Ten Rules for Faking It

by Sophie Sullivan

  * * *

  Everly stopped short when she got to the door of the conference room. Stacey was standing in front of the whiteboard where they sometimes jotted down ideas, an actual pointer in her hand.

  She’d created a Final Four bracket of Everly’s dating life, going as far as calling it the Road to the Final Two.

  No one had noticed her standing in the doorway, eyes wide, fingers clenched around her purse. Their conversation buzzed through the room and her head as their voices pitched with excitement. Two of the station’s deejays argued that Andy should be this week’s choice. Kitty leaned back in her chair, tapping a pen against the table while she stared at the board.

  “My money is on Owen. It doesn’t sound like these two latest ones were worth her time.”

  Stacey used her finger to wipe a smudge outside one of the empty rectangles. “Brad sounded okay. They might not be Everly’s type, but I have a very good feeling about next week’s candidates. Did you see Daniel’s profile picture? Though I guess looks aren’t everything since Andy the model thought he could bring all his buddies for free food.”

  Everly stepped into the room, unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “You’re betting on my dating life?”

  Everyone swiveled in an almost comical synchronization. Elijah, who produced for Christine, who sat beside him, took a sudden interest in his notepad. Kitty bit her lip, her deer-in-the-headlights gaze moving to Stacey.

  “No. Of course not. We’re just organizing the … choices,” Stacey said, lowering the pointer.

  Everly pointed a finger at Kitty. “She just said her money was on Owen.”

  Christine looked up. “He was a cutie.” She rested her chin on the heel of her hand.

  She started to deny it, but at this point, if she had to choose, Owen was the front-runner.

  Kitty stood up, straightened her gorgeous, white linen blazer. “We signed our biggest ad yet. Ridgeview Motors just signed a six-week contract for your segment.”

  She forced her lips into a smile. This was benefiting everyone. “Excellent,” Everly said. She moved farther into the room, trying to ignore the fact that her love life, such as it was, was written out on the board.

  “We really weren’t betting, Ev. But if we’re having conversations around the table, you can bet other workplace employees are, too. All of this is doing exactly what we wanted—generating interest and money for the station. I heard it from a friend of a friend that 102.9 is trying to come up with a kick-ass end-of-summer promotion.”

  “It can’t suck all that bad to know so many guys want to go out with you,” Christine said.

  Elijah looked up from his doodling. “You’re such a quiet person. Doesn’t this make it easier for you? It’s like central casting doing all the screen tests and just sending you the best possible actors.” As a wannabe movie star who’d opted to produce over full-time auditioning, it made sense that he would see it this way.

  If this were a movie and not her real life, maybe it would be a relief.

  “That’s a great way to look at it,” Stacey said, walking over to the coffee and pouring a cup. She brought it to Everly.

  Accepting the mug, she brought it to her lips and reminded herself that these people were as close to friends as it got. Other than Stacey and Tara, Everly didn’t have many constants in her life. It was time to start letting people in a little further, regardless of where she ended up on her road to the final two. Now you’re doing it.

  Give them something. This is what people do. They sit around and talk about their dating lives, complain about their spouses and pets. This is how people get to know each other. You were just saying to Chris that you needed to let others in more. Get to know them as well. Take a chance. She smiled. Be bold.

  “We can put Brad as moving on,” she said, the words thick in her mouth as she gestured to the bracket for week two. Then she gave them a bit more. “Owen really was nice.” She pressed her lips to the rim of the cup like she could hide behind it.

  The conversation veered to first kisses and dating disasters the others had experienced. Surprised by how good it felt to hear their stories, she got caught up in listening to everyone else. For a few minutes, anyway.

  “Since we’re all here, we could start our air-check meeting a few minutes early?”

  Stacey gave her an affectionate smile that did nothing to soothe the unrest she felt. “Always the taskmaster.”

  “That’s what he said,” Kitty said with a laugh.

  Everly rolled her eyes, but the others laughed. The meeting was fine, but the nerves that took up residence under her skin didn’t fade throughout the workday.

  The nerves hovered over her day in and day out, more constant than they usually were. By the time date five rolled around, she was positive it would be easier to endure than the days leading up to it. As she got ready for her dinner with Daniel at the restaurant she’d selected, she told herself this would be just like the last four. She could absolutely do this. Again. Dressed in jeans, a patterned tank top, with a blue cardigan, she sat in her car outside Chows.

  He’s probably already in there. She looked at the time on her dashboard: 6:58. Go in. You’re here on time, and you’re going to be late. She forced herself to get out of the car, walk across the parking lot, ignore the tightness in her throat. It wasn’t closing. A couple ahead of her laughed loudly, their heads close together, his hand on her back. They went into the restaurant, and the man held the door open for Everly.

  Pulse pumping abnormally loud in her ears, she shook her head and kept walking past the door. She skirted around to the side of the building, which was basically an alley. When she leaned against the wall, every jagged groove of the brick pressed into her through her sweater. Everly counted in her head, hugging her purse to her chest.

  Just breathe. You’re overwhelmed, but you’re okay. Or her throat was literally closing. It’s not. You know it’s not. One, two, three, four, you’re definitely late now. Which only made it worse.

  This is your job. But it wasn’t. Her job was sitting in a booth, planning programming, working in a partnership with a person she knew. Someone who knew her in return. This wasn’t her job and it wasn’t her and she couldn’t go in. Everly’s breathing turned choppy like violent seas.

  Goddamn it, just breathe. It’s dinner at a restaurant with a good-looking firefighter. Hardly something to freak out over. That didn’t fix her breathing or cool her heated skin.

  Just go in. One step at a time. You know how to do this. She pushed off the wall. It’s just dinner. She took a step out of the alley. You’ve eaten here before, and you like it. Everly walked toward the entrance, but at the last second, she veered to the left and practically sprinted to her car. When she slid inside, the interior filled with her sawing breaths. She tossed her purse on the passenger seat and tugged at the sleeves of her cardigan. It was too hot. Yanking it off one arm, she adjusted her body in the seat, pulling while the soft cotton seemed to stick to her heated skin. When it was off, next to her purse in the passenger seat, she felt marginally better.

  Wrapping her hands around the wheel, she pictured a box unfolding. All—the—way—open—and—closed. And again. Slowly inhaling, faster exhale. Tears burned her eyes.

  You’ve come so far. You’ve already done this four times and survived. What’s one more? The words were low, nearly whispered, but they echoed in her brain. She knew from reading anxiety sites online and the few workshops she’d taken that beating herself down for this would only make it worse. She’d gotten so much better in that area, too. One tear slipped, but she swiped it away, scratching her cheek with her nail. The sting of it made her gasp. She’d also learned that sometimes she just couldn’t push past the fear.

  She couldn’t do this, and if she thought about the fact that this was somehow equivalent to not showing up for work, she’d be back to hyperventilating. So she started the car and headed for home. By the time she got there, she was able to breathe.

&nbs
p; Everly locked the door behind her and hooked her keys by the door. Grateful to be home, she thought it’d be easier to settle, but she knew it wouldn’t work while she was letting others down. Using the app Chris’s brother had made, she texted Daniel to tell him she’d become unexpectedly ill, which didn’t feel like a lie, and asked if they could reschedule. She said sorry a record number of times and set her phone down before even checking his response.

  Having an anxiety attack was a little like having a bad hangover and an asthma attack at the same time—at least, in Everly’s experience. Head fuzzy, body heavy, she moved slowly as she stripped out of her date clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water pulsated over her skin, and the scent of her soap—raspberry and honey—filled her nostrils, bringing calm the way a pleasant memory could. Pressing three fingers between her breasts to the place where her sternum ached, she went through the breathing routines she’d known since she was old enough to google anxiety on the internet.

  It took almost as much energy to not berate herself as it did to slog through the shower, let the repetitive motion of washing and rinsing her hair settle everything inside of her body. She didn’t know why it was called fight or flight when it should in fact be fight and flight. That was the actual human response when stuck in a harrowing situation. For Everly, every time something like this happened, she fought herself as she fled. Fight and flight. Until she had no energy left.

  Turning off the water, she dried off and got into her coziest clothes, made a cup of tea, turned down the lights, and turned on the television. Later, if she thought about it, she’d blame the exhaustion. People didn’t understand the fatigue that came with having a brain that never stopped. So she didn’t stop herself when her fingers dialed his number, didn’t ask herself why it was him she wanted to reach out to.

  He answered on the first ring. “Everly. Are you okay?”

  Tears fell, and she nodded even though he couldn’t see her. Pulling in a measured breath, she dug deep for the strength she needed to say the words stuck in her throat.

  “I could use a friend,” she whispered, ignoring the truth. She needed a friend. But she wanted Chris.

  “I’m on my way.”

  [21]

  Whatever words she’d rehearsed in her head slipped away the minute Chris walked toward her, worry furrowing his brow. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, his hair mussed, she wondered where he was coming from. A casual date at his house? A woman’s home? Why do you care?

  At the moment, she didn’t. She’d called, he’d come, and the relief of that pushed everything else away. Including her typical reserve as she stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting her head rest on his chest so she could hear his steady heartbeat. His arms closed around her automatically. He shut the door with his foot and just stood there, holding her, not saying anything. It was her definition of perfect.

  He didn’t rush her, but when she felt like she could talk about it, she stepped back. He bent his knees and looked into her eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice was hushed, but he wasn’t looking at her like she was weak, and for some reason, it made her feel stronger. She wasn’t weak. Just tired.

  She nodded, about to speak, but then his eyes widened, his hand coming to her face. His thumb swept, feather-light, across her cheek, reminding her of the scratch. His skin on hers made her cheek feel like a hot spot.

  With a frown, his other hand went to her upper arm to hold on. “What happened?”

  “Oh. I…” Where’d her words go? Why did it feel like her cheek had its own pulse beneath his thumb?

  “Everly? Did you hurt yourself?” His tone was so tender and concerned. It threatened to unravel her again.

  “I scratched myself by accident.” She walked into the living room with him on her heels.

  Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t followed through with contractual obligations. The thought hadn’t run through her head in her panic or the aftermath. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d get in trouble. Whirling around with this new concern, her breath caught in her chest, snagging like cloth in a zipper. He wasn’t looking at her like she was an employee or worried about whether she’d fulfilled her end of the bargain.

  He’s looking at you like a friend. Someone he cares about. Don’t make it more. You do that. You see things that aren’t there.

  “I didn’t go,” she blurted. Pressing her fingernails to her palms, she gave him the rest before she could chicken out. “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry. I just … It was too much tonight. With the road to the final two and the jokes and my parents’ party last weekend … it just … I’m sorry.”

  Chris tilted his head, opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. He ran both hands through his hair and shook his head. “Okay.” The word bounced off the walls.

  Everly’s heart hammered. Did he not understand? Loosening her fingers, forcing steady breaths, she tried again. “I got to the restaurant, and I couldn’t go through with it. I came home and texted him, apologized. It’s the only time it’s happened, and I think I’ve done a pretty good job of going through with all of this. I—”

  Her words died when he took two giant steps forward, looking at her in a way she didn’t recognize. Not from him. He reached out but paused like he was waiting for approval. She gave it by putting her hand on his chest. Why was she touching him so much? You always want to be held when you feel like this. Usually, there isn’t a strong, sexy man available at such times. Boss. Boss. Boss. Maybe if she said it enough, she’d remember.

  He pulled her close, both her hands flattening on his chest between their bodies. Chris sighed into her hair, resting his chin there, but more than that, his body sighed into hers. Dual sensations, comfort and electricity, tangled together, all their wires crossing. She didn’t know what to do, so she gripped the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. It was soft. Soothing.

  “I don’t care about the show right now. We can push everything back a week, reschedule. Whatever. None of it matters. Just you. All that matters is you’re okay.”

  Everly’s lungs forgot their purpose, opting to take a break altogether. Her heart joined in. Traitor. Both of them useless inside her body.

  “You’re trembling,” he whispered, leaning back to look down at her face.

  Their gazes met. Like runners from a starting block, both of her organs jumped back in the game, working overtime. Everly’s gaze wandered to Chris’s mouth. If she just went up on tiptoes or he lowered a fraction. Her brain went fuzzy again, but this time, it felt delicious, like the chocolate pie he’d brought weeks ago. Sweet and indulgent. She licked her lips.

  The moment stretched, becoming nearly dreamlike. Hazy. Heated. She desperately wanted to stay trapped in it.

  “Everly,” he whispered. Flecks of gold shone like stars in his eyes. She wanted to wish on them.

  Giving her a tight squeeze, he stepped back, putting distance between them and pulling Everly harshly out of the moment.

  Embarrassment set her body on fire from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. What was she doing? You weren’t thinking. She turned away, seeking space … clarity … fresh, un-Chris-scented air.

  She hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a water without another word. With shaky hands, she twisted the top off the bottle. The ridges on the cap ate into her already sore palms, making her wince. His footsteps sounded loud in the quiet of her home.

  Chris took the bottle from her hands, opened it, but set it down. Everly almost whimpered but bit her lip to keep from making a sound. Chris turned her palms over, and she looked down to see what he was staring at.

  Marring her skin were angry red crescent shapes, the grooves still easily visible. She’d broken the skin in a few spots. Tears burned her eyes. Through lowered lashes, he met her gaze. His thumbs moved softly over her palms, caressing tenderly, like his touch could erase the hurt.

  “You had a panic attack.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Everly whipped her
hands away, stepped back, and smacked her hip into the fridge. Damn it. You’re going to be covered in battle wounds. She picked up the bottle and gulped it down while he stared. Nothing like being judged for how my brain freaks out without my permission. He’d think she was weak or incapable. No. You think that. It doesn’t make it true.

  As if he could read her, he stepped back, giving her space to drink her water. How did he do that? Read her so well? The fact that he could tempted her to open up, to let go. When she set it down, half-empty, her breath was uneven.

  Tomorrow, or later tonight, she’d replay every minute of this, from the moment he walked into her house, and cringe at her words, her actions, her neediness.

  He watched her, almost curiously. Intensely. It made the moment more intimate.

  “Why does it upset you for me to recognize that you had a panic attack?”

  She ground her teeth together. Because I hate the words. Panic should be reserved for bears chasing you or skydiving.

  “It makes me feel weak,” she said softly, surprising herself.

  Chris moved closer. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

  She snort-laughed and didn’t have any energy left to feel embarrassed.

  Smiling, his eyes locked on hers, he closed the distance so they stood side by side. “Strength isn’t always something a person can see, Everly. I don’t know the extent of your … anxiety, but I do know that even when something scares you, you push through. That makes you strong and brave.”

  Her heart fluttered. She wanted to believe his words. She wanted to write them down on a Post-it to reread later.

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, she enjoyed the silence nearly as much as she liked talking to him.

  “In college, I’d been crazy about this girl for months. We went to a lot of the same mixers and parties and spent a fair amount of time making eyes at each other across the room. I couldn’t get the nerve to ask her out,” Chris said, not looking at her.