“Yeah,” Hailey drawled. “It’s the start of a scam.”
“I mean, you’ve gotten together, you’re helping him out,” Cressida said, and she had that suspicious tone of voice again—the “calling your bullshit” tone. “Are you thinking, maybe . . . relationship?”
“Hell no,” Hailey scoffed, taking a sip of her chocolate. “First, we didn’t ‘get together.’ I left before the main event.”
Cressida’s expression was hangdog.
“It’s just a con, sweetie. A business arrangement.” She thought about what he’d said about “no sex” and the quick sting she’d felt. She told herself it was because she wished she’d said it first. “Even if we had slept together, you know my policy. Keep it hot, and keep it brief. I’ll help him, he’ll help me, and then we’ll part company. He’ll have a career, and we’ll have a bookstore that’s, God willing, running in the black.”
“Hmm.” Cressida’s eyes went unfocused as she went into deep thought mode.
After a few moments, Hailey kicked Cressida’s Godzilla toes. “If those gears in your head grind any louder, smoke is going to come out of your ears. What gives?”
“Nothing,” Cressida said, with a slow, thoughtful, catlike smile. “So, do we get to meet Mr. Mystics Underwear Model?”
“At some point,” Hailey said. “I haven’t said anything to Rachel yet, though, until I can get the details laid out. I don’t want to get her hopes up if he flakes, you know?”
“She’s going to need to know to set up the publicity,” Cressida warned her.
Hailey sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I know. Which is why I need to get the fake relationship hustle set up. The approach, the buildup, the payoff.”
“It’ll definitely seem more serious, and less like a hookup, if he meets your family,” Cressida added. “Just sayin’.”
“We’ll save it for the appearance,” Hailey said, then giggled. “You just want to get a shot at my boyfriend.”
Cressida snickered, then made that “hmm” sound again.
“Okay. I’m going to work out a few more details of the con,” Hailey said. “Want to help me sketch out the game plan, while the troops are figuring out the store stuff?”
“Do you like him?” Cressida asked instead.
Yeah. I really, really like him, Hailey thought . . . and felt a little knot form in her gut.
“What’s not to like?” she said instead. “He’s sex on a stick, and he can help save the bookstore. Two of my favorite things.”
Cressida’s responding smile was smug.
“But in a week, he’ll go back to Vancouver or whatever, and that’ll be that,” Hailey added quickly.
No sex. One week. One scam. That was it.
I just have to keep repeating that to myself until it sticks.
Chapter 5
“Okay, this is your brainchild. What is it we’re supposed to do?” Jake asked Hailey, feeling weird about the whole thing. He still wasn’t quite sure why he was trusting this relative stranger to do his publicity when he didn’t trust top A-list Hollywood power publicists to do so. Maybe it was because she wasn’t from Hollywood. On the other hand, she was a self-confessed con artist.
That ought to give him pause.
Hell, maybe it was just to entertain himself. After all, it looked like his connection with the show was going down the toilet and he didn’t have any other work lined up—by his own choice. He might as well do something to get his mind off of the pain in the ass his professional life was turning out to be.
Why not explore the real reason you’re giving this woman a chance, huh?
He frowned at himself. The problem was, there was no logical reason. Yes, she was smokin’ hot, but you couldn’t swing a cat in L.A. without hitting some sculpted, manufactured “hot girl.” It was more than that. Her personality. Her humor. Her intelligence and savvy. Whatever the hell it was, it was both potent and compelling.
And above all: he trusted her, when he rarely trusted anyone. The fact that he did after knowing her for such a short time unnerved him when he thought about it too much. Consequently, he didn’t think about it at all.
“I did some research last night,” Hailey said, breaking through his train of thought. They were sitting in his hotel room. She was drinking a large coffee with a metric crapton of sugar and whipped cream and stuff, while he manfully drank his black and wished he’d gotten a mocha-frappa-whatsit, so he, too, could enjoy something sweet. Especially watching the way she licked the whipped cream off her lips . . .
No, he chastised himself. Stay focused.
“Research?” he said, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat. “On what? Publicity stunts?”
“No, the convention,” she said, rolling her eyes a little. Her eyes were very expressive. Especially with that bat-wing eyeliner she had going on. They were huge and a dark, almost purplish blue. “I know fans. And I hate to put it this way, but I know marks, and right now, the audience is our mark. We want them to spread the word that you’re dating a fan. The goal is to get people talking, right?”
He nodded, still not sure where she was going.
She took a deep breath. “The mark is going to act in her own self-interest. Why does anyone gossip?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “I hate gossip.” He’d lived with enough of it in his life, being born a bastard son of a famous actor. And Hollywood was just one big grapevine of rumors and innuendo.
She leaned back against the cream-colored sofa, propping her booted feet up on the black lacquer coffee table. “People gossip because information has value. They want to show that they know something that other people don’t know. Then they share because they want to show that they’re not missing out on anything. Finally, they share with people who will care about the information—it makes them feel good to know they made someone else happy, because it improves their friendship level.”
He stared at her. “You sound like a professor.”
“I learned from the best,” she said, and her expression turned hazy, almost sad. Then she sighed. “Anyway, we want to tell the story that you, hot studly actor, have gotten involved with a normal fangirl. The thing is, if we want people to talk about it, then we have to look like we’re hiding it.”
“Why?” he asked, puzzled. “If we want people to find out about it, shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, flaunting it or something?”
She looked at him, shaking her head. “Oh, my sweet summer child,” she murmured. “That’s the clearest way to tell people it’s a fraud. This is classic misdirection. You want them to believe something? Let them think they figured it out on their own.”
“Okay, Houdini,” he said, sipping his coffee and wincing. “So, how do we do that?”
She bit her lip. She had great lips. He wished he could bite that full lower lip of hers.
“Yeah,” she said. “Do that.”
He blinked. “Do what? I’m just sitting here.”
Her smile was slow and scorchingly sexy, and he felt his body tighten.
“You were sitting there looking like you wondered what I’d taste like dipped in chocolate,” she purred, and it was like a punch in the chest. “You keep staring at me like that, and people will know something’s going on.”
“And where will you be?”
“In the audience, like any good fan,” she said. “When’s your next panel?”
He glanced at his watch. “Um . . . in an hour or so. What do you want to do till then?”
She shot a quick look at the bed, then gave a tiny head shake, one she probably wasn’t even aware of. “We should probably leave the hotel room,” she said quickly.
Taking in the bed—and remembering the last time they were together on one—made his body start to tense painfully. “That’s probably a good idea. Where to?”
“We can’t be too obvious, so wandering the convention floor holding hands is out.” She got up, started to pace. “But we do need to be seen together. And we’ll w
ant to set up a couple of situations where we almost get caught doing something compromising. Get somebody to take a picture of us kissing, that kind of thing.”
He frowned. “My publicist once wanted me to do stuff like that with a starlet,” he said, feeling that gross sensation in the pit of his stomach. “I didn’t even know the girl. She looked like she was a teenager. It was awkward.”
“Well, I think I can say that nobody’s going to mistake me for a teenager,” she said, and he did it again . . . his gaze sliding over her.
Today, she was wearing a black pencil skirt and four-inch heels that looked like the world’s sexiest 1940s secretary would wear them. She matched that with a sweater that was soft and fuzzy and matched her eyes, a perfect shade of midnight.
Damn, the woman was hot.
“There you go again,” she said, and her eyes were gleaming. “That’s the look. Want to go downstairs and give it a try? See if we can spark some attention?”
He was nodding before he knew what to do with himself.
They left the room, heading to the elevators. As the elevator doors closed, she surprised him by taking his hand. “This is how it would be, if you were really dating a fan and wanted to keep it quiet,” she murmured, and he found himself riveted. “In public, we couldn’t stop looking at each other, but we’d know we’d have to keep a lid on it. But when other people were around, we’d have to keep it hidden, just wrap it up.”
“But we’d be so attracted to each other,” he finished, finally getting it, “we’d do a really bad job of it.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Really, a good con job is just like acting. You’re playing a role, and getting other people to believe it.”
“What exactly did you con people out of? And how’d you do it?”
There was more sadness in the pools of her midnight eyes, and she just shook her head slightly.
“Not now,” she murmured, sidling up next to him. “We’re on the job.”
Just like that, he was riveted. She was tall and curvy and pressed against him. She smelled like jasmine again, exotic, sweet, and sharp. She nuzzled his ear, squeezing his hand.
“Nobody’s here,” he pointed out, noticing that his voice sounded a little strangled.
“Just getting you in the right place,” she said, her breath tickling his ear, her chest pressed against his bicep. God, the feel of her . . .
Focus! He mentally slapped himself. This was business. A transaction. Hell, she’d drawn up a game plan like a goddamned football coach. She didn’t feel anything.
He took a deep breath, his bloodstream rushing as he felt the heat coming off of her. Did she feel anything for him beyond the con?
The elevator door dinged, and she quickly stepped away. There was a slight touch of flush on her pale cheeks, and she stared at the elevator numbers like her life depended on it, as he stared at her.
Some giggling women stepped in, then gasped as they recognized him. “Are you . . . aren’t you Jake Reese?”
He nodded, still looking at Hailey. She shot him a glance, then shook her head, nodding at the girls. He cleared his throat again.
“Yes! Yeah, I’m Jake,” he said, smiling.
The girls gave Hailey a curious glance, but then focused on him, asking questions. He accompanied them out of the elevators. He answered a few questions, and signed a photo and a small journal. Then he glanced around.
Hailey was standing off to one side, smirking. She winked at him. He grinned back, walking over to her. She shook her head again, and he froze. What was he supposed to do now? They hadn’t discussed past the initial “get noticed” step.
He watched as she weaved through the crowd, then went off to one side, to a hallway. He looked around, trying to be casual. He was stopped by fans every few steps. He signed dozens of autographs. “Sorry,” he finally said. “I’ll be at the panel in a minute though. I just need to, um, prep,” he improvised.
God, he hated improv. He probably should’ve remembered that before agreeing to this idiocy.
He finally escaped to the hallway where Hailey was waiting. “How was that?”
“Not bad,” she said, biting her lip again thoughtfully. “I think we’ve gotten some attention. Now, we just need to start that powder keg off.”
“How do we do that?”
“By being obvious,” she said. “But not being obvious.”
“Obviously,” he muttered. “Man, you’re the worst director I’ve ever worked with.”
She stuck out her tongue at him, and he grinned.
“No, we just have to . . .” She stopped, tilting her head. “Okay, here’s our shot. Kiss me.”
“Wha—”
Before he could do anything, she grabbed him, putting those pillowy lips right on his. His body, thankfully, wasn’t as slow as his brain. It didn’t care why this gorgeous creature was kissing him. It just wanted more, and it wanted it now.
He tilted his head, taking her lips in a strong, firm kiss just as she’d opened her mouth for a breath. He swept his tongue in, gliding along the soft satin of her inner lips. Her tongue moved forward, tangling with his, as he crushed her chest against him, pulling her hips taut to his where things were definitely getting harder.
“Um, Mr. Reese . . .” a girl’s voice said. “Jake . . . I just . . . oh, my God! Oops!”
He barely registered it. Hailey tried to jerk away.
“Oh,” she said, starting to turn.
“Not done with you yet,” he growled softly, kissing her a few more times, feeling her fingers curl in his hair.
“Jake,” Hailey said, looking embarrassed. Even blushing a little.
He turned to see three girls in Mystics T-shirts quickly clicking photos with their cell phones. “Is this your girlfriend?” one asked.
“Um . . .” He turned to Hailey, still feeling punch-drunk from the kiss. Aching to do it again. He tried desperately to get his head back in the game. Was this the way it was supposed to happen?
Hailey turned red. She truly looked like she was blushing right to the roots of her hair. Did she really think she wasn’t a good actress? She was better than many of his previous co-stars.
“It’s not . . . we’re just . . .” she stammered, then glanced at him. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked uncertain. “Listen, nobody’s supposed to know about us. Can you guys keep a secret?”
The girls giggled again, eyes wide.
“We just started, well . . .” Hailey trailed off. “It’s new. And I don’t know how his agent or publicist or anything is going to feel about this, so we’re just trying to keep it quiet, you know?”
“Why?” one girl asked.
Hailey shifted her weight. “Just . . . can you help us?” she pleaded.
They nodded immediately—well, two of them did. The third one looked just a little bit shrewd.
“So she’s just somebody you’re sleeping with,” the third one said, sounding way older than she looked. And bitter. Surprisingly bitter.
“Absolutely not,” Jake said, putting his arm protectively around Hailey’s waist. She curled against him, snuggling in, as if taking comfort. What the hell kind of comment is that? Who says something like that? “It’s not like that. I care about her.”
The other two girls made a little “aww” sound. If possible, Hailey turned redder.
“Well . . . you’d better go, erm, get ready for your panel,” Hailey said to him, then turned back to the girls. “Thanks for keeping this just between us.”
They walked away, the girls quickly giggling off in the other direction.
When they were out of sight, Hailey’s blush slowly vanished. “Where’s your green room or whatever?” she said. “That’s enough public for now. We’ll get you ready for that panel, and I’ll be sure to be out front or something . . .”
He stopped, stunned by how quickly she was able to recover. “You just . . . wow. That was all the con, huh?”
She sighed. “Well, yes. That’s the point.�
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He didn’t know why that upset him as much as it did. But it did upset him. She was turning it on and off like tap water. How was she able to do that so effortlessly?
Maybe the better question was—why couldn’t he? His heart was still racing.
“It’s not personal, Jake,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I have to ask.” He swallowed, unsure of how to proceed. “The cons you ran—were they on men? Were they . . . like this?”
Now she looked at him like he’d slapped her. “No,” she said sharply. “Not like this. I was thirteen when I stopped, for Christ’s sake.”
“I didn’t know that,” he said. “I mean, we don’t know each other very well, do we?” He grimaced. “Like you said: it’s not personal. I was just wondering about your background.”
Now she crossed her arms, her midnight eyes glinting. “I guess this is our first fight, sweetie,” she said, her tone like poison mixed in honey. “Because we struck this deal, and if you’re going to get judgy, maybe I just take a walk and you deal with your Q Score your own way.”
“You’re the one who wants to help your sister,” he pointed out defensively.
He saw the expression drain away. Her normally expressive face became a careful mask.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m . . . sorry. I—It’s a touchy subject. I was a grifter, not a sex worker.”
The suppressed pain in her words tugged at him. She obviously cared about her sister, enough to put up with being accused of being some kind of hooker. He’d bet she’d probably punch any man who suggested otherwise—but not if her sister’s well-being was on the line.
Maybe it’s an act, though, his rational brain counseled him. After all, she was one helluva liar. She was able to brush off their kiss while he was still gasping for breath.
If she could convince him that easily, without feeling anything—God, was he wrong to trust her? Was it all just lust on his end?
“What if there wasn’t an audience?” he heard himself ask, surprising himself.
One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts) Page 10