by Lindsey Hart
“I’m not trying to be a dick here,” I say around a mouthful of pineapple. “But I don’t really want to hear about the clothing line right now. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. I don’t want to hear about clothes. I do this job for a living and, while I’ve made some good money doing it and seen some cool places, I don’t want it to be the first thing I hear about. I’m sure you’ll do an amazing job all on your own. This is your thing. Make clothes you want to see made. That you would like to wear. That are comfortable and nice. Go from there.”
Rin’s eyes skewer me to the spot, and I freeze. My hands freeze too; halfway to my mouth. Slices of pineapple fall off and land on my lap. I’ll still wear these jeans for the rest of the day, and not just to prove a point.
“Okay. Good to know where you stand.” She lets out a sigh that makes me feel like I just rained all over her fashion parade.
“I get that you’re excited about this. You should be. I wouldn’t want to take the helm of some company that makes totally ugly shit. Shit I don’t care about. Shit I don’t want to make. I wouldn’t want someone else’s vision to guide my life. I was always told I was a cute kid. My mom finally figured that might get me somewhere and took me to this model search thing. She never forced me. I thought it was alright. I wanted some spending money, and I was too young to make it. All of a sudden, I was making a lot of money, and that was nice.” I shut up before I elaborate on that. I don’t want to talk about me. “Anyway. This is probably the most I’ve said in my entire life, so I’ll shut up now. I didn’t mean to say I didn’t care. Even though I don’t. About the clothes, that is. What I do care about is you. I want to know about you. I want to hear what you want. That’s what I want to hear about, not some T-shirt design or a dress I’m never going to wear.”
Rin picks up a piece of her gross vegetable pizza and takes a bite. She doesn’t tear her eyes away from me. Finally, she sets the piece aside. “Sorry. It’s just weird to have someone ask about me. I can’t remember the last time anyone actually did.”
“Are you firm on the no castration thing? Because there’s still time. I could find your other exes too.”
“I’m firm.”
“Alright. Your decision.” I cram another half a piece into my mouth and swallow without tasting it. “What’s the event about anyway? The one we have coming up.”
“Nothing. Well—no. It’s not nothing. It’s just not important. I wanted to come up with an employee appreciation thing. We do them twice a year. I thought it would be nice to tell people that I appreciate everything they do, but I don’t think anyone actually thinks of it that way.”
“No. Of course, they don’t. They just pick out nice dresses and prance around for everyone else to look at them.”
“Stop. That’s not what happens.”
“Alright. So, what happens?”
“We have dinner. I make a speech. There’s entertainment. The end.”
“Sounds pretty shitty.”
“Thanks.” Rin rolls her eyes. “I agree there are other, more worthy causes. Things I like way better.”
I know about her charities. I’ve done some research on Rin Allen. She has a foundation. I don’t think anyone could say she isn’t a philanthropist, though if I branded her with that word, she’d probably melt into a puddle of horrified, mortified, embarrassed goo under the table.
“Tell me about you.”
Rin lets out a nervous sounding laugh. “I don’t know what to tell you. You can read about my whole life on the internet. My parents were a mess. They had me. They were still a mess. I got shipped off to boarding school, which was actually really nice, since I met Cassie and Aria there, and they are awesome. I love them like my sisters. It was definitely a bright spot in my life. After, I wanted to be a journalist. I actually went to college to study that, but then my mom decided to bail on the company, and yeah. The rest is history.”
“I don’t want to know about that. I want to know about you.”
“I—I just told you about me.” Rin shifts nervously on the hard, red bench on her side. Her black flats tap out a nervous rhythm on the black and white tiled floor beneath us.
“No. You gave me the abbreviated notes version. I want to know the stuff about you that no one else knows.”
“I doubt there is anything interesting.”
I can tell she’s trying to skirt my question, but I’m not letting her off the hook. “What kind of journalism?”
“What?”
“What kind? What did you want to do?” She looks at me with wide eyes, like no one has ever asked her that before. She surprises me by squaring her shoulders, picking up a slice of pizza, and giving me a direct answer.
“Investigative. I wanted to tell people’s stories. The stories no one else hears.”
“A very noble calling.”
“Much more noble than what I’m doing,” she snorts. Her tone is thick with self-deprecation, but it’s what I appreciate about her. That she can take a good honest look at herself. That she’s not scared to laugh at herself.
“I think you’ve done well with what you were handed. There are worse ways you could have gone about it all.”
She pegs me with a hard look. “Have you ever been in love before?” She takes a bite of pizza and slowly chews like she did not just drop the L-bomb on me. Or at least, include it in a sentence that ended with a question mark and had me in it.
I’m so stunned I nearly drop the piece of pizza I’m holding. “Me? Uh—in my experience, I’ve found that feelings only make a mess of things.” I think I’ve told her that before. Twice in one day is a bit much, even for me.
“So. that’s a hard no.”
“It’s a hard no.”
“But you’ve dated lots of women.”
I just about choke on the ill-timed bite I just took. “Have I?”
“Some people would say so. Or at least, you’ve been photographed with quite a few. None of them look like me.”
Suddenly, I understand what she’s worried about. That we’re going to get called out for this being totally fake. A publicity stunt or something to draw attention to the new line she’s going to launch. They’ll call me her boy toy. Accuse me of trying to advance my career by dating her. Even if we leave things kind of shady and mysterious with just an implied connection, I realize how careful we should be. I don’t want Rin dragged through the mud.
“If you want to call this off—”
“I don’t know what I want,” Rin says sharply. To my horror, her eyes fill up with tears. They shimmer, unshed, in the industrial lights above. “I think this was a bad idea. I thought so the whole time.” She blows out a hard breath and seems to deflate with it, right in front of me. “Maybe we should go to the event separately and just see how it goes. I want to stick it to Brad, but maybe there are better ways. You’re doing some work with us now, so it would make sense that you’re there. We could just test the waters.”
“Right. Got it.” Why the hell do I feel disappointed? That wasn’t a rejection because there was nothing to reject. We haven’t even embarked on the fake dating shit yet.
“I’m not going to talk about my image. It’s not that. It’s just—I—I’ve been struggling with this all day. All this time. I let myself get carried away. Will you still stay? Still do the shoots for me even if I’m calling the other stuff off?”
I think about it for all of half a second. My balls are shriveling for another reason entirely now. I cram the rest of the pizza into my mouth, but the pineapple just isn’t doing it for me this time. I feel strangely deflated.
“I’m sure we can think of something else. You’re right. Petty revenge doesn’t suit you. You’re too nice for that. That kind of shit lets him win. You need to come up with something worse. Far worse…” I trail off since I can’t think of anything. I’m not naturally good at evil schemes, apparently. “And yeah, I’m going to stay. You’re paying me an absurd amount of money for almost no work. How could I refuse?”
She casts a rueful glance at me. Thank god those tears haven’t fallen yet. I don’t know what I’d do if they went streaming down her cheeks. Something in my chest feels pinched. Not a good pinch. The bad pinch. The punchiest of bad pinches.
“Thanks for that. I’ll be sure to remember in the future that I should be a tougher negotiator. And appear way less desperate. Oh, and not let my friends talk me into really stupid shit.”
“I second all of that.”
“So…” she hesitates, and those tears shimmer on her lashes, perilously close to sliding down her ashen cheeks. I have to look down at the tabletop because there is no way I can handle seeing her cry. I like Rin Allen much better when she’s smiling and making self-deprecating jokes. It’s true that there isn’t anything hotter than a sense of humor. “You’re not… mad at me?”
“Mad at you?” I jerk my head back up. “No. Of course not. I’ve wanted to see what Florida was about for a long time anyway. This got me here, at least. Gave me the push I needed.”
“Good. Yeah. That’s good.” She swipes at her eyes furiously and gives me a watery smile I can live with since it’s not tears, but the strange protective urge welling up inside of me doesn’t let up one bit.
We eat our pizzas in silence. Oppressive, strange, heavy silence. There is no one else in the diner. It’s not exactly a hopping time in the day to get food. I try and console myself instead of going with the other option, the one where no one wants to eat here kind of an option. I haven’t felt like a teenager on a series of shitty, hopeless dates in a very long time. If ever. I’ve never had someone tell me they want to fake date my ass, and the rest of me, and then call it off before it even starts.
I’ve never wanted to fake date someone as badly as I did Rin Allen. And I have no idea what that means because I was honest when I said I’ve never been in love before. I don’t do love. I don’t do feelings. It really does just make a mess of shit. Honestly, it’s been a long, long, looonnnnggg time since I even felt the spark of anything for anyone.
Money does buy happiness. Don’t let anyone tell you differently because it can do some really great things for your life and the lives of all those around you that you love. I’m not complaining about what I do for a living, or the opportunities modeling provided me. I will say that after years of doing it, I’m freaking damn starved for something genuine. For someone genuine.
And Rin Allen is all genuine. She’s real. She looks real. She acts real. She is real. And I barely even know her. This is just the tip of her iceberg, and what a great iceberg I think it would be. Unlike those who don’t want to have anything to do with plunging below the plaid surface to get to the real deal, I’m pretty damn disappointed I’m not going to get that opportunity.
Then again, I’m a tenacious bastard. I haven’t had things handed to me even though fate smiled at me. I’ve done a lot of the footwork myself. Worked hard. I don’t quit easily. I’m stubborn. My mom is always telling me that. And not in a good way.
“So, this event,” I say, finally breaking the silence. “It’s probably too fancy for pineapple pizza.”
Rin snorts, but she still looks sad. The kind of sad I want to erase, except that now, I have absolutely no reason to be able to do so, fake or otherwise. “I seriously doubt it. It’s definitely the fancy kind of thing.”
“I’m sure there’s pineapple in something. I’ll find it.”
“Good. I’m going to studiously avoid you for the rest of the week while I get my ass in gear for this clothing line, since it is a major amount of work, and I can feel the stress suffocating me already. Go. Please. Take in all of Florida. I’ll make you a list of all the must-do stuff only a local would know. Go to all the touristy sites for the rest of the week. And—uh—I’ll see you at the event?”
Great. I’ve been very nicely rejected. For a week. She’s sitting here, letting me down easy. Damn. What is that weird pinch in my chest? Why does my stomach feel like it’s been sucker-punched? That heel on my nuts is pressing down hard.
“Great.” I pick up a piece of pizza and hold it out like a glass of champagne and make a toast. Despite the fact that my balls resemble prunes, shriveled from their normal healthy state, and probably more than a little blue, I’m not giving up. I keep my face perfectly composed. I’m not the only one who has a good iceberg tip, and I’m really good at hiding what’s below the surface. People generally want fake, and that’s what I give them. So, while I’m already busy trying to come up with a game plan, I paste on a charming smile. “I’ll see you there.”
CHAPTER 11
Rin
I haven’t told Cassie or Aria that I’ve changed my mind about the whole fake dating thing. I’ve avoided them as much as possible. Unfortunately, I couldn’t put them off forever, and so, they’re here. In my condo. Buzzing around me and helping me with my hair and makeup like we’ve done for each other since we were twelve.
“Have you let him give you a ride yet?” Aria asks none too casually as she applies my mascara.
I blink so hard that she nearly stabs my eye out with the wand. “What? A ride? He doesn’t have a car.”
“I know he doesn’t have a car,” Aria blows out a breath. Her hand comes up to steady my jaw. “Now, hold still, or you’ll be going out looking like a raccoon.
I know exactly what kind of a ride she’s referring to, but I keep my mouth shut and play dumb. There is no way I’m engaging in this. I want to tell Cassie, who is fussing with a curling iron currently attached to my hair, that I’ve called the whole thing off, but then Aria would hear me since she’s standing right in front of me, and she might stab my eye out for real. I’m kind of partial to both my eyes and my scalp and ears not getting burned off, so I stay quiet on that front.
Which doesn’t help my cause, because Aria just picks up steam. “I know you won’t tell us, but tell me you’re at least keeping your options open. Aiden Builder is six foot three of gorgeous manly goodness, and he’s all yours! After Brad, it must feel like you’ve entered some kind of dream state. Like Aiden is magic. Or like—like his penis is—”
“Argh!” I jerk again and nearly get the mascara wand straight in the eye for a second time. “Aria! Come on. You might be okay with talking about the male anatomy, but I’m not. I respect the people I’m with. I don’t go around talking about their well—that’s not the right thing to do. That’s private.”
“Oh, it’s private alright.” Aria snickers while Cassie sighs.
“She clearly hasn’t done anything,” Cassie points out. “She’s still seriously keyed up. She hasn’t been going for her daily workouts.”
“Not you too!” I groan. There’s no way I stand a chance if Cassie is going to get in on this.
“Why the hell not?” Aria demands. “He’s gorgeous. Delicious. He’s seriously walking sex. Edible sex. He’s like a gingerbread man. I would have taken a bite out of his ass a long time ago.”
“I’ve been busy,” I groan. “Really. I’ve been working on the new line. It’s taken up all my time.” Oh, and also, I decided at the spur of the moment that I couldn’t go through with this crazy idea, so there is now no way I’m going to be biting anything anytime soon.
“It’s only been a week.” Cassie tries to come to my defense. She gathers another handful of hair to make into ringlets while Aria snorts and switches the mascara wand to my other eye.
“You don’t have endless time. How the heck are you going to this thing with him tonight if you’ve spent all your time avoiding him? No one is going to believe you’re together if—”
“I called it off, okay?”
“What?” Aria does her crazy whisper scream thing where her voice is at the lowest possible tone, barely above hearing, but it somehow still comes out like someone has a megaphone pressed to your ear. “Are you insane? Why?” Thankfully, she pulls away from me. I get to keep my eye. For now. I suppose that’s a small consolation.
“Because,” I huff. “I just can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s
not going to work. I don’t want to ruin his career. People would say things. He’s modeling for me. I’m at the top. It doesn’t look good.”
“Brad does it.”
“I’m not Brad. And Brad’s a dude. You know women aren’t judged so nicely. I can’t just throw away everything I stand for and who I am to get back at him. It’s too petty.”
“No. No way.” Aria shakes her head, strands of her sleek blonde hair flying all over the place. She has on a pink tank top and a pink pencil skirt. As per usual, she’s flawless. Except for the disbelief written all over her face. “I don’t buy it. You could have thought of that before. You could have fought back. Fought your way out. You aren’t a celebrity.”
“You say that, but my face was plastered all over everything, after Brad and I broke up. It wasn’t fair. I don’t have to go through that again. I don’t want to drag Aiden through it. He’s nice. He has feelings. He has a career, and I want this new line to succeed. I don’t need it being pulled down by any bad personal press. And then there are all my charities to consider. I don’t want people saying I got dumped and shacked up with some hot rebound a few months later. They would see right through it.”
Aria’s jaw drops. “You were fine with the plan before.”
I pull away, and Cassie lets out a little shriek. She tugs on the curling iron, loosening it from my hair before it rips out. Even still, the spot stings. I lift my hand to rub it, wincing. “No. I wasn’t. I let you talk me into it. That’s just—it’s not me. I’m sorry. We should never have gone to LA. This should have stayed a drunken girl’s night plot that we laughed at and laughed off. It should never have gotten this far.”
“So, you’re not going to the thing with him?”
I turn to find Cassie’s eyes wide, shimmering with disappointment. “We’re both going, but not together. No one knows about this, and I want to keep it that way. He’s going to stay and do the modeling.”
“Yeah, because you’re paying him this crazy, outrageous amount of money to do that,” Aria cuts in dryly.