by Locklyn Marx
“On reality shows,” she said. “TMZ, that kind of thing. And when I googled, it said that you can usually see paparazzi hanging out in that area of the city. It’s supposedly where all those reality TV socialites shop.”
“Well,” Chad said, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “I don’t think photographers really congregate down there unless they know there’s a celebrity in one of those stores. You know, like if they get tipped off.”
She sighed. “Can we stop walking for a second?” she asked. “My feet hurt and I’m starting to get cold.”
“Absolutely,” Chad said, brightening at the idea that she was getting deterred from her mission. “Why don’t we go sit down and grab a coffee and figure out our next step?”
She hesitated, looking around, probably trying to figure out how off track this was going to make them when it came to her master plan. “Okay,” she said finally. “But I don’t think we should waste too much time hanging out in a coffee shop. We’re definitely not going to get noticed there.”
Ten minutes later, they were tucked away in a booth in the back of a Starbucks, Chad with a black coffee and Kenley with a pumpkin spice latte. The air in the café was warm, and Chad took off his brown leather jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.
He hoped Kenley got the message that he was planning on being there for a while.
“So what should we do?” Kenley asked. She was looking at him for the answer, cupping her hands around her latte. Her nails were painted a pale pink color, and Chad resisted the urge to reach out and hold her hand.
“I don’t know,” Chad said, pretending to think about it. “I think it’s great that last night we got some fans to take pictures, but maybe the paparazzi thing just isn’t going to happen. I mean, I don’t know where else to go.” It was a lie. There were a million places her could take her, the kind of places that would definitely get them recognized, the kind of places that were crawling with paparazzi. And if he got really desperate, he could always take her out tonight to some clubs, the kind of trendy, hipster spots that those Kardashian sisters were always hanging out in. Hell, he could take her to the Kardashian store if he wanted to go that route.
“Can’t you call in a tip or something?” Kenley asked.
“A tip?”
“Yeah like when you call the paparazzi and let them know where you are? Like, on purpose? Isn’t Paris Hilton always doing things like that?”
“I wouldn’t know who to call,” Chad lied again. He took a long sip of his coffee.
Kenley narrowed her eyes at him and then sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s going on?” she demanded.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what’s up with all this not wanting to get our pictures taken together?”
Realization dawned on her face. “Are you.. are you embarrassed of me?”
“No!” he said. “No, not at all.” The situation was starting to get away from him.
She was too smart not to be suspicious of all the stalling he was doing. Shit. He looked around the restaurant nervously, then took another sip of his coffee, trying to figure out what to say. Jesus, this woman had him on the ropes. And then he had a brilliant idea.
An amazing, wonderful, perfect idea.
“Listen,” he said, and leaned across the table. He gave her his patented grin, his Chad Parnell I-can-get-anything-I want grin. “New York isn’t really the place to be if you want to get noticed.”
“What?” She slammed her latte down on the table. “Then why the hell did you bring me here?”
Kenley’s eyes were blazing, and so Chad quickly tried to backpedal. “No, no, I mean, it was definitely good that you were here. We needed to make it seem like we were in a relationship, and so you being here, at my apartment, was necessary. And having those pictures taken by fans helped, too.”
“Okay….” she said, waiting for him to go on.
“But obviously there’s no paparazzi here,” he said. “They’re in L.A. Like, really in L.A. So I think that maybe what we should do is go there.”
Kenley choked on a sip of her latte. “To Los Angeles?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. Then he sighed, like he couldn’t believe it had come to this. But in reality, what he couldn’t believe was that he’d come up with such an amazing plan. He’d take her to California for a week, and that’s where he’d win her over. He’d make her see that he was serious about her, that he wanted to build a future with her, that he knew they hadn’t known each other that long but he had never been more sure of anything in his life. By the time they left L.A., she’d know. She’d know that he was falling in love with her. And he’d make sure she was falling in love with him.
“I can’t go to L.A.,” Kenley said. “Are you crazy?”
A couple of women in the booth next to them looked over, and Chad gave them a reassuring smile, hoping to God that they didn’t recognize him. They gave him tight smiles back, the kind of smiles you would give to a random man in Starbucks who you were afraid was about to get into a screaming fight with his girlfriend and ruin your coffee date.
“I know it sucks,” Chad said to Kenley, shaking his head sadly. “But we’ve come this far.”
“No.” She shook her head. “That was not part of the deal.”
“I’ll, um, you know, up the ante of course.” He’d pay her whatever she wanted.
Her phone rang then, and she rummaged through her bag. “Hello?” she said.
“Are you serious? Are you sure? Okay…okay… okay.” She gave him a thumbs up and then hung up her phone.
“That was my sister,” she said, sounding excited. “And she just saw on twitter that a bunch of people spotted George Clooney at some restaurant called Norma’s having brunch. If we hurry, we can get there.”
She was already moving toward the door, dumping the rest of her coffee into the trash bin. Chad sighed, and then after a minute, he followed her. So much for his brilliant idea.
***
By the time they got to Fifty-Seventh Street, Kenley was out of breath. If she’d known she was going to be running around the city, she would have started going to the gym. Or at least not worn boots with heels.
Norma’s was in a hotel called the Parker Meridien, and when the front entrance came into view, Kenley was disappointed to find that George Clooney was nowhere to be seen. But a loose tangle of paparazzi was gathered outside, and Kenley sped up when she saw them. Thank God for Melissa. For once Kenley was thankful that her sister was such a busybody.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Chad’s sleeve and dragging him along down the sidewalk. What was his problem? Why was he moving so slow? This was his chance to get their picture taken! “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Hurry up!”
He upped his speed, but only slightly. No matter – they were almost in front of the restaurant now. She grabbed for Chad’s hand, and his grip tightened around hers.
His fingers felt warm and strong and safe, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself one moment of pretending that she really was Chad’s girlfriend, that she was really here with him, that they were going out to brunch like a normal couple, and not just as a fake couple scrounging for a paparazzi picture.
But as soon as she had the thought, she instantly felt guilty. Forget him, she told herself. You are not going to get all crazy about some guy just because you had sex with him. It’s a funny story, that’s all, something to tell your future husband. Not that her future husband was probably going to be too amused by her agreeing to spend a few days with Chad Parnell for a hundred thousand dollars. Or by the fact that she’d ended up sleeping with him. Maybe she didn’t have to tell her future husband about the hundred thousand dollars. Of course, leaving out the money aspect didn’t necessarily make the story sound that much better. And did she really want to start her future marriage off by being dishonest? Probably not. Everyone always said that the minute you started lying to your spouse, you –Flash! Snap!
The cameras started flashing and popping in front of her face. It was weird, she thought, as Chad pulled her close and she smiled and posed. Just a few days ago, the camera had felt like an intrusion. Now it felt like something she wanted to go after, some kind of necessary evil that was going to help her get home. She posed this way and that, even going as far as to kiss Chad on the cheek. Finally, after the paparazzi had gotten so many pictures that Kenley was being to think they might be getting bored, Chad opened the door to the restaurant and Kenley stepped inside.
“That was perfect,” she said, feeling giddy. It was over. She could go home. She clapped her hands and twirled around the lobby. Of course, going home didn’t change the fact that she’d slept with Chad. And it didn’t change the fact that if she was being completely honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to go home, she didn’t want to be away from him. And it certainly didn’t change the fact that she had no job back in Connecticut, and nothing to really look forward to when she got there. She stopped twirling.
“Yeah,” Chad said, his tone cold. “Perfect.” He was walking toward the hostess stand, his strides long and angry.
“Where are you going?” Kenley asked, rushing after him.
He turned around. “I figured we should eat,” he said. “Since we’re already here.”
“But you just had an omelette,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, well, I’m hungry.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving her standing there by herself. She looked around, not sure what to do. Was she supposed to go with him? Did he want her to? She didn’t understand why he so angry all of a sudden. She’d done exactly what he’d wanted. Hell, she’d even had sex with him!
And that’s when it hit her. That was exactly the reason why he was being like this. Now that he had what he wanted from her, now that their little arrangement was over, there was no reason for him to be nice to her. Her eyes burned with tears, and she tried to blink them away, but they spilled down her cheeks. She wiped at them angrily with the back of her hand. Whatever. She didn’t need Chad Parnell. She’d go back to his apartment and bury herself in his guest room, she’d refuse to talk to him, she’d take herself to the airport tomorrow, and she’d never talk to him again. Well. That last one was more for her benefit than his, but still.
She thought about not taking his money, because that would really show him, but then she decided that no, she’d earned that fucking money, and she was going to have it.
She left the restaurant. The paparazzi were standing in a loose knot on the sidewalk, drinking their coffees, smoking their cigarettes, and still waiting for George Clooney.
This time, they didn’t pay any attention to Kenley.
She was in a cab before she realized that she didn’t have a way to get into Chad’s apartment. She’d never gotten a key. Shit. Why hadn’t she thought to get a key? Well, because the idea was for them to be together twenty-four seven. She leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. What a fucking disaster this whole thing was turning out to be. Why the hell had she slept with him?
“Where to, miss?” the cabbie asked, sounding bored.
She thought about it. No way she was going into that restaurant after him. She didn’t trust herself not to make a scene, and besides, she didn’t want to see him. She could always go back to his apartment anyway, but then what? Sit there in the lobby and wait for him, putting her life on hold while he ate some stupid, ridiculously overpriced breakfast? Forget it.
She’d spend the afternoon in New York doing what she wanted, and go back to the apartment later. She had a couple hundred dollars left on one of her credit cards, and she decided that she deserved to spend it. She was about to become a hundred thousand dollars richer anyway.
So she told the cabbie to take her to the one place in New York that seemed the most appropriate for her situation.
“Bloomingdale’s please.” And then she settled back into her seat and braced herself for the ride.
***
The hostess at Norma’s was taking Chad to his table when he realized what a complete ass he was being. Kenley had come to New York to help him, because he’d asked her to. And now here he was, pitching a fit because she was trying to get their picture taken together, which is what he’d brought her here to do in the first place. It was a shitty thing to do.
It was just that she’d seemed so happy just now, twirling around like that in the lobby, like she was psyched that their time together was about to be over. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, and he certainly wasn’t used to feeling this way about a woman. But still. That didn’t give him an excuse to act like a prick.
“Excuse me,” he said to the hostess. “I’m sorry, I…I have to go.”
He ran back outside, scanning the street for Kenley. But he didn’t see her anywhere. A few of the paparazzi started snapping more pictures of him, and a couple others looked up when they saw the flashes, hoping maybe George Clooney had finally made his appearance. When they saw it was Chad, they seemed disappointed.
“Hey,” Chad said to one of them, a woman who had long blonde hair and was wearing a black baseball hat. “Did you see where my girlfriend went?”
She shrugged. “Not sure,” she said. “Hey, did any of you guys see where that girl went? The one with Chad?”
“She got into a taxi!” one of them yelled. An excited murmur started going through the crowd, and now the photographers were interested. They smelled a scandal brewing, a fight between Chad and Kenley, one that maybe caused her to leave the restaurant.
“Thanks,” Chad said. It was definitely best not to ask them anything else. Jesus.
They’d just gotten the pictures of them as a couple, and now they were itching for them to break up.
He hailed a cab. Kenley was probably heading back to Brooklyn. He’d follow her back, and when he got there, he’d somehow find a way to make it okay. He’d apologize, talk to her, take her out, do whatever it took. He gave the cabbie his address, then pulled his phone out and dialed Kenley’s number. She didn’t answer, of course.
Damn it.
He drummed his fingers on the back of the seat. The cab zoomed through the gridlike streets of New York City, and Chad willed the cabbie to go faster. He had never felt this desperation, this burning need to be close to another person. Not being able to talk to Kenley, to apologize to her was driving him out of his mind.
When the cab pulled up in front of his apartment, Chad threw some money through the divider, and then ran into his building. But when he got to the apartment, Kenley wasn’t there. He raced into the guestroom. Her suitcase was still there, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t left the city.
Okay. He could handle that. Maybe she’d stopped off somewhere, or maybe her cabbie had recognized her as an out-of-towner and was taking her the long way to Brooklyn. Whatever the case, all he had to do was wait for her. He would wait for her here, for however long, and when she got here, he would make it right.
Chapter Eleven
Three hours later, Kenley emerged from Bloomingdale’s, holding two shopping bags. Inside one was a pair of shoes, and inside the other was a t-shirt. The shoes were sparkly and pink and not that expensive, and the t-shirt was soft and black and had cost her sixty-two dollars. But she didn’t care. It was her I’m-fabulous-no-matter-what-Chad-Parnell-says-and-I-deserve-an-expensive-shirt-if-I-want-it shirt.
She walked down the sidewalk, swinging her bags, wondering what she should do next. She thought about maybe going to a museum, or out to lunch, or even to the Empire State Building. But she was exhausted. And the longer she stayed out, the longer she’d be stuck in New York. She was dreading seeing Chad, but she knew it was going to happen sooner or later. It was time to face the music. It was time to go back to Brooklyn.
She hailed a cab, checking her phone on the way back to Chad’s apartment. He’d called three more times since the last time she’d checked an hour ago. She deleted the messages with
out listening to them, praying that he would be in his bedroom or something when she got to his apartment.
No such luck. As soon as she stepped off the elevator, he was poking his head out the door.
“Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound cordial but cold.
“Hey,” he said. “Where were you?”
“Oh, just doing some shopping.” She tried to sound breezy, like it was totally normal for her to spend hours alone in New York shopping when she had no money and had just gotten into a fight with the man who was paying her to be his fake girlfriend.
“Do you need help with your bags?”
“No, I only have these two.” She brushed by him and into the apartment, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was only four o’clock. Her flight didn’t leave until seven tomorrow morning. Which meant that she had fifteen more hours of this. Okay, she told herself. New plan: get into guest room asap and don’t come out.
“Listen,” Chad said, closing the door behind him. “I need to talk to you.”
This was it. The moment she’d been dreading. The moment where he was going to sit her down like some kind of loser and tell her about how last night didn’t mean anything, and that he hoped she wouldn’t take it the wrong way and it was really fun but here’s your check now see you later bye. Well, whatever. She wasn’t going to listen to it. And in fact, she was going to cut him off at the pass.
“Yes,” she said. “I need to talk to you too.”
“You do?” He seemed surprised.
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to be leaving tomorrow, and I know this is kind of awkward, but we need to talk about payment.”
“Payment?”
“Yes.” She nodded, forcing herself to look him in the eye. If he thought that sleeping with her was going to turn her into some kind of pile of mush that told him not to worry about the money, he had another thing coming. “I’m assuming you’ll write me a check?”
“A check?” His eyes were about to bug out of his head.
“Yes.”
“Listen,” he said. “I need to apologize for –”
