by S. R. Grey
That’s kind of a relief.
When I get out of the car, Jock informs me, “Graham’s on his way from the airport. He should be here soon.”
“Airport? Where was he?” I ask.
“He was in Vegas, tying up loose ends.”
“Oh, okay.”
Jock lowers his no doubt very expensive sunglasses and peruses my outfit.
Sighing heavily, he says, “Those clothes are fine for tonight, Eden, but a whole new wardrobe awaits you inside the house. You’ll want to consider wearing those from here on out.”
Wait, what?
Bristling, I snap, “I like my clothes just fine, thank you very much.”
“Maybe so, but as Graham’s girlfriend there are events you’ll be attending and shots of you on TV and in the press. You need to look the part.”
Ugh!
“I already don’t like this,” I mutter under my breath.
Jock, hearing me, laughs. “You’ll like it a lot more when you check your bank account later tonight. Your first payment has been deposited, and there’s a bonus in there for being so amiable to moving in quickly.”
“I thought there was no choice in the matter,” I reply. “You told me move-in day has to be tomorrow.”
“It does, yes, but you didn’t put up any fuss. I relayed that, and the team wanted to throw in a little extra as a thank-you.”
I roll my eyes, though the extra money sure is nice—and needed. As it was, I had to take an advance on my diner paycheck to come up with gas money to drive Paul to school.
Guess I can buy lots of gas now.
“So where’s Graham?” I ask, checking my phone for the time. “It’s already after eight. It’ll be dark soon. The airport’s not that far from here.”
Chuckling, Jock says, “Are you that anxious to meet your new boyfriend, Miss Vetterly?”
“He’s not my new boyfriend,” I grumble. “Er, I mean, not for real.”
“You better pretend it’s for real,” Jock warns.
“I know, I know. I just want to get this over with, okay? It’s nerve-racking, meeting someone new.”
“Be patient. Graham will be here soon,” Jock says soothingly. “In the meantime, would you like to go inside the house and take a look around?”
I sigh. “Sure, why not?”
Here Goes Nothing
My flight is delayed and my luggage is the last to come around on the baggage carousel.
Figures, right?
To top it all off, GPS has me making two wrong turns on my way to New Albany, where I’m supposed to see my new home for the first time and meet my new “girlfriend.”
Shit, I hope she’s pretty.
Why did I want to be surprised?
I should’ve demanded a picture.
By the time I reach the house and am driving up the long driveway, I’m nervous as hell. Not about the house. It comes into view and it looks really nice. I didn’t really expect anything less.
Jock’s rented red Ferrari is out front, and I see there’s a dark green older model Saturn there, as well.
That means she’s here, my freaking fake girlfriend for the season.
Thank God, she’s not outside. I’m not ready to see her just yet.
Fuck!
There’s no backing out now, though.
I sit in the car for a few minutes, watching the darkness fall. These are my last few minutes as a man not living a lie. Let me savor them.
The recessed lighting lining the long stone driveway flickers to life as the sky turns to black. The big red brick colonial and the surrounding lush greenery are soon illuminated in a cool white LED glow.
All in all, I like this place. It’s private and stately without being too much.
“The team chose well,” I murmur as I finally exit my car.
Now I need to go inside and see how well they did with my supposed significant other. Although, good or bad, I know she was ultimately Jock’s decision.
Let’s go see if he deserves that raise…or to have his ass fired.
When I step into the large foyer, I find no one there to greet me.
Guess they didn’t hear me pull up.
But I sure hear them, a low hum of hushed chatter is coming from the living room that’s up ahead and off to my right.
I hear them, but there’s a wall in the way, meaning I can’t see them. Nor can they see me.
Before I make my presence known, I decide I should check if I look all right. There’s an ornately framed mirror on the wall so I turn to it. For some reason, it’s important to me that I make a good first impression. I guess because this girl and I will be spending a lot of time together. It’d be nice to start off on the right foot.
We better, seeing as we’ll be freaking living together starting tomorrow.
Sighing, I look in the mirror.
Hmm, not too bad for a guy who just flew across the country.
I’m a little disheveled from the flight, my dark blond hair is tousled, but my clothes aren’t a wreck or anything.
Speaking of which, I’m glad I’m not wearing anything fancy, just dark jeans and a light blue T-shirt. I wouldn’t want it to seem like I’m trying too hard.
Just then, Jock, who must hear me sighing and shuffling about, calls out, “Tettersaw, is that you? If so, get in here.”
“Who else would it be?” I murmur as I turn away from the mirror and round the corner to the living room, plastering on my best fake smile.
I see Eden right away, especially since she jumps up from the sofa, and my smile turns genuine.
Wow. Jock is so getting a raise. This girl is stunning.
She’s younger than me, probably in her early twenties. And fuck, is she ever pretty. Like really fucking pretty. She has long wavy auburn hair, a face cute enough to be on a magazine cover, and a super-sexy body.
Her tight stomach is peeking out from under the hem of the crop top she’s wearing. And don’t even get me started on the way her jeans hug her slender hips.
But what really ties me up and leaves me twisted in the best kind of way is how I feel when our eyes meet.
Instantly, it’s like I know her.
I remind myself that I don’t, though.
No, not yet.
But I want to.
There’s an inexplicable connection, the kind you sometimes feel with someone even though there’s no good explanation for it.
I have to say it’s a little disarming, but only for a beat.
What soothes me is that I think she feels the connection too.
I mean, hell, she’s not turning away.
She’s smiling.
Her eyes look green, but I need to get closer to be sure.
So I take two steps forward, never breaking our connection. She appears pleased with me too, but I also catch something else in her gaze—a hint of desperation.
That immediately calls to my protective nature.
I’m here for you, baby, I try to convey with my eyes.
I add in a soft smile to let her know this is all going to turn out okay. This nutty arrangement will work. I know it. I didn’t feel it before, but I do now.
But just when I think this fake girlfriend thing may turn out to be the best idea ever, Eden looks away sharply, like maybe this is too much too soon.
That, of course, shatters whatever magic was brewing.
Our connection ends and we’re back to reality.
Jock, looking smug at having just observed that we clearly don’t hate each other, stands now as well.
He beckons me closer, then touches Eden’s arm, urging her to look up again.
Once I’m right there in front of her, our gazes meet once more.
But she’s shut down, having put on a mask.
The raw emotions sparking between us have been doused.
Eden stretches out her hand and says woodenly, “Hi. You must be Graham.” She laughs nervously. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eden.”
I smile kindly, trying to
put her back at ease as I take her hand and shake it gently.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Eden.”
And is it ever.
Graham
Oh my God, what is wrong with me?
Why am I behaving like this?
Is it because I haven’t had a guy in my life in a while?
Is a few months a while, even?
Ugh, why can’t I get my emotions under control?
I just let Graham Tettersaw, who is waaay hotter in person than he is in pictures, see into my freaking soul.
Damn jerk.
Why’d he have to exude such kindness when I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes?
It totally messed with me, and I let him in.
But only for a minute or two, thank God.
I can fix this now by shuttering the ridiculous connection I feel to him.
So that’s what I do.
I look away and close myself off.
By the time Graham makes his way over to me, I am shut down.
Good, this is the way it needs to be. He’s not my real boyfriend. He’s a pretend love interest, a fake, a phony.
So why do I feel like we could be more?
Stop it. You’re just attracted to him because he’s an exceptionally good-looking man. This happened after you looked at photos of him online too.
It’s true. When I looked him up, I felt open to more. But I’ve thought about it since then and decided that’s just silly. This is a business arrangement, and I shouldn’t forget that. Otherwise, I could be in for a world of heartbreak.
So yes, I can control myself.
I must.
Biting my lip to stay strong, I hold out my hand and murmur flatly, “Hi. You must be Graham.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eden.”
Graham shoots me a dazzling smile, probably trying to loosen me back up.
No chance, pal.
We shake hands, and he says, “It’s nice to meet you too, Eden.”
Jock is glancing back and forth all excitedly between us. He witnessed what happened, and he’s obviously thrilled seeing our initial spark, that connection or whatever the hell it was that ignited between me and Graham.
I bet he’d love to have that back. It would make our backstory all the more believable.
Speaking of which, I ask Jock, “What are we supposed to say about how we met? I know you mentioned we should pretend this started back in May. But there’s more to our story than that, right?”
I venture a peek over at Graham, and he looks disappointed in the purely business direction this has turned.
Sorry, dude, but it’s better to stay focused on how us being together is all a farce.
Jock clears his throat and begins, “Yes, there is more backstory.” He gestures to the long sofa. “Let’s all take a seat and we can discuss it. I have packets of info for both of you that we should go over.”
“Yay,” I murmur sarcastically as I plop down on the sofa.
Maybe that puts Graham off, because he sits down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table.
I sigh, and this time it’s Graham who looks away.
Jock takes a seat too, but he’s too focused on removing the folders from his briefcase to pay us much heed.
Finally, he hands one packet to me and then stretches over the coffee table to give Graham his.
I look down at the folder.
There’s a label on the front—Tettersaw and Vetterly Backstory—along with a big red “confidential” stamp.
“Jesus,” Graham mutters.
Here we go.
I close my eyes for a sec, before flipping to page one.
And then Jock says, “As you can see, there are several pages of vital facts on the two of you in the front of the packet. I suggest you both peruse these at your leisure. The team has compiled all that info in order to assist you both in learning important data about each other. Things like birthdays, who are your siblings, where you both were born, and other pertinent details on your life up to this point.”
Uh, it’s more than birthdays and personal stats.
I feel the color draining from my face as I flip through several pages of deeply personal info that the team has somehow gathered on me.
It’s a little creepy.
They know a lot.
And now Graham will too.
There’s stuff about my dad passing, my mom leaving when I was a kid, and even crap about that guy I was casually dating a few months back.
Yeesh!
I skip ahead to Graham’s section and find nothing really new.
I guess that’s because most of the stuff about him is public knowledge, like his time playing football in Phoenix, his injury, his painkiller problem. There’s something about him having one sister. But again, I already knew that.
Jock has us flip forward to the “our backstory” section of the packet.
“We need to review these details very carefully,” he says. “It’s important you’re on the same page with how your relationship started and has since evolved.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Got it,” Graham mutters.
Jock starts to go over the highlights, starting with, “We’re leading with the story that you two met when Graham was here in Columbus back in May. You know that part, of course, but there are a few pertinent details.”
Jock slides on his reading glasses. “For example, we’re saying Graham came into the diner one evening and you were his waitress, Eden. You started talking and there was something there, an instant spark.”
Crap, that part is kind of true. But it happened only minutes ago and right here, not in this made-up diner story.
Jock pauses, but I don’t dare look over at him. He knows what happened minutes ago, how, in a way, it completely validates this faux backstory.
Jock is peering over; I feel his eyes on me.
When I finally venture a glance his way, he’s thankfully moved his focus over to Graham.
Phew!
Graham, though, isn’t looking at either of us. Nope, my fake boyfriend is too deeply engrossed in the contents of his folder.
Though, oddly, it appears he’s still on page one.
And we’re at page fourteen.
Seems someone is distracted.
Jock sighs and, flipping to the next page, says, “Here’s what the press release will say. ‘Miss Vetterly and Mr. Tettersaw decided to keep their burgeoning relationship a secret due to the distance factor, and also in the interest of not knowing how things would work out. Eden continued working at the diner, and Graham returned to Las Vegas. All the while, the two stayed in almost constant contact. There were daily phone calls, numerous texts, and video chats. Miss Vetterly even flew out to Las Vegas in July, shortly before the couple decided to move forward with their relationship by moving in together in August.’”
“Wait,” I interrupt, stuck on one glaring part of what Jock just read. “I didn’t fly out to Las Vegas in July. I’ve never even been out west, not once in my entire life.”
Graham looks up then.
With a gentle smile—oh my, this guy really is sweet—and like I’m the only one in the room, he says, “I could take you out west sometime if you’d like, Eden. I could show you around Las Vegas and we could drive down to Phoenix to where I grew up. I know all the best sights and stops along the way. It’s a pretty scenic route.”
For some reason, the idea of traveling with Graham excites me. But is that due to him, or the fact that I’ve never really been anywhere?
Maybe it’s a little of both.
In any case, I nod and murmur an honest, “Thank you, I’d like that. Maybe we could do that sometime.”
Jock loves that idea.
Excitedly, he exclaims, “You two could and you should. That would be fantastic for your story. We already have pics of the two of you photoshopped on the Strip and in the Nevada desert, but real photographs would be so much better.”
Graham raises a b
row. “Jock, are you telling me the team had pictures of us photoshopped for some phony made-up vacation? For what purpose?”
“So we can post them on Instagram at some point, of course,” Jock replies nonchalantly. “Like for Throwback Thursday or whatever the hell they call it.”
“Well, that’s all fine and good,” Graham chuffs, “but I don’t have an Instagram account.”
Jock laughs. “You do now.”
I soon find out I have one too, thanks to the team’s media department.
“But I really don’t do social media,” I protest. “I’ve never had Instagram in my life. I don’t even know how it works.”
Graham looks like he’s about to chime in with some sort of backup to what I’m saying, but Jock holds up his hand.
“Now, now, you two, there’s nothing to worry about. Neither of you need to know or learn how to use Instagram. The team has people assigned to maintaining and updating both of your accounts. You don’t have to look at any of them if you don’t want to.”
“What do you mean by any of them, plural?” I ask.
“I mean, you have more than just Instagram. You both now have Twitter, and something called Snapchat too.”
“We do?”
“Yes.”
Talk about micromanaging our lives!
Not to mention the team has totally invaded my privacy, what with all the detailed info about me in the stupid packet. Hell, there are even details about Paul.
Shit.
When this is all over, will I even know who I am?
I made a promise not to lose myself with this arrangement. So why does it feel like I’m already in too deep?
Will I recognize myself in the end?
Sighing, I decide the only way to stay true to myself is to not let myself ever fall for Graham Tettersaw.
It won’t be easy, though, not with his good looks and that indisputable charm. And then there’s our connection.
Shit, how will I not fall for Graham Tettersaw?
Eden
Poor Eden. She appears overwhelmed, and a little conflicted too.
My heart goes out to her. This must really suck. Me, I’m used to what it feels like to be a commodity to an organization. Her, not so much.