by Jae
Claire shook her head. “I don’t normally eat breakfast. So, does that schedule work for you?”
“Yeah, sure. Evening events are not a problem since I usually work the early shift.”
A fine line formed on Claire’s brow, and Lana realized she was wearing makeup. “Work? I thought we agreed on no other gigs during the length of this agreement.”
“This isn’t acting work. I rarely have enough gigs, so I work in a coffee shop four or five shifts a week.”
“But the contract stipulates twenty-four/seven availability.”
“My sister actually owns the coffee shop, so I could be available whenever you need me. Just say the word, and I can easily get someone to take over my shift. But I can’t sit at home all day while you work for twelve hours.”
The line on Claire’s forehead deepened. “What if one of my colleagues or acquaintances sees you in that coffee shop?”
Wow. I can’t believe she said that! Lana struggled to keep her voice down. “They have something against coffee?” she asked innocently.
“No, of course not. It’s just… Being a waitress isn’t exactly…”
“It’s called a barista, and it’s a perfectly fine job.”
Claire lifted both hands. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just don’t think… If you need the money, I could pay you a little more. I don’t want people to think my fiancée or girlfriend needs to work in a coffee shop because I can’t—or won’t—support her.”
And here I thought only men could be chauvinistic assholes. Lana gave her a disbelieving look. “You think I’ll give up my job for appearance’s sake? This is the twenty-first century. Women can hold jobs—even jobs in coffee shops. They don’t need someone to support them. That’s what you should tell your friends if they comment on my job.” She grabbed one of the moving boxes, piled Mr. Cuddles on top, and carried it past Claire.
She was halfway to the guest room when steps behind her announced that Claire had followed her.
“I didn’t mean to sound like a snob,” she said when she put down a box next to the one Lana had carried. “If it’s important to you, fine. Keep the job.”
Lana bit back a sarcastic thank you very much for your permission, milady. No wonder Claire’s fiancée had run for the hills. Good thing their engagement was just for show. She could never be in a relationship with someone like Claire, and no amount of therapy or self-help books would change that.
Chapter 5
When Claire came home from work on Monday evening, loud music blared from the living room. She closed the door, hung her keys on their hook in the entryway, and slipped out of her heels. “Sorry I’m late, hon—”
She cut herself off when she entered the living room and caught sight of the person lounging on the couch.
It wasn’t Abby.
No, of course not.
Abby would never play music as loud as this. And she would never put a glass on the coffee table without using a coaster. She also didn’t leave dishes in the sink, like the ones Claire had found when she had entered the kitchen this morning.
Lana sat up and grinned at her. “Practicing already, hon?”
Claire sighed. She crossed the room and turned the volume down and the temperature up. God, it was freezing in here. “Ms. Henderson…”
“Lana. If we want to make everyone believe that we’re madly in love, we’d better call each other by our first names.” She tilted her head, and a mischievous twinkle entered her hazel eyes. “Or do you prefer pet names? Honey bunny? Babycakes? Snugglebutt?”
Claire grimaced. “No, thank you. Claire will do.” Well, at least Lana didn’t seem to hold a grudge because of Saturday, when she had implied being a barista wasn’t a desirable job. She settled into the recliner and flicked her gaze over at Lana. “Poopsie.”
Lana’s eyes widened, and her jaw slackened.
“What?” Claire asked. “You think I don’t have a sense of humor?”
“Um, no, of course not.”
Claire didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to see through the lie. She shouldn’t care what Lana thought of her, but for some reason she did. “This might be fun and games to you, just another adventure in the life of an actress, but to me, this is serious. I want that book deal.” She needed that book deal. If she wanted to take over the center one day, she needed to establish herself as LA’s go-to expert on relationships before Vanessa could do it.
“I get that,” Lana said. “But what’s so bad about having a little fun while we’re working toward that goal?”
“Nothing, I guess. As long as you’re taking it seriously.” She eyed the condensation ring on the coffee table. “And using a coaster.”
Lana used the edge of her shirt to wipe down the table, making Claire wince. “I’ll try,” she said, without clarifying which she meant.
Claire gave her a nod and got up from the recliner. She needed a shower—a long, hot shower. This entire fake fiancée situation had made her so tense that every muscle hurt. Lugging around heavy moving boxes all weekend hadn’t helped.
“There’s some leftover lasagna in the kitchen,” Lana called after her.
Claire paused in the doorway. “You cooked?”
“Yes. My apartment only comes with a mini fridge and a hot plate, so I took advantage of having a real kitchen. I hope that was okay.”
Oh God. Claire didn’t dare imagine how her poor kitchen might look. “Uh, no, that’s fine. It’ll come in handy if you know your way around my house, in case I have guests over.”
“True. So, help yourself to the lasagna if you’re hungry.”
Her stomach growled at the thought of homemade lasagna, but she ignored it. “Thank you, but I try not to eat carbs after six.”
“I tried that.” Lana laughed. “It lasted all of four days.” She patted her full hips and the feminine curve of her belly without a hint of regret.
Even though Claire was proud of her self-discipline, she couldn’t help admiring Lana’s positive attitude about herself and her body. It had to be nice to be so relaxed about everything.
That thought lasted for exactly ten seconds—until she passed by the kitchen and saw the dirty pans stacked up next to the stove. Groaning, she ducked into the bathroom to soak away her frustration.
The next day, Claire paced the floor in her bedroom, her cell phone tightly pressed to her ear. “I want her out of here, Mercedes! Now!”
Mercedes sighed. “Claire…”
“Do you have any idea what my house looks like? Her stuff is everywhere! Earlier, I found cookie crumbs and pieces of chocolate all over my couch…my four-thousand-dollar designer couch. Can you believe it? And don’t even get me started on what she’s doing to my kitchen. It’s like living with a teenager…or a toddler!”
“So hire a cleaning lady,” Mercedes said when Claire paused to breathe.
“I already have a cleaning lady. When I got home today, she and Lana were sitting in the kitchen, chatting.”
Mercedes laughed. “So she’s a people person. Isn’t that exactly what you’d want in a fiancée?”
“Pretend fiancée,” Claire said. “I have nothing against her being a people person. She’s just so…so…so unpredictable. You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth next. Renata’s party is next week. What if she embarrasses me in front of my colleagues?”
“Jesus, Claire, would you relax? Maybe some of the breathing exercises from your bonus chapter would help.”
Claire grimaced but pushed her shoulders back and took a deep breath, then another. She perched on the edge of the bed and freed her hair of its chignon.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t all Lana’s fault, even though she really was driving her up the wall. Maybe part of it was that it felt strange to share the house with someone again. Abby had always been so quiet she’d barely known she was there most of the time. Lana
definitely made her presence known.
Claire sighed. “I can’t relax until this is over.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s just a book deal, Claire. It’s not worth—”
“There’s much more on the line for me.” The moment she said it, she realized how true it was. This wasn’t merely about the book any longer. There was much more at stake. If she got caught in such a massive lie while advertising honesty in her book, her podcast, and her workshops, she would lose her credibility—and that was everything in her job.
Nausea swept over her. She bent over and clutched her stomach with her free hand. Oh my God, what have I done?
“I get it,” Mercedes said. “And that’s exactly why you and Lana have to work as a team.”
A team. Like in the team-building workshops Dad does. I can do that. Claire went through another cycle of breathing exercises. I can do this. I won’t allow this to destroy my career.
“Go talk to her instead of hiding out in your home office,” Mercedes said.
“I’m not in my office,” Claire grumbled, even knowing it was beside the point. “And I talk to people all day. The last thing I want to do in the evening is deal with someone else’s issues too.”
“I said talk, not play therapist. Come on. Go talk to her. You need to get to know her if you want to convince people you’re a couple. At least it’ll take your mind off Abby.”
Admittedly, she’d barely thought of Abby since they had started this crazy charade. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” Claire lowered the phone to end the call but then moved it back to her ear. “Mercedes? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Talk to you later.”
Claire put her cell phone down on her nightstand and got up from the bed. Quietly, she opened the door and peeked out.
Every single light in the house was on. No wonder Lana had trouble making ends meet if she ran up her electricity bill like this. At least Claire assumed Lana had financial problems. Why else would she have agreed to take over the role of her fake fiancée?
Pots clanked in the kitchen, and someone was whistling off-key.
It took Claire a few seconds to recognize the song as “Can’t Buy Me Love” from the Beatles. Despite her tension, she had to smile because the song somehow fit their fake engagement deal. Not that she was trying to buy Lana’s love, of course. Her acting skills were what she was after.
Then her smile faded as a line from the song went through her mind. Buy you a diamond ring… Oh shit. Am I supposed to get her one?
They really had a lot to talk about. With a deep sigh, Claire forced herself to march toward the kitchen.
When Claire entered the kitchen, Lana had just washed the last pot. “Oh, hi.” They had lived together for three days now but so far had spent less than half an hour in the same room, so Lana still wasn’t quite sure how to act around Claire.
“Hi,” Claire said.
Lana expected her to stride to the fridge, get herself a bottle of water, and leave the room, as seemed to be her routine whenever she entered the kitchen.
But instead, Claire stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking as out of place as Lana had felt in this luxury home on her first day.
“There’s rice and curry in the fridge,” Lana said.
“No, thanks. I’m sure you’re a great cook, but I don’t eat—”
“Carbs after six,” Lana finished for her.
Claire nodded. Her gaze traveled over the counters.
“I wiped them down,” Lana said.
“I appreciate it.” Claire walked over, wrung out the wet rag Lana had left in the sink, folded it, and hung it over the faucet.
OCD much? Lana managed not to shake her head at her.
Claire turned and leaned against the sink. “We need to talk.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Great, now I’m forgetting my own advice not to start a conversation like this. What I wanted to say is that we should talk about how we’re going to pull this off.” She pointed back and forth between them.
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Claire went over to the wine rack that took up the entire length of the counter. “Do you want a glass of Pinot Noir while we talk? Or do you prefer white wine?”
“Um, actually, I’m more of a Blue Moon girl.”
When Claire just looked at her, Lana added, “Beer.”
“I know what it is. But I don’t have any beer. Sorry.”
“Well, we do. I went grocery shopping today.” Lana walked past her to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out a beer. “Want one too?”
“No, thanks.” Claire peered around her into the fridge. It was the closest they had been since that semi-embrace show they had put on for Jill and Crash’s sake. “Are those peanut butter cups?”
“Yep. Want some?”
A low moan escaped Claire.
Lana’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected sensuality of the sound. Who knew that Ms. Uptight could sound like this?
But instead of accepting the chocolate Lana held out to her, Claire shook her head. “I shouldn’t. No—”
“Carbs after six.”
“Exactly.”
Lana eyed the bottle of wine Claire had opened. “Doesn’t wine have carbs too?”
Claire froze, and an almost adorable wrinkle formed on her forehead. “Uh, I suppose it does.” She turned the bottle to read the label.
Lana took the bottle from her and poured her a glass. “We’re supposed to practice pretending, right? So let’s pretend we don’t know about the carbs in the wine.”
“Denial doesn’t change the fact that—”
“Nuh-huh! No psychobabble, remember?”
Claire sighed and took the glass of wine from her. “Let’s go to the living room.”
Lana took a seat on the couch while Claire sat in her leather recliner with a notepad and a Mont Blanc pen on her lap. Except for the glass of wine in her other hand, she looked the picture of the attentive psychologist about to take notes during a session. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“Um…” Lana shifted uncomfortably. This was too much like therapy for her liking. “Is that really necessary?” She forced a grin. “You know, I usually try not to talk too much about myself on the first date.”
“This isn’t a date. It’s a business arrangement. If we want to convince my colleagues and the publisher’s acquisitions editor that we’re a happily in love couple, we need to know more about each other.”
“Can’t we just make stuff up as we go?”
Claire shook her head. “I’ve never liked going into important situations without some kind of preparation.”
“Okay, okay.” Lana stabbed her index finger in her direction. “But no psychoanalyzing.”
“I’m trained in cognitive behavioral and systemic therapy, not psychoanalysis.”
Lana rolled her eyes, not caring how immature it might come across.
Claire tapped the notepad with the end of her pen. “So?”
“What do you want to know?”
“How about…hobbies?”
That seemed harmless enough. “I love to cook, like you probably already guessed.”
“Are you any good at it?”
“You’d know if you didn’t always refuse to try my food.”
Claire shook her head. “Not this late in the day. I’ll take your word for it. Any other hobbies?”
“Yeah. I roller-skate.”
“Roller-skate?” Claire’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.
Lana stretched out on the couch and turned onto her side to stare her down. “What? You think someone who looks like me can’t be into any kind of sports?”
“No, that’s not what I…Isn’t it kind of dangerous?”
“Dangerous? No, it’s fun. I’m not doing any crazy tricks like the ones
Crash can do. I just skate.” She studied Claire. “How about you?”
“Uh, me?”
Lana laughed at the startled expression on her face. “Yes, you. If you think preparation is key, I need to know a few things about you too. What do you like to do in your free time? I already know you don’t cook and you don’t eat.”
“I do eat. Just not…”
“Carbs after six,” they said in unison.
Claire laughed along with her, and Lana marveled at how much that transformed her entire face from beautiful but rigid Ice Queen to a stunning woman. She opened her mouth to tell her she should laugh more often but then snapped it shut without saying anything. It wasn’t her place. After all, their engagement was only pretend.
“I guess I don’t really have much time for hobbies,” Claire said. “Well, other than dining out and seeing the occasional movie.”
“Let me guess… You like socially critical movies and documentaries.”
“Um, no. I like the old black-and-white classics. Casablanca, The Philadelphia Story, and It Happened One Night. That kind of thing.” Claire fingered the clip of her pen as if embarrassed by that admission.
Lana held back a smile. Aww. What do you know? A romantic at heart.
“Why are you grinning?”
“I’m not grinning.”
“I’ve got three degrees in psychology. I’m trained to read body language. I know when someone is grinning—and you are.”
“Maybe I’m just in a good mood, Dr. Freud.”
Claire squinted over at her but then seemed to decide to move on. “Favorite food?”
“Pizza. No, wait. Ice cream. Or cheesecake. Yours?”
“Anything with shrimp.”
Shrimp and pizza. Lana shook her head. God, we couldn’t be more different if we tried.
They went through a dozen more questions and answers until Claire had filled two pages. For Lana, it was a bit like memorizing lines for a movie. Who would have thought that she’d ever star in the role of the fake fiancée? Usually, she was cast as the comic-relief sidekick, never the love interest.
Finally, Claire looked up from her notepad. “What do we say when people ask about us? Us as a couple, I mean. And trust me, they will. My colleagues are a curious bunch.”