by Jamie Knight
When we do step into Bryan’s home, the first thing Bryan does is ask me if there’s anything I need. He doesn’t try to grab me, or go for another kiss, but instead ensures that I’m comfortable the second I set foot in his place. It sets my mind at ease. When he does put on some background music, it’s not R&B but some alternative rock in a language I can’t understand. I excuse myself to run into the bathroom for some much needed time alone.
It doesn’t seem like Bryan is being sleazy about me being at his place. And because of that, I’m starting to wonder if I should take advantage of having him to myself for so long. Would it be so wrong to act on impulse for once in my life?
Part of me wants to stay inside his bathroom forever and not have to make another big decision for the rest of my life.
But the smell of food draws me out of the bathroom. The immediate aroma of meat being cooked is indescribable, yet so familiar it should be easy to put into words. It’s the smell of my parents taking me to the nearby park and grilling chicken legs. The smell of a bunch of uncles gathered around one BBQ pit to see whose carne asada comes out the best. It’s a smell I haven’t been around too much as of late.
“What’s on the menu, chef?”
Bryan chuckles. “Don’t get too excited. It’s only a sirloin steak with garlic mashed potatoes and some pan-fried asparagus.”
“Too late. I’m very excited. You better not disappoint.”
He either doesn’t seem to get that I was just joking or he’s very focused on cooking. He looks like he’s on another world.
Forty minutes pass and the food is ready for eating. Bryan sets the table quickly and places the steaming plate of food right in front of me. It looks like it came out of a magazine, it’s so perfect. And the taste fits the look. The steak is divine, as are the sides. The food is so irresistible that I don’t look up from my plate until well after I’ve licked the plate clean and stayed seated, digesting the food for some time.
Shortly after I’m done with my plate, Bryan finishes taking the last bite off his plate.
“So,” Bryan says, “If you’ll hear me out, I have a proposal for you.”
This is just what I was fearing. He saves me from someone who tries to have sex with me just to go and do the exact same.
“Look, Bryan… You’re attractive, but I don’t know if I can just jump into bed after —”
“Now, hold your horses there. That’s not where I was going at all,” he says. After a pause, he continues to explain his proposal, “It seems that we are in a place to help each other out. That lie we both cultivated may be the best way to save each other’s careers.”
“Lie… What, that we’re engaged?”
“That’s right. Think about it. You need a backer and I need a PR cleanse. This is the perfect solution.”
“Explain?” I beg.
“If we play along with an engagement, we could fix each other’s lives. I’d happily be Children of The Future’s newest backer, and you could help the media forget what I did when I emceed at that charity event. They’d be publishing articles about what kind of dress you’ll be wearing at the wedding, where we’d be having it —”
“Stop right there,” I snap, “Sounds like we’re playing a long con here. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m kind of making it up as I go along, but it does seem like it would help us both, don’t you think?”
He’s not wrong, to be honest. I need to provide Anais with a new backer now that I’ve basically guaranteed that Grady will pull his funding. I don’t know how comfortable I would be playing the role of Bryan’s bride-to-be, though. Hounded by the press. Coming across articles mentioning my weight, and seeing magazines dedicating entire pages to my appearance. It’s not something I’ve envied about real football wives, definitely not something I’ve desired to experience for myself.
“I need to think about this. Think hard. I admire your quick thinking, but that plan has a few holes,” I tell him.
“What holes? Come on, let’s work it all out right now, right here.”
“How about the fact that we’d have to live together and actually plan a wedding?”
He stammers as he comes up with his answer. “Planning a wedding takes forever, so we have time to figure that out.”
“Wedding planning takes forever when you’re not a Billionaire, sure, but you are one so we can’t take too long. Besides, wouldn’t you get criticized for not dating another celebrity?”
Bryan laughs, “I actually thought about that little nugget of information. You’re going to be my long-lost love from middle school. One of my first ever crushes. People love sappy stories of love that was almost lost forever.”
“And you’re really willing to back Children of The Future for at least six months? You’re not going to pull the funding from under my feet just because I won’t fuck you or something ridiculous like that?”
I have to ensure that I won’t have another Grady situation if things fall apart with this faux wedding plan. Otherwise Anais will be right back on my ass and my group will be out of business.
“If we agree to this, there’s no backing down from it. For either of us. Six months, at the very least, then we’ll see where we go from there. Does that sound fair?” I ask, extending my hand out to shake Bryan’s.
“I’m game if you are,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand.
Our hands clasp together like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces.
“Then that’s that… honey,” he jokes.
My hand jerks back to me, recoiling at the pet name. It’s not that I don't want to hear him call me pet names. It just seems a bit unearned at the moment. Hell, we just agreed to this sham of a future union.
“Sorry,” he says, “I’ll slow down. I’m just happy you agreed. I like volunteering with Children of The Future but I’m also looking for other ways to get all of my sponsors back and… Well, you know how it is. Anywho, would you like for me to call you an Uber home?”
I shrug without looking at him.
I’ve been given a lot to think about for the next couple of days. I may even have to call out tomorrow just to look over all of my options. All of the pros and cons that would stem from this venture.
“Like I said, no going back from this, but… let’s not go too public with this until I’ve given you the green light, please. I’m going to have to think about every possible consequence that could come from this lie. It’s a good plan, Bryan, I just need to cover all of our bases. I need to find a way to crossover our pasts so that we went to the same middle school, even though we clearly didn’t. It’ll take some doing, but I’ll manage something.”
“We’ll manage something. We have to work together on this if we’re going to pull it off without a hitch, like you want. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me a message. Or call me. I’ll be around,” Bryan says. “Now let me call you that Uber.”
Bryan walks me out of his house and waits outside with me for the car. We don’t say much else while we wait, we just look back and forth at each other. It’s practically what we’re best at at this point.
“There’s my ride,” I point out. “Thanks, by the way. I could have paid for it myself.”
“Nonsense. You’re my pretend fiancée now. So, I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Yes. I’ll call you. This time, I’m serious. I’m not going to leave you out to dry… darling.”
I can’t believe I went ahead and let that come out of my mouth. He seems to enjoy that, though.
“Thanks, Bryan, you’re a real lifesaver.”
He takes a step back and watches me get into the car. I take a moment to look back at him to make sure he’s not going to try and steal a kiss before the night is over. He doesn’t, but I wish he did. Even a kiss on the forehead. It would be a step down from being proposed to, but it’d be a good way to end the crazy night this has turned out to be.
The car drives from the front of the house, and I turn around in my seat
to watch Bryan. He stays leaning against his front door until I’m completely out of view.
The music playing inside of the car has me thinking that everything that transpired today was a dream I’m going to end up waking up from. Nothing feels real right now. I’m engaged. Fake engaged, but engaged, nonetheless.
I have a lot of calls to make.
Chapter Twelve
Bryan
I’m not able to get much sleep that night. I just keep thinking about Scout and how sexy she is. On my third hour of rest, I’m woken up by the sound of someone coming into my home.
“Don’t run for your shotgun, Bryan, it’s just me!” I hear Palir shout from the living room.
With no danger present, I lie back down and roll myself up in my comforter. I try to ignore him.
“Come on, buddy, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. You can’t just send me a novel of a voicemail and expect me to roll with it. You have to explain… quite a lot, because there are already some blogs and papers online who are publishing shit about you,” he screams from downstairs.
Just like when I thought someone was breaking into my house a few seconds ago, I shoot up from my bed like Dracula from his coffin.
“What are they saying?” I ask him, coming down the stairs.
“Hmm, let’s see,” Palir mumbles as he scrolls through his phone, “Bryan Anderson engaged to humble charity worker, Football Bryan Bangs Bashful Brunette, Has Bryan Anderson of the Leviathans lowered his standards, and it goes on like that for the next few pages. Don’t know how much else you want to hear —”
“That’s fine, thanks, Palir. Shit. That scumbag ex of hers didn’t keep his mouth shut for a fucking second.” I drop down onto the couch.
“You’re talking about the Grady person, right? The one you tackled?”
“Yeah,” I yawn. “That bastard.”
“Why do I miss out on all of the fun? I should stay by your side all day long, so I don’t have to be filled in on the cool stuff that happens to you via text.”
Fun is the last word I’d use to describe the whole ordeal with that sorry excuse for an ex, Scout calls Grady.
“Please, tell me how we’re going to get a hold of this story,” I beg.
Palir places his hands on his hips and sighs, “Shit, dude, I was about to ask you the same thing. This was your plan. You can’t leave me in the dark about a big thing like this and then expect me to have a miracle fix ready for you. Give me some time to think of something…”
He trails off, muttering to himself possible ways to make sure the stories go the way we want them to.
“You don’t have any ideas, by chance, do you?” he asks me in the middle of his muttering.
I’ve been awake for a total of four minutes and Palir expects me to have an answer for him. Seems as though we’re expecting a lot of each other this not so fine morning.
I think for a moment that I should notify Scout about these newspaper articles coming out about the fake relationship she and I have. It’s much faster than she agreed to, but now we don’t have any choice but to go along with our plan. She’ll probably be pissed.
“Then please tell me you’ve got something now!” I snap at my assistant.
Palir stops his pacing and muttering to cartoonishly announce that he’s got an idea. He looks at me as if I should admire the turned on lightbulb I’m sure he thinks appeared above his head.
Grabbing me by both shoulders, he sits down next to me on my couch and illuminates me on his plan. Without losing his grin, he tells me about the growing list of people who want an exclusive interview with me about this new, out-of-nowhere relationship.
“People always want to be in the know and if you don’t control the story, then the story controls you. If people don’t have the facts, they’ll make some up and Scout may unfortunately, be taking some bullets because of that,” he explains with feigned worry for Scout, “so what we’re going to do is tell whatever you want your version of the story to be in an exclusive interview.”
“Whatever Scout and I want our version of the story to be,” I correct him.
“Yes, Bryan. Just don’t leave me out of the loop. The three of us have to stick to one story and one story alone, got it? And we need to do it fast.”
“Got it.”
My head bounces in agreement with this potential plan until I notice Palir’s eyes growing wider and wider with annoyance.
“Well,” he asks impatiently, “are you going to call her over or what?”
Even though it’s before nine in the morning, Scout arrives to my place only twenty minutes after I call her, but before I can greet her, Palir bombards her with questions as soon as he cracks the front door open.
Scout’s clearly taken by surprise with the sudden questions about how good she is around cameras, if she’s hiding any secrets that could damage my reputation, and a whole lot of other nonsense I can barely understand since the questions are coming out of Palir’s mouth at such a rapid pace. Regardless, she slides in, shutting the door behind her and successfully makes it to me without answering any of Palir’s probing questions.
“What’s going on here?” she asks understandably confused.
“You didn’t tell her what’s happening?” Pilar snaps.
I shrug, “I thought it’d be best to tell her in person.”
“Not to side with your obedient servant here, Bryan, but the drive over here had my heart pumping like crazy. You can’t just tell me we need to talk and expect me not to freak out. Tell me what’s happening!”
Palir seems offended by Scout’s “obedient servant” comment but not offended enough to be on her side during this confrontation. He agrees with her, saying that the three of us are supposed to be on the same page about what’s happening from here on out. He’s right, of course, and I retort that I wanted to explain the situation to her once she arrived that way we could all be on the same page, and so he can correct me if I say anything that wouldn’t jive well with what the public would consider okay.
“Fine,” he finally says, “alright. BUT NOW, we all have to know the story from head to toe.”
“What story? Are you talking about the fake engagement? I asked you to wait on that,” Scout tells us.
I get another angry look from Palir, upset with how far behind Scout is.
The three of us sit in my living room and with Palir’s help, I explain to Scout what has happened in the past twelve hours and what our plan should be so that this doesn’t get out of control in the press.
At first, Scout follows along diligently even taking out her phone to take notes. Something Palir makes note of and almost cracks a smile at. Scout’s concentration is only broken when I mention having to do an interview about our engagement.
“An interview?” she asks, her eyes wide. “I’m not ready for that! This is so soon! We need time to plan this and get it right.”
“Sorry, kid, but that stopped being the case when your ex went public about the whole thing. Your ex fucked you yet again,” Palir says very matter of factly.
The stress overcoming Scout is palpable, but she’s doing her best to keep herself focused and collected. It’s a good enough job, compared to me. My legs feel as though they’ve been stripped of my bones, and even though we’re sitting in my airconditioned living room, I’m sweating like a pig.
“Fine, let’s say we go forward with this. How would we go about that?” she asks.
I look to Palir for an answer, which he mercifully gives us so as to not stress me out any further.
“We go live. Or you do, to be more accurate. Either live television or a news livestream. Both even. I’ve had to turn my notifications off on everything because people are dying to be the first on this story. Your side of the story.”
“How much time do we have to prepare?” she asks.
“We can go live in an hour. We need to. The faster we act, the less likely people will run away with whatever they think the real story is.”
“Then let’s do it,” Scout boldly states.
The two of us turn to her, sure that she can't be entirely serious about her proclamation. But she seems more sure than either of us.
Stammering at first, Palir says that he'll figure out what studio we’ll drive to for the interview, but before any of that, “You have to do yourself up a bit, Scout. Take a shower, put your face on, don't worry about your clothes, the studio will take care of that.”
“I didn’t bring anything with me, should I go back home —” she argues.
“We can’t waste any time, darlin’, just shower here and use Bryan’s makeup kit,” Palir insists.
“You have a makeup kit?”
I turn to her and nod, admitting that I apply some highlighter whenever I go to a red carpet event.
Scout runs to the shower and leaves the two of us alone. We take an unintentionally simultaneous breath and laugh at each other when we realize it. Though he’s acting as my assistant, Palir is still a friend through and through. Everything he’s doing is for my benefit and I can’t thank him enough for it. He’s putting himself in the front lines and dealing with a lot of stress just for me.
He fiddles on his phone for some time, trying to find someone reputable and respectful, which may be difficult considering how journalists normally are; pushy, confrontational, antagonizing. We need someone who’ll be on our side as soon as we sit down and will stay on our side the whole way through.
“Who are you thinking of going with, Palir?”
Biting his lip, he tells me that he’s hoping to get an old friend of his, Lori, on the line. I’ve met Lori before. She’s definitely one of the more tolerable reporters that I’ve ever met. Not as talkative as your average go-getter journalist. The technique she utilizes to get information out of people is warmth. No matter who she’s talking to, you can tell that she’s genuinely interested, or at the very least, talented at feigning interest. People drop their guards and start telling their entire lives to her. While it is a very lovely trait to have, it makes me worried about this interview. I’m going to have to keep my walls up the entire time.