by Sierra Rose
“I’m going to make you change your mind,” he promised as I hopped into the car and revved the engine.
I grinned widely. “You just remember the pepper spray and keep walking, buddy.”
His mouth curved up in a smile as he locked eyes with me. His hands were still in his pockets, and a slight breeze danced his messy hair. While he may have stood out like a sore thumb in his expensive suit amongst the liquor stores and two-dollar laundromats, he carried himself with such an easy confidence that it was the neighborhood that seemed out of place, not him. Altogether—a rather winning look for a guy with an image problem.
Then again...that was his problem, not mine.
I slapped the horn twice to make him move out of my way as I sped off past him into the smoggy sunset—hoping I wasn’t too late.
Chapter 10
I called Amanda from the casting room and told her about running into Marcus. Apparently, I had just missed her and she was already heading to Barry’s.
“Shit! He came to our apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“And he wants to hire you to be his fake girlfriend?”
“I told him no.”
“Would you mind if I took the acting gig?” she said. “Because I could be the perfect fake girlfriend. I even have this black, glittery number he would love. It’s a little black dress and it shows off my cleavage.”
“Amanda!”
“Just kidding! Okay, maybe not. Listen, if you could just drop a line in for me. I could be the perfect fake girlfriend! I mean, the guy’s loaded. Why the hell didn’t you say yes?”
“Because I’m bummed. I kept thinking about the guy from the coffee shop all day. And yeah, I did blow it when I first met him, but I still thought about him, kind of hoping for a second chance.”
“You had your second chance! And you kicked him in the nuts.”
“Let’s backtrack before that moment, shall we? So I kept thinking about this guy from the coffee shop, and then I learn his true identity. He’s a flippin’ playboy billionaire with a bad reputation. And then I meet him in person, and we dance. And even though I can’t dance, it’s the best dance I’ve ever had. And I’m thinking, maybe everyone is mistaken about this guy. And then, he’s this wonderful man who sweeps me off my feet. And what does he do? He propositions me.”
“But not for sex. For fake sex. But you never gave him the chance to explain.”
“Fake sex? Okay, that makes no sense whatsoever.”
“He wasn’t trying to pay you to have sex. He was offering you a job to be his fake girlfriend. And you’re the one who started all that ‘fake girlfriend’ shit in the first place.”
“I didn’t want to be offered an acting gig at all. I wanted him to ask me out on a date.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is all about. And that’s why you’re not taking his offer. So let me do it. I’ll even give you a cut. Because this man can pay our rent for an entire year. And I didn’t tell you, but my parents cut me off last month.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s time for me to spread my wings and make my own way. But we can really use this money. If you don’t want to do it, then let me! I’ll use every dime he gives me for rent. It’ll benefit us both.”
“What about Barry?”
“Fake is the key word here. It’s a ‘fake’ relationship. It’s acting! I can do that. I’m a fantastic actress.”
I blew out a long breath. “You should’ve told me your parents quit giving you money.”
“I didn’t want pity. Don’t worry. It’s all good.”
A woman called out my name from the doorway. “Rebecca White.”
“Okay, they just called my name,” I said. “Wish me luck. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good luck!”
“AND WHEREVER DOTH HE roam, I bid him good morrow and a swift night.”
And a swift night? What did that even mean? Where the hell did they come up with these lines? Maybe if I amped up the accent a little—
“Thank you, Miss White.” A disembodied voice dismissed my efforts as the lights flickered back on. “Next!”
I slipped on my sunglasses and thanked them as I headed back out onto the streets, scanning for a coffee shop as stanzas of bastardized Shakespeare ran through my head. When I’d read they were looking for an Old English theater nut, I’d assumed that meant the role I’d be auditioning for was a fan. Not that the entire film was a period piece set in 1640 Sussex.
Oh well, another one bites the dust.
I ducked into a café, purchased my usual mocha-chino, and was back at my apartment ten minutes later. Amanda was out with Barry, and by some miracle, I hadn’t run into Hamburg on my way in here. Nope—it was just me and Deevus. Like usual.
With a wide yawn, I dropped my purse on the ground and dialed up my mom for our bi-weekly pep talk about my life. As usual, she was busy—oh so very busy—what with her yoga class, her spinning class, her Flemish class (yes, Flemish), and the usual work to be done in the garden. But she still had a few minutes to squeeze in a talk with me.
I rolled my eyes and grinned as she recited one of her usual lectures. If I were to miss just one of these calls, she’d call the National Guard.
“So what about you, sweetie?” she asked when she managed to take a breath. “What did you do today?”
The face of a handsome billionaire flashed through my mind in a cloud of pepper spray, but I quickly deemed that one of those “too much explanation required” topics and moved on.
“Oh, you know—work. Blew another casting.” I took a scalding sip of mocha. “The usual.”
I felt the judgment in her sigh from two states away.
“Let me guess, you grabbed a mocha-chino, headed straight home, and now you’re milling about in those ugly penguin slippers you love so much.”
I glanced from my coffee to my slippers before peering suspiciously around the living room. Sometimes I got the terrible feeling that my mom had the apartment bugged. Casting wary glances at the blinking light on the smoke detector, I wandered out to our tiny balcony overlooking the street.
“You know, I happen to like my mocha—”
“Bex, you’ve got to get out there,” she interrupted. “You spend all your time at work with old people.”
I snorted. “Well, one day when you’re one of them, you’ll appreciate people like me.”
“Very funny.” She chuckled, then sobered all in one move. She was the only person I’d ever met who could do that. “I just want you to be happy. Live your life! Take the plunge!”
I covered my other ear in frustration to mute a commotion further up the street. “Yeah, Mom, except things like that don’t happen in real...”
Oh...my gosh.
I dropped the phone in my hand as a slow-moving limo pulled up on the street in front of my balcony. A tiny crowd of people trailed behind, snapping excited pictures on their phones. But it wasn’t the limo that had everyone up in arms.
It was the fact that Marcus Taylor was sticking out of the sunroof. Mocha-chino in hand. I bet this stunt would land him on every newspaper tomorrow morning. Hell, I bet it’d go viral within an hour. Yet, it seemed like he didn’t care. Was he risking his reputation for me? Because wooing a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks might not look so good for him. Even if it was all fake, like he claimed. Wouldn’t it look better for him to date a wealthy socialite?
He was grinning from ear to ear, obviously elated with the theatrics of his plan. “Hark, fair maiden,” he called, making the women in the crowd instantly swoon, “might I come up and borrow your ear?”
My mouth fell open, and I stared dumbly between him and my coffee. Hark? Hey, where was he when I was practicing my lines today?
I picked up the phone. “Mom, I have to call you back.” I hung up and leaned over the railing, trying to pull myself together. “Has someone been watching romantic comedies again?”
He ignored me and cli
mbed up the fire escape like a champion, all while trying not to spill coffee. And by the time the two of us squeezed into the tiny metal box, I had to admit I was blown away that he’d go out of his way like this to get my undivided attention.
“Wow,” I said. “I’m impressed. You didn’t spill a drop.”
“This looks a lot better in the movies.” He glanced around the cramped space and handed me the cup.
“Yeah, well, this is Los Angeles. Space is money.” I shook the mocha and smiled—it was about a quarter full. “So what’s the number to this coffee delivery service? I love it!”
He winked. “Are you asking me for my number?”
I grinned.
He straightened his shirt and put on his best poker face. “I’ll get right down to it. I want to pay you twenty thousand dollars to come to the Caribbean for the weekend.”
“I’m not a high-class call girl,” I said. “Maybe you should check with them. I’m sure they’ll jump on it. Should I kick you now or later? I told you, no prostitution.”
“I need an actress. Not a call girl.”
“That’s right. You had mentioned that you wanted me to act like your girlfriend so we can fix your Casanova image problem you got going. You could’ve paid a hooker to do this, you know. They have ‘girlfriend’ packages, from what I hear.”
“I don’t want to be associated with a hooker.”
“Yeah, if you get busted, that would really hurt your image.”
“So is twenty thousand dollars a fair price?” he asked.
“Is this for real?”
“Yes, Rebecca. This is a very real proposal. Act like my girlfriend for a weekend and I’ll pay you.”
My mind went blank. Completely blank. Could have been something to do with twenty thousand dollars... Amanda would kick me if I didn’t take this offer.
I opened my mouth several times, each time falling short of what I actually wanted to say. “What do you...? Are you actually...? What would I do in the Caribbean all by myself?”
He pursed his lips to restrain a smile. “Well, I’d be going with you. Perhaps I should have made that clear. A very important client of mine is hosting a charity gala there in two weeks, and I have to make it appear that I’m stable.”
“...clearly.” I grinned.
“With a stable, charming girlfriend.” He gave me an appreciative nod. “One who I already know he likes.”
I was still at a loss. “You just go to the Caribbean for the weekend?” I grasped at another inconsequential detail.
Why was it that whenever anything big happened in my life, I remembered things like the song playing in the background rather than what actually occurred? Maybe I wasn’t built for these kinds of shocks.
He shrugged without shame. “When you can afford to go whenever you want, you just go for the weekend.”
“Fair point,” I echoed faintly.
He flashed a pearly smile. “So...?”
I glanced up to see him inclining his head, leaning down, so those damn ocean eyes were sparkling right into mine. My heart smashed around in my chest.
I was surprised my eviction notice didn’t blow out of my purse on a mysterious breeze and slap me in the face. The coffee shop, the party, the unfortunate pepper spray incident? The universe was clearly hitting me upside the head with sign after sign, but strangely enough, that’s what was making me pause. I didn’t trust things like that. I never had.
Ignoring the way his body was tilting invitingly into mine, I took a deliberate step back, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. “And if we go hence to the—”
“Hence?”
My cheeks flushed. “Sorry, it’s been a weird day. I’ve been auditioning for a part. It’s still stuck in my head. Uh...so if we go for the weekend, you’ll give me the money, and then...that’s it? We go our separate ways?”
I couldn’t believe I was considering this. I flat out couldn’t believe it. Then again, if I said no—what would happen? He’d drive away, leaving me to wander with my empty coffee cup back inside and wait with Deevus until Amanda got home. I’d tell her the details, she’d be shocked. Then we’d speculate for a night or two as to what might have happened, until we forgot about it. By the end of the week, it would have already begun to fade away. Consigned to that forbidden place in my mind where all the what-ifs and missed opportunities slowly fermented to bitterness and passive-aggressive rage.
No—not this time. This time, I was jumping in. No reservations. No regrets.
Even if it did mean agreeing with my mother.
“That’s it.” He raised his palms innocently. Then, before I could change my mind, he dropped a thick envelope into my hands. “Consider this a down payment. Good faith—and all that.”
I stared down in amazement, thinking I ought to set certain conditions and boundaries. I ought to draw up some sort of paperwork or find a notary or something. But before I could properly vocalize any of these concerns, he snatched my phone from the balcony and programmed in his number.
“Nothing physical, nothing indecent. Separate rooms.”
He slipped the phone into my hands and flashed me another grin. “Don’t worry...I’m sure by the end of the weekend, well, we won’t be able to wait to get rid of each another.”
I laughed shakily, still staring down at the envelope. “Right.”
“Rebecca.” He touched my shoulder, and I stared up into his face. “We’re going to be surrounded by other people all the time. This is not going to be something you regret. You have my word.”
The cynic in me crumbled at the sincerity shining behind his eyes. “Okay. The answer is yes. I’d love to be your fake girlfriend.” I then winked. “This is going to look so good on my acting résumé.”
He cocked his head, and I laughed.
“Kidding,” I said.
“Great,” he said. “You won’t regret this. And you’re really helping me out of a jam. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re helping me out too. Now I won’t have to get evicted. So thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“And please give me those exact dates for the Caribbean. I’ll need to get them off work as soon as possible.”
“I’ll get you all the dates you’ll need off.”
“Thanks.”
Satisfied that I was satisfied, he took a step back and eyed the fire escape doubtfully. “Do you mind if I...?”
I cocked my head toward the apartment. “Yeah, why don’t you just use the stairs?”
Chapter 11
The next day, I was supposed to sleep in. I’d stayed up late into the night, staring at the sealed envelope on the table for at least an hour before I’d plucked up the courage to open it. Ten thousand dollars was staring back at me. After resisting the urge to march downstairs and use it to bitch-slap Hamburg across the face, I was seized with the sudden panic that my little roach nest in East Hollywood wasn’t a safe place for ten thousand dollars. I spent the rest of the night tearing up our apartment, frantically searching for a proper hiding spot until I could get it to my bank, drawing upon several of my favorite movies for inspiration. In the end (and after scuffing up several floorboards in my attempt to pry them loose), I ended up just putting it in a sandwich bag and stashing it in the back of the freezer behind some year-old Popsicles. Thank goodness Amanda had spent the night at Barry’s, or she might have thought I’d gone all Howard Hughes on the place. Point being, none of it mattered because I wasn’t scheduled to work so I was supposed to be able to sleep in.
Supposed, being the operative word.
I was jarred awake by a song, screeching at me. It took me a minute to realize it was coming from my phone. The song was Don't Stop the Party by Pitbull.
I bolted up in alarm.
What the fuck?! A party song?
Half-worried it was someone after my sandwich bag, I snatched it up and glanced down at Amanda’s phone number. My eyes narrowed, and I answered as menacingly as I could, consideri
ng my voice was thick with interrupted sleep.
“...Hello?”
“Morning, sunshine!”
“Mandi!” I fell back against the pillows with an exasperated sigh. Amanda. Of course. “If you could see my face right now, you would not call me Sunshine.”
She laughed brightly. “Oh, I didn’t wake you, now did I?” I could almost picture her mocking grin.
“You programmed in your own ringtone?” I asked accusingly.
“Yeah, do you like it? It’s about parties—I thought it’d make you laugh.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed my tangled hair out of my face. “Yeah, I got that. Where are you?”
“In the living room. I just came home for a minute to shower and change. And why is the living room a wreck? Did you have a party and not invite me?”
It took a few seconds for this to register. “Wait...what? You’re here? Why are you calling me then?”
My question was answered by a knock on the door as the line went dead. My face darkened like the dead.
Oh, that girl is going to pay for waking me up!
What followed was a rapid attempt to get dressed as the pounding on the door increased with persistent regularity. The sounds were soon echoed by Mrs. Wakowski’s morning Zumba.
“Come in, already!” I said.
“You’ve got a billionaire sitting on the torn and ripped up couch. A billionaire! How do we entertain one of those?” She let out a long chuckle. “And I told you we needed to invest in a couch cover. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”
“Marcus is here? Now? This early? Shit!”
I cursed and seethed as I stumbled around, pulling on jeans and tugging a comb through my nest of hair as I tried to find a shirt. Damn laundry day! All I had left were scrubs and a few lonely “stuffed in the back of the dresser for sentimental reasons” shirts that I now perused with growing horror.
I smirked as I pulled a pink tee-shirt with a drunken unicorn over my head. A glance in the mirror across from the door made me visibly cringe, but what could I do? At least I was going to give him hell for waking me. And Amanda too!
