”
“I hope you’ll be there.”
She slid down the counter to wait for me to finish her drink. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Maybe I’ll even come with some new tap shoes.”
My eyes lit. “Please do! You, me, sparkly tap shoes, Gregory Peck. Winning combo.”
I passed her drink over and watched as she found a table before turning and nearly running into my friend Stacy.
She wobbled and nearly dropped the smoothie she held. “Whoa…that was close.”
I moved to the side. “Sorry.”
Stacy put the cap on the smoothie and slid it across the counter. “Brittany!” she called, her eyes searching the shop for the customer. She gave the girl a pinched smile when she walked up to get her cup.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She looked around the shop first, probably checking to make sure our boss hadn’t come in. He ran a tight ship, and personal conversations were strictly forbidden.
Ridiculous, in my opinion. We all got our jobs done. And besides, I overheard Mr. Chapman on the phone numerous times a week talking to the landlord at a building he owned or complaining to his mom that he had too many businesses to juggle.
“He doesn’t come in until three,” I reminded Stacy.
“Right at the end of your shift. How’d you get that lucky?”
I flashed her a grin. “I have no clue, but I’m not complaining. And look at The Jar! It’s almost full.”
Her gaze landed on the bills shoved into the large glass jar and her eyes softened. “I’m happy for you, Libby.”
I smiled. I knew how happy she was for me. Stacy was one of my best friends and she’d been my roommate for months. I’d moved to the city to get on my feet and I’d been so lucky to find her at the coffee shop. We got to live together and work together. Things were almost as good as they could get right now.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked her, noting that she still looked worried about something.
I smiled at a customer as they came in through the door.
“It’s our apartment,” she said, stepping to the side to help with the order.
I glanced over and lowered my voice. “Shit. Now what happened? Is it the washer again? Or the toilet? Did it clog?”
“No, not that.”
“Then what?” I asked, then refocused when the woman stepped up to the counter. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t know what I want exactly,” she murmured, eyeing the board above my head. “Something with chocolate? But not light—like really heavy.”
I laughed. “Oh boy. Sounds scary. I get it. Sometimes you need something that’s going to stay with you for a while.”
“I like that. Yes, exactly that.”
“Hitchcock,” I said. “His goal was to get the audience in his grip and hold them captive. You’re definitely going to need mocha and extra espresso.”
Her face lit with humor and she glanced at Stacy. “Exactly. Does she do this all the time?”
Stacy nodded. “Coffee expert.”
The woman nodded. “Perfect. That’s what I want, then.”
I scribbled Hitchcock on the woman’s cup and gave her change. When the order was finished, I scooted closer to Stacy. “Just tell me. Keeping me in suspense isn’t fair.”
“Our idiot landlord from hell is trying to raise our rent again.”
I frowned, my mind already going to all the havoc this could wreak on my savings. “Can he do that?”
“I hope not. I mean, he just
did that, like, right before you moved in?” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But it’s just that maybe…” Her voice went softer. “It might be a good thing.”
“Paying more rent is a good thing?” I asked her. I put my hand on her forehead. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re clearly sick. I think you have a fever. You should lay down.”
She gave a soft snort and slapped my hand away. “I don’t have a fever. I’m just fine. It’s just that…there are other things to consider now…”
She meant Jeremy. Her boyfriend. The same one who came over practically every night now. They’d been together for several months. I didn’t care if he came over a lot, but I bet they did.
We didn’t exactly have thick walls at our place.
And it wasn’t just that. It was small. And Stacy and Jeremy were big fans of kissing. And touching.
Another customer appeared at the counter and I had to get back to work, trying to stay optimistic. Whenever I thought I was closer to reaching my goal of buying the theater, something else came up.
I couldn’t help but envy Stacy and Jeremy. They had each other when things got tough and I didn’t have anyone. No. I had to remind myself I had Stacy, the best friend I could ever ask for. But Stacy didn’t keep me warm at night.
In fact, it had been months since anyone had been in that position, and that had been a big disaster.
“Let’s figure it out tonight,” I told her.
She nodded and got back to work as well.
It was fine. I had a job and I had Stacy and we’d figure it out.
Then the customer shoved a few bills in The Jar and made me smile.
Gave me hope.
I had a good life right now, and I had the dream of something even bigger.
3
Each time I saw Stacy, she looked different. This time, she looked like a rocker from the early 90s. She wore a pink streak in her hair and platforms that brought her a little closer to my height. It reminded me of the first time I’d seen her in law school, with a punk style that was entirely out of place among the mostly young, driven men who dressed as though they were going to go to brunch later with their affluent families.
