by Kylie Scott
Of course, there had to be more to the story. There always was. But Liv was seen weeping in a disturbingly photogenic fashion as she and her husband walked into a marriage counselor’s office the next day. And the pair had been hanging off each other on the red carpet ever since. Meanwhile, Patrick’s name was mud. Worse than mud. It was toxic shit.
It could all be true. He could indeed be a trash male who thought with his dick and behaved in a duplicitous and manipulative manner. I’d dated my fair share of dubious men, so it wouldn’t exactly surprise me. And plenty of assholes had been publicly outed recently. Men who used their fame and power for evil.
But this all just felt more like gossip.
First up, there’d been no actual evidence that this wasn’t two consenting adults doing what they wanted behind closed doors. Patrick hadn’t taken any wedding vows and Liv hadn’t made any accusations of mistreatment. In fact, Liv hadn’t said anything at all. Patrick and Grant being best buddies, though . . . that was a hell of a betrayal. If it was true.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” he said, his voice rising. “But not with any of them.”
“Patrick, we’ve been interviewing for weeks to find those three alternatives for you,” she said. “One of them must be tolerable if not perfect.”
“She doesn’t need to be perfect. She needs to be real.”
“Real?” asked Angie with some small amount of spluttering. “Give me strength. That’s the last fucking thing we need right now.”
The bell pinged out back. Vinnie gave me a wink and nodded to the waiting dish, Penne Ragu and Meatballs with Parmesan. It smelled divine. As the size of my ass could attest, I loved carbs and they loved me. And what was more important, jeans size or general happiness?
Vinnie took pride in his food. Pride in his restaurant. It was one of the reasons I liked working for him.
“They’re all waiting. Come back to the office,” said Angie as I reentered the room.
“No.”
“Patrick, how the hell else are you going to find someone? If word of what we were doing got out . . .”
“That’s not going to happen.”
The woman looked to heaven, but no help was forthcoming. “If you won’t choose one of them, then who?”
“I don’t know,” he growled.
As stealthily as possible, I set the meal down in front of him. Invisibility was an art form. One I didn’t always excel at when he was around. It’s not my fault. Attractive men make me nervous. So of course my fingers fumbled over the silverware and the fork clattered loudly to the table.
“Her,” he said, staring right at me. Possibly the only time we’d made direct eye contact. It was like looking into the sun. I was all but blinded. The man was just too much.
“What?!” Angie shrieked.
I froze. He couldn’t be referring to me. Not unless it was in the context of a “you are totally clumsy and not getting a tip today” sort of thing.
“You cannot be serious,” Angie all but spluttered, looking me over, her eyes wide as twin moons. “She’s so . . . average.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with enthusiasm.
Wow, harsh. I was pretty in my own way. Beige skin and long, wavy blond hair. A freckle or two on my face. As for my body, not everyone in this city had to be stick thin. But whatever. The important thing was, I was a nice person. Most of the time. And I was kind. Or at least, I tried to be. Personal growth can be tricky.
“Enjoy your meal,” I said with a frown on my face.
“Sit down a minute.” Patrick gestured to the space beside him in the booth. “Please.”
Instead, I crossed my arms.
“I want to talk to you about a job opportunity.”
Angie made a strangled noise.
“I have a job,” I said. “Actually, I have two.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“You’ve got to be joking,” hissed Angie. “They’ll never believe it.”
“Norah,” I said.
“Hey, Norah. I’m Patrick.”
“I know,” I deadpanned.
He almost smiled. There was a definite twitch of the lips. For someone whose charm-laden devil-may-care grin had graced billboards all over the country, he sure knew how to keep that sucker under wraps. “How’d you like to make some serious money?”
“Don’t say another word until she’s signed an NDA.” With a hand clutched to her chest, Angie appeared to be either hyperventilating or having a heart attack. “I mean it!”
Patrick just sighed. “Angie, relax. I’ve been coming in here for years and she’s never once put anything on social media or taken a creeper shot. I bet you haven’t told a soul about me, have you, Norah?”
So I respected his privacy. So sue me. I also kind of liked hearing him say my name. Him just knowing it was a thrill. Definite weakness of the knees. “You seem to enjoy the anonymity.”
“Even stopped that girl from asking me for an autograph.”
“The owner’s daughter,” I said. “She’s still not talking to me.”
Another almost-smile. There was definite amusement in his pretty blue eyes.
Angie downed the last of her boxed wine in one large gulp.
Patrick and I stared at each other like it was a contest. Who would dare look away first? Me, apparently.
“What’s the job?” I asked.
“I’d need you full time for a couple of months,” he said.
“A year, and live-in,” corrected Angie.
Patrick cringed. “Six months and live-in. No more.”
With a wave of her fingers, Angie relented.
I cleared my throat. “Um, doing what, exactly? Being your gofer or an assistant or something? Or do you need like a housekeeper or a cleaner?”
“No,” he said, calm as can be. “I want you to be my fake girlfriend.”
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FAKE
PURCHASE KYLIE SCOTT’S OTHER BOOKS
Fake
The Rich Boy
Love Under Quarantine
Repeat
Lies
It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time
Trust
The Dive Bar Series
Dirty
Twist
Chaser
The Stage Dive Series
Lick
Play
Lead
Deep
Strong
Closer
The Flesh Series
Flesh
Skin
Flesh Series Novellas
Novellas
Colonist’s Wife
Heart’s A Mess
ABOUT KYLIE SCOTT
Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013, 2014, 2018 & 2019, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into fourteen different languages. She is a long-time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the Internet.
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