by Max Monroe
I much prefer the other woman—the kid I used to know. Clean, natural face and a beautiful, genuine smile, the woman I see when I think of the night we spent together.
I want so badly to advocate for her again—to ask her if she’s sure she’s okay—but it’s not my right to question her decisions. She’s a grown woman with her own mind, and I have to trust it. Even if we were in an actual relationship, the only time I’d want to speak for her is if she couldn’t do it for herself.
Of course, just because I know these things doesn’t make them easy. The practice is a whole lot harder than the realization because, fucking hell, do I want to go Hulk Smash on these assholes right now.
Instinctually, I am the alpha male. I want to protect her. I want to pre-sort any and all trouble she may be forced to deal with and send through only the rainbows and sunshine.
But I know in the end, we’ll both benefit so much more if I don’t stand in front of her or behind her—but beside her.
The lackey paces behind the crowd with his hand to his Bluetooth earbud like it somehow helps him hear better. I wouldn’t know since I’ve never used one, but I feel like if you have to hold it in your ear as you use it, it defeats the purpose of using it at all—putting your phone to your ear would take the same amount of energy.
Rocky rubs at her stomach and closes her eyes as the hair and makeup people continue to work on her.
I finally find my voice. “Sorry to state the obvious, but if you want to project the image of a father figure, why don’t you use the actual father figure?”
The room quiets to an immediate hush as people look pointedly among one another. Heidi breaks the silence pretty quickly, though, with a discordant laugh.
My eyebrows pinch together as I cross my arms over my chest and wait for an explanation.
When I don’t take up laughing with her, Heidi quiets and pulls up one corner of her mouth in a smirk. “Gallant offer, but a prostitute isn’t really the image we’re going for.”
“Heidi.” Rocky chokes on her own saliva as my spine straightens without prompting.
“I’m not a prostitute.”
Heidi rolls her eyes. “Right, right. A high-end escort.”
“No,” I say immediately. “Not an escort either. Not a hooker or a stripper or a date for hire. Just a CFO in a widely known company.”
“Why in the world would you think he’s a prostitute?” Rocky interjects. “You think I had to hire someone to have sex with me?”
“Raquel—” Heidi starts, her voice an annoyingly demoralizing placation.
I interrupt before she can go any further.
“So, what about me? I’m the father of this baby. I’m willing to be the fake fiancé.”
“You mean, you’re willing to be the opportunistic coward who found his way to stardom by tricking the world’s most favorite virgin into sleeping with him?”
I can feel the blood surge in my veins with protest and my throat immediately turning thick. “I’m not some fucking vulture, plundering the weak to have some chance at stardom,” I correct brusquely. “I couldn’t give two shits about celebrity. I just want to be there for Rocky and our baby.”
Heidi smiles like nothing I’ve said holds any merit. “Maybe that’s not your intention, dear, but that is what they’ll say about you. And the aggression of your reaction illustrates the fact that you’re not prepared to handle it. Not even close. In fact, you’re not prepared to handle even a fraction of a percent of the allegations and questions they’ll throw your way.”
She snorts a laugh and takes up a pace in front of the couch that’s reminiscent of a lioness circling her prey.
“Drugs, cheating scandals, sexually transmitted diseases, they’ll try it all. You’ll be a walking, talking pariah, and you can’t even imagine the havoc that’ll wreak on Raquel. The stress of someone she cares about—for God knows why—going through all of that at her expense?” She shakes her head. “It’ll torment her. And I don’t think I have to remind you what stress can do to an unborn baby.”
This woman. I’m pretty damn certain she just might be the scum of the earth. A fucking con artist of words.
I grind my jaw as Rocky worries her lip beside me and shrugs.
“Maybe she’s right. I don’t want you to go through this garbage because of me, Harrison.”
Heidi smirks to celebrate her victory, and it’s all I can do to cover my rage with a deep, calming gulp of air.
When we got together that night, I thought I was finding comfort and fun in an old friend.
Turns out, I was corrupting Hollywood’s most famous good girl.
I never could have fathomed the consequences—or that I wouldn’t have any say at all in how to deal with them.
Being in charge of my own destiny is out.
“Ben Huddleson is in,” the stupid PR schoolboy announces to the room, and I have to bite my tongue to keep my true thoughts to myself.
I may be the father of the baby growing inside Rocky’s belly, but I know I don’t get a vote in any of this. It doesn’t matter that I think it’s all a bunch of bullshit. We are not in a relationship. I haven’t earned any sort of say in her decisions or her life. Plus, running someone else’s life has never been my style, not even with someone I’m in an actual relationship with.
Still, though, it doesn’t negate the fact that hearing another man’s name—whether he’s a fake fiancé publicity stunt or not—feels like a knife to my fucking chest.
Raquel
I’m certain Beyoncé wasn’t talking about my situation when she wrote the song “Single Ladies.”
Yesterday, I was a single woman with an uncertain future.
Today, I’m an engaged expectant mother with her future laid out in a very carefully crafted ten-point plan.
Shortly after hearing from Ben’s people that he was on board with the sham romance turned parenthood, Heidi and the rest of my team got to work. They camped out in my living room—probably in some futile effort to make it seem like I was involved—and shamelessly picked out all the details of my future.
They charted a course for the award season and made appointments for appearances on all the talk shows as a loved-up duo and schemed all the different stings they could set up with the paparazzi to really sell it and pick up a few extra bucks in the process.
All the while, Harrison and I sat in my eat-in kitchen, searching for words to break the silence.
It was awkward and forced, and the more the team planned for me to do with Ben, the more agitated Harrison seemed to become.
Of course, agitated or not, he never broke tone. He was polite and patient, and he never raised his voice. He never even gave me anything other than a smile. It was just…forced.
Which is why I guess it shouldn’t be all that surprising that I found a note from him under my front door this morning.
Rocky,
Sorry to slip this note under your door like a phantom of the night, but it occurred to me after I’d already gone that I still don’t have your phone number.
I can understand why you guard it closely, but for the sake of expediency and the future of our child, I figured a note was better than spending another million to arrange a meeting. I wanted to wait around to talk to you in person, but I understand how busy you are.
I have to head back to New York today to get some of my affairs in order. I’m not entirely sure when I’ll be back, but if you’ll reach out to me (212-555-6789), I’ll let you know as I know.
Call if you need anything. (Anything at all.) I’m only a plane ride away.
-Harrison
The first thing I did when I read the note was program his number into my phone.
And then the reality of my situation hit me like a hammer.
The father of my child paid one million dollars to talk to me, spent twenty-four hours in my crazy life, and now, he’s gone. I’m not sure what “affairs” he had to tie up in New York, but the open-ended way he promised a return fell flat l
ike a damn pancake. And, truthfully, I can’t entirely blame him.
My life isn’t for the faint of heart. Hell, in some ways, it’s probably not even for people equipped with a heart at all. It’s often cold and calculating, and it moves at a blistering pace.
I have nothing to offer him aside from a life on the sidelines and a baby he didn’t plan.
A baby that my lie made possible.
God, I can only imagine how badly he’d hate me if he knew the very specific lie that led to all of this. I shake my head to clear it. I can’t think about that now. All I can think about is what I can control.
The here and now.
He’s gone, but it’s for the best. Of course, I’ll make sure to include him in the baby’s life as much as he’d like, but he won’t have to face any of the public scrutiny and ridicule. He deserves at least that much from me.
I repeat my mantra again, just to emphasize the point to myself in a way my sad and hurting heart can understand.
This is for the best.
“Ben will be here in half an hour,” Heidi says, strolling in from my kitchen without warning and standing over me in my spot on the couch. I nod, but the rest of me, for all intents and purposes, is numb.
“Listen, I know you don’t have a lot of experience with this, but take it from me,” Heidi says, picking up a bottle of water, pouring its contents into a glass and handing it to me. “Some men cannot handle being second fiddle. They can be sexy and mysterious and funny, but then you go and get more successful than they are or choose something over them, and they turn into tantruming toddlers.”
My eyebrows pull together. Who in the hell is she talking about?
She sits down on the arm of the sofa next to me and pats my shoulder awkwardly. “Obviously, he’s a successful guy. He’s used to being powerful and in control, and he comes here, and he has to take a back seat. Your career is front and center right now, and maybe he thought if he could at least attach himself to you personally, it’d kind of be like he was at the level you are.”
It’s only now that I finally realize she’s talking about Harrison.
“It’s better for both of you if he leaves now. It’s only going to get messier and harder as time goes on, and if he’s willing to leave at the first drop of a fake fiancé who isn’t him, he really isn’t cut out for your world.”
What the fuck? Did she read my note?
My jaw aches as I take in everything she’s saying and try to chew on it enough to make it possible to swallow. I don’t want to think badly of Harrison or that this could really be the reason he would leave to go back to New York so quickly, but if I’m honest with myself, it could make sense.
You don’t want it to make sense, though…
But why would he want to spend his time here, waiting on me to go from place to place? He’s got a life of his own. One where he gets to be more than an accessory to a woman.
God, the mere idea of that hurts like a bitch…
I frown around the possibility of it all, but eventually, I nod. Though, I can’t decide if the nod is more for me or blabbermouth Heidi.
Instantly, she smiles and pats me on the hand before getting up to head over to my agent, Ruth Beslo, to have some sort of a powwow.
I put the glass of water to my lips and take a swig, wishing I were allowed to have something a little stronger, though I think we all know I wouldn’t drink it anyway.
Still, the water is at least cool against my dry throat, soothing the burn of uncertainty left behind from Heidi’s monologue.
I sit there like that for what must be a full thirty minutes because the next thing I know, my doorbell is ringing, and Ben Huddleson and his team are strolling into my apartment like they own the place. I shift in my spot, curling a sweatpant-clad leg under my body and leaning into the arm of the couch with my elbow.
My brand-new fake fiancé is picture-perfect movie-star handsome, and the only thing I feel at seeing him is nausea.
I shut my eyes briefly and try to distract myself from the near overwhelming urge to puke by thinking of a happy place. The beach. Putting my toes in the sand. Think of anything that resembles happiness, Raquel.
But when visuals of bright green eyes and one sexy dimple start to filter into my brain, I quickly open my eyes again and find Ben striding over toward me.
“I’m Ben,” he says without offering a hand.
I nod. I know, obviously. I’m not sure who he thinks I think he is, but I suppose I could be being unfairly bitchy. It’s polite to introduce yourself, Raquel, I remind myself.
I stick out a hand, but he makes no move to take it as his eyes narrow on my face. “Raquel.”
“Right,” he says with a laugh. “You look…different.”
I narrow my eyes and shrug. What was he expecting for this meeting? A ball gown?
“No worries,” he comments, shuffling to take the seat on the couch next to me. “You should be comfortable, I guess. Carrying around a human and all.”
My face pinches into a frown.
“Okay, guys,” Heidi says, interrupting our introduction. Frankly, it’s the first time in what feels like an eternity that I’ve been happy to hear her start talking. “Let’s get organized. The Golden Globes are in three days, and we’ve had to rework both of your red-carpet plans entirely. You’ll be arriving together now, in a single limo during the four o’clock hour.”
Ben settles into his spot, taking off his trendy leather jacket and tossing it onto the sofa right behind me. I’m not even sure why he had it on in the first place. It’s eighty-two degrees outside.
Nevertheless, I shake it off and lean forward a bit as he shifts in his spot to cross his ankle over his knee. He takes up half the space on my cushion, but I don’t press the issue.
I’m obviously feeling extra moody today.
“We’re still on the phone with the seating people. I’ve been explicitly clear that it’s unacceptable for you to be seated separately, and I’ll keep pushing. But so far, they haven’t been able to make the rearrangement happen.”
“Is sitting together that important?” I ask, picturing him taking up the same amount of goddamn space at the Beverly Hilton. At this rate, I won’t even be able to lift my arm to put my fork to my mouth at the table.
My stomach growls in a message from the baby. Eating is important.
Heidi—and everyone else in the room including Ben—laughs. “You’re engaged, Raquel. Yes, it’s that important that you sit together.”
Ben pats my knee, and I suddenly want to start crumbling buildings like King Kong. I know it’s at least partially the hormones, but dear God, does the man have absolutely no respect for the personal space of strangers?
Fearful that I’ll come out of my skin if I stay here any longer, I get up from my spot on the couch and make my way into the bathroom. I conveniently have to pee, so I take a deep breath, do my business, and wash my hands.
After a brief pep talk in the vanity mirror, I make my way back out to the living room, only to find that Ben the space-hogger is taking up my entire spot now. I maintain my approach because surely he’ll move when he sees I’m returning, but I make it all the way to the arm of the sofa without him moving an inch.
I clear my throat, and he looks up at me…and smiles.
No movement. No recognition. Just blatant freaking space-hogging.
I jerk my head toward my spot, ruling out any and all possibilities of being subtle, but he still doesn’t take the hint. “I’m good,” he says to me instead. Like I was fucking offering to get him something.
It’s sudden, but I find myself unequivocally connected to the girl in The Exorcist.
My head is quite literally spinning.
This fucker has got to be the worst fake fiancé on record, and I’ve seen a lot of them.
But Harrison is gone, and the horse is already out of the barn. There’s no turning back.
Golden Globes, here I come.
Harrison
Frank Sin
atra would probably roll around in his grave if he knew how quickly I’m leaving his beloved New York, New York behind.
It’s official. I’m leaving the place I’ve called home since I was ten years old to head to the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, California.
Although, personally, after being privy to the inner workings of Hollywood courtesy of Rocky’s manager and PR team and God knows who else is on her staff, I’m not impressed.
But I’m more certain now than ever that I’m doing the right thing.
Moving to California allows me to be close to my future child, and thankfully, I don’t have to risk the career I’ve worked so hard for in the process. I will continue to work bicoastally as HawCom’s CFO, and I’ll be able to sleep easier knowing I’m close to the baby that’s growing inside Rocky’s belly.
Some people might think I’ve lost my mind, but I’ve never been one to put too much thought into what other people think. I guess that’s a gift I learned from my late father.
I am the creator of my own destiny, and being the best father I can be is the destiny that I more than want to create.
Boxes litter the room around me, the contents of which contain anything and everything I’ve acquired over the last ten or so years of my life.
My TV, though, still hangs on the wall in front of my couch, the screen alight with the pageantry of a Hollywood red carpet. Sadly, it took me a pathetic amount of time to Google what channel this awards show was even on.
It’s the Golden Globes, by the way. Not the Big Hollywood Night or the Famous People Event, as I had originally searched.
Rocky wears a floor-length, cream-colored gown with an embellished deep V in the front. It cuts down through her cleavage all the way to the apex of her growing baby bump. It’s not huge yet, but I could swear she’s grown—our baby has grown—even since I left California four days ago.
And I can’t stop myself from wondering about the current state of her mind since she’s yet to call me.
