Faking It

by K. Bromberg

  And here I was complaining about how much money he spent on the shoes.

  I stare at him, eyes blinking, feet shifting, trying to play it cool. But that cocky smirk of his plays at the corner of his mouth and he knows I’ll play the game for him.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says, eyes roaming down my body and back up. “Nice shoes.” And with that, he walks off without another word.

  I stare after him. Watch him. The way his perfectly tailored slacks highlight his ass. The way his vest hugs his broad shoulders and torso. The way his shirt hugs his biceps. And I remember the taste of his kiss.

  That we won’t be together is a good thing.

  Everything about Zane Phillips rubs me the wrong way.

  Even when I’m thinking about how good he can probably rub me the right way.

  I lean back against the brick wall behind me and take a deep breath. Then it hits me: I got a job. A real, legitimate paying job as a spokesperson. One that will give me more than enough breathing room for a while when it comes to bills and loans and living expenses.

  I’m getting what I want . . . so why is it that my conscience hates that I’m lying to Robert?

  And why am I disappointed that this promotion tour doesn’t involve Zane?

  “I HAVE IDEAS, ZANE.”

  “Ideas?” Christ. Ideas are never good when they’re Robert’s. The last idea he had was for me to sign up and try SoulM8 during the beta test, and look where that landed me.

  When I look up from my desk to see him standing in the doorway of my office, a smile is on my lips. But in my head, I’m cursing my receptionist for letting him through without warning me.

  He wrote the check, Zane, I remind myself.

  “Yes. Great ideas,” he says.

  His connections are already paying off. We’ve picked up five more media outlets to help highlight the platform’s launch, brought on fifteen new sponsored advertisers, and have a spread in People Magazine for next month labeled the hottest up and coming trend in dating.

  “G’day, Robert,” I say to slow him down and set the pace. My office. My platform. My company. “Now what do you mean by you have ideas?”

  He moves into my office with ease—his red shirt a pop of color against the dark mahogany wood and light grey walls—and takes a seat in front of me.

  “How’s Harlow?”

  His question throws me momentarily, but I reply without missing a beat. “She’s well.”

  “And the photo shoot?”

  “I was out of the town for the day, but I believe it went well, too.” I lean back in my chair and fold my hands behind my head.

  “What did Harlow say about it?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her yet,” I say cautiously, walking the fine line I feel like he’s drawing to catch me in my lie.

  “No?”

  “No, we’ve both been rather busy, but it’s Harlow . . . how can the photos be anything other than gorgeous?” I add for good measure. “I should have mock-ups of the graphics shortly. We can go over them then and decide which avenue to take with the ad campaign.”

  “It’ll need to make a statement. We’ve teased enough with the advertisements we’ve used so far.”

  “We have.” I picture the solid black background. The word ‘Soulm8’ splashed across it in a uniquely recognizable font with its clever spelling—S-O-U-L-M followed by the number eight. In our logo, the eight is turned horizontal so it looks like an infinity symbol.

  “Sexy enough to bring the women in, masculine enough to keep the men interested.”

  I nod and look at the stacks of shit to do on my desk. No time like the present to rip off the Band-Aid and jump right into the pain of whatever it is that Robert wants to do.

  “Now, tell me about those ideas of yours.”

  “I want to shift the focus of our marketing.” His voice is even, his eyes studying me for a reaction.

  “I thought that’s what we were just talking about. Adding Harlow as the face of SoulM8—both visually on the signage and in person at the launch parties will help with that.”

  “Agreed, but after thinking about it on my run this morning, I think our vision is short-sighted.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. We need to sell the outcome—the happily ever after, not the initial hook-up.”

  “Okay.” I chew on the word as I wait to see what else he’s going to say. Fuck if this isn’t hard for me. To listen and have to take direction. I fly solo. I work how I want, when I want so this whole partner thing is bullshit . . . but I force a smile and remind myself that the four million dollar prize and bragging rights will be more than worth it. “And how do you intend we do that?”

  “We highlight a couple who has found love through the site and we use them as our poster children—our promise of what’s possible.”

  “Robert.” It’s a warning. An are you fucking serious? A shot over the bow for him not to go there.

  The platform is still in beta mode. The only person he knows who has found love through the site is me.

  “Hear me out.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Yes, you do.” His smile is his own warning to me. “Harlow’s gorgeous and intelligent. You’re handsome and successful. The two of you together embody the exact model of clientele we target: young urban professionals who don’t have time to waste in bars and wait for the one to come along. You’re too hungry in all aspects of life to sit around and wait. You’re go-getters. You’re proactive. You’re two people who met on the site and have found love. What better way to sell your own platform than to prove it works?”

  He’s fucking brilliant, and I hate him for it. I can see the ad campaign. The graphics online. The ads in magazines. The allure of an attractive couple who have found a dream relationship. All up until the part about it being my face that’s on it.

  “I’ve already set it up for you to join the promotional tour.”

  “Jesus Christ, Robert.” I cough the words out as I stand from my desk and turn my back to look out the wall of glass where the City of Angels is busy at work. “I can’t just drop everything and—”

  “Yes, actually you can.” When I turn to face him, I’m met stare for stare. No one said Robert Waze made his fortunes by being a pushover. “Your assistant told me your calendar is pretty clear and the few things that are there, I’m sure you can move them.”

  “This isn’t my only company to take care of.”

  “It is for the time being,” he asserts.

  “But my job is to run the company, not be the face of it.”

  “Not anymore.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and can hear the taunts from our monthly status conference call we had this morning.

  “C’mon, Phillips. Nothing to report yet? I’m already turning a profit while you stand there with your dick in your hand waiting to bet on love while we’re cashing in on tech. ”

  “Simmer down, Kostas. I like to take my time, nice and slow. Just how the sheilas like it.”

  Robert’s voice brings me back to the present. “I’ve already lined up the big three for our kick off. They were more than onboard with the mention of your name.”

  The Today Show. Good Morning USA. CBS This Morning.

  Even I’m impressed with the line up that Robert brought to the table through his connections.

  “I thought we were doing small events. Mixers. Conferences.” I try to act unimpressed.

  “We are,” Robert says with a nod, “but with this new marketing angle, I was able to sell the launch as a public interest story. Wealthy, unattainable man is finally tamed by love.”

  “Tamed? This is my dignity we’re talking about here.”

  “All’s fair in love.” He winks and my hands fist. “This whole concept allowed me to line up more visibility. Women want hope. They see you, see that it’s possible to catch a man like you . . . and they buy it. When you make women swoon, they talk. They talk, we get clients. Clients means subs
criptions. Subscriptions means—”

  “Money.”

  “Exactly.” He nods. “And not only that, but we’ll make money by bringing people together—bringing love to the masses. Now, I’m sure we can use Harlow’s shoot from today, but I also want to set up another one with the two of you together.”

  “Good. Great,” I say in a flat tone, unable to fake enthusiasm. “I’m being sarcastic in case you weren’t sure.”

  He doesn’t seem to care. “You gave me creative control, Zane.”

  “Yeah, mate, that was before you included me in part of your ad campaign,” I half joke, half gripe and wholly want to strangle myself for agreeing in the first place. “I’m not a model. I belong in the boardroom, not on the other end of a lens.”

  “This is what I do. You need to trust me.”

  Little does he know that I trust no one. Not now. Not ever.

  “I’m not happy about this.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Robert perches on the arm of the chair and folds his arms casually across his chest. “Here’s the thing though . . . I’m well aware that you don’t need my money, Zane. Your bank accounts are more than healthy. It’s my connections you need.”

  “Agreed,” I say, curious where this is going.

  “And you’ll get them, but keep in mind, I won’t be played. I may be an old buzzard, but I’m a tough one at that so if you think I was going to sign my check and walk away silently, you’re wrong. I believe in this project, I believe in you . . . and more than anything, I believe in the promise I made Sylvie. That’s who I’m doing this for. That’s why I want this to succeed. So like it or hate it, I’m along for the ride.”

  Hello, bullet. Meet gun. Meet temple.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else.” The less I say the better, right now.

  “Good,” he says with a definitive nod. “Now let me tell you how ecstatic I am about you having found Harlow. She’s such a lovely woman with so much dimension. I can see why you’re smitten with her.”

  “She is quite the force to be reckoned with.”

  Too bad it seems I’m the one who’s going to have to do the reckoning.

  And of course once he leaves my office, the rest of my day is shit to go right along with my morning.

  A phone call from my parents. My mum getting on the line to bitch about my dad. My dad then getting on the line to bitch about my mum. Then them hanging up without saying much else to have another drink and no doubt fight some more. Another pleasant reminder why I left the first chance that I could.

  Then a frustrating glitch in the SoulM8 program showed up, and I couldn’t reach the software engineer to fix it. Plus an issue with one of my other companies—a merger that was going south that I had to try and save. Not to mention dealing with a disappointed Simone asking what the hell happened when I had all but verbally told her she had the job.

  Add to that Smudge puking on the carpet.

  But it’s more than just that contributing to my bad mood.

  I should be happy. I can sleep with Simone free and clear now without crossing boundaries I shouldn’t be because I’m her boss. Well, after she forgives me for everything. Our eight o’clock meet up time for cocktails will give me a chance to explain.

  But I’m still in a shitty mood. Is it because I don’t want to be stuck with Harlow?

  Christ, it’s not even that.

  Problem is, I actually like her. Her gumption, her ability to play me when I don’t get played. Her damn body.

  That right there is why I hate this idea. If our first few meetings are any indication of what this promotional trip is going to be like, she’s going to speak her mind and assert herself every chance she gets.

  Fuck if that isn’t sexy. And confusing. And everything I never go for. All it spells is complication. Trouble. And damn it if it isn’t going to be hard to pretend I’m in love with her, all while wanting to shut her up.

  “You okay, mate?” I ask Smudge as he wanders next to my desk, grunting a little with every breath he takes, when the phone rings. “Christ,” I groan when I look at the name on the caller ID.

  Cinder.

  Isn’t it bad enough that she’s all I’ve been thinking about? And staring at? I glance up at the images on my computer screen, the photo shoot that was sent to me a little over an hour ago. The time I spend contemplating every which way I could have fun with that body of hers all the while knowing the chaos and irritation she’s causing me in all other aspects of my life.

  It’s a fucking curse to be a man sometimes. What I’d give to think with my brain without my dick interfering and fucking things up. Literally.

  “Haven’t you caused enough problems as it is already?” I say when I pick up the phone.

  “I see your manners still need some fine tuning.”

  “I’m not a piano, Harlow. I don’t need fine tuning.”

  Her laugh is deep and throaty and the mere sound of it has me thinking of her lips the other night. The defiance on her tongue. The surrender in her body that she fought against. That is right up until she speaks. “Oh, but how fun you are to play.”

  Fuck if we’re not even a minute into this conversation, and I’m already pissed off. “What do you need?”

  “Good afternoon, Zane. I hope you’re having a good day.”

  “Not hardly.” That’s all I’m going to give her. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s the reason my current mood is shit. The silence stretches as I scroll through the rest of the pictures the photographer sent me of Harlow.

  The camera loves her. Every angle of every curve of everything about her. In ways that have made me spend way too much time staring at them today instead of tackling the shit I need to do.

  It’s her fault. All of it. Isn’t that the easiest way to wrap my head around it all?

  “What do you need?” I ask.

  “I need access to SoulM8.”

  “Why? So you can fuck that up for me too?”

  “My needs are twofold. First off if I’m going to promote it, I need to understand it. And secondly, if I’m going to sell your lie that we met online, don’t you think it’d be wise for me to have a profile and be more than familiar with yours?”

  She has a point. Shit. My sigh fills the line. “Can’t you just stand there and smile?” It’s a dick comment but I feel like getting under her skin right now.

  She doesn’t take the bait. “I had lunch with Robert this afternoon,” she says nonchalantly, causing me to choke on my water and wish it were something stronger.

  “Why would you go and do something like that?”

  “Because he asked. Because he wanted to talk marketing. Because he’s lonely and I was trying to be nice. I don’t have to have a reason and I sure as hell don’t have to get approval from you if I want to go to lunch with someone.”

  I sigh, already exhausted by her. “Should I assume he told you the news?”

  “News?”

  “Yes . . . that you and I will be promoting together.”

  “Ah, that news. Yes, Robert did mention it.”

  “And . . ?”

  “And I’m trying to figure how we’re going to manage this seeing as your attitude has a way of getting in the middle of everything.”

  “God you’re irritating.”

  “Then prepare to be irritated because we’re going to be spending a lot of time together these next few weeks.”

  Fuck. She’s right.

  “It’ll be fine, Harlow. I’ll stay out of your way so long as you stay out of mine.”

  Her laugh scrapes through the line and makes me wonder what it sounds like when she comes. Totally inappropriate but between the pictures in front of me and her defiance everywhere, the thought was there.

  “You do understand we’ll have to work together, right?” she asks. “That makes the staying out of each other’s way part rather difficult.”

  “Yes and no. When we have to be together, we’ll be on. We’ll play the part
. And when we’re away from the public eye, we’ll steer clear of each other.”

  “Okay.” She draws the word out and falls silent. “May I ask what I did to you that has you so angry?”

  It’s my turn to chuckle. “You forced my hand.” Matter of fact. Unaffected. Honest.

  “Ah, I get it. Macho men don’t like being told what to do but it’s okay for those macho men to assume any passing female is the simple dog walker. A person for hire to do their dirty work.”

  “Are we back on this?” Women and their ability to throw in the damn kitchen sink. Hence why I don’t do relationships. Or women long term for that matter.

  “No. We’re not. We’re just . . .” She sighs and it sounds as frustrated as I feel. “Back to Robert’s marketing idea. I think it’s smart on the company’s part but it could also be disastrous.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” I say being caught off guard. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s speaking her mind—most people don’t around me when it comes to business matters. They just kiss my ass and do as I say. But with Harlow—just like everything else with her—she’s different than the norm.

  “You should know by now, I will. Selling the couple idea—that the platform works—is a brilliant idea.”

  “Then what seems to be the problem?” I ask.

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to pull it off.”

  “Just when I thought you were trying to make nice with me . . . ”

  “Look, Zane, you’re approaching this all wrong and it shows.”

  “You’re something else, you know that?”

  “You’re looking at this as a business to make money”—she says, completely ignoring me—“not something that can change people’s lives.”

  “You don’t even know me. We’ve only met three times.”

  “I’ve seen enough to know that this is a casual entity for you. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off and it’s more than just the fact that this is out of your wheelhouse. You invest in tech. In business. You’ve never dabbled in something like this.”

  “Someone’s been doing their homework.” I hate and I love the fact that she has all at the same time.