Fake (West Hollywood 1)

His brows drew in, but not a single word was uttered.

“If you’d prefer that I spent the evenings out or in my room—”

“You’re going to be living here for half a year, Norah. I don’t expect you to be in hiding the entire time. We’ll get used to each other.” The man did not sound convinced. Which was fine. It’s not like I’d been kidding myself. This was strictly a business arrangement. We weren’t going to be best friends or something.

“Okay,” I said.

His frown amped up to eleven. How could someone so handsome be so cranky? Living in a place like this, having everything laid out at his feet. Give or take the recent scandal fucking with his career and resulting in him having to turn his world upside down to incorporate me and this subterfuge. I believe I just answered my own question.

He sighed. And it was quite possibly the greatest and heaviest sigh of all time. No man had ever been so put upon. So misunderstood. “I’m messing this up. Let’s start again. Are you hungry?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t. But we need to get to know each other sufficiently well to sell this. So we might as well spend some time together and get that out of the way,” he said. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

I got up and followed him to the kitchen. It was nice, with a long white stone island/breakfast bar and a huge six-burner gas stove. A fridge full of vitamin drinks, fruit, and pre-prepared meals. He stared in at the contents, his brow a wrinkled mess. Still handsome.

“Chicken, beef, or vegetarian?” he asked. “Mostly it comes with a sweet potato mash and steamed broccoli, but the vegetarian has cauliflower and tofu in it too.”

I opened my mouth, shut it, and pondered the right words. And yay, me, for not blurting out my first thought regarding his food choices. “Guess you have to eat really clean for the whole perfect body and everything.”

His expression relaxed just a little. “Sounds pretty bland, huh?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

“Now you know why I like to hit up Little Italy. I just can’t do it too often.”

“You must be very disciplined.”

One muscled shoulder lifted in a shrug.

“I’m disciplined enough to stop at six Pop-Tarts, but that’s about as good as it gets.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Right.”

“I’ll take a chicken,” I said. “Thank you.”

He nodded and put two meals into the oven to heat. Being that close, it was impossible not to breathe him in. He had an ever-so-slightly salty, but fresh, scent. There was a hint of wood or sage in there too. Like he just stepped out of the ocean and frolicked in a forest before hitting up the kitchen. I’d bet any money it’s some big-brand cologne. And sniffing him was creepy, so I’ll just stop that.

Next he produced a jug of cold water and two glasses and set them on the dining room table. A round wooden mid-century-looking thing with four chairs. Guess he’s not prone to throwing large dinner parties. I wondered if he selected the furnishings or had a decorator help him. But then, I was curious about everything when it came to this man.

“So we met at the restaurant where you worked and I asked you out,” he said, taking a seat and pouring the two glasses of water. The deft way he handled the task was familiar.

“You’ve done some waiting,” I said.

“Doubt there’s an actor who didn’t start out working in restaurants or tending bar.” He settled back in his chair. “Angie talked about running with the whole super-fan-getting-to-date-her-hero fantasy.”

“Okay.” I shrugged. “We can do that.”

His gaze narrowed. “But you’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say you were, either.”

“Do I need to be a fan?” I asked.

“No.” Again, with the almost-smile. “Just curious.”

“I like some of your movies. But it’s not as if you’re the screensaver on my cell or anything.” My mind scrambled for the right words. “I think you’re a good actor. And obviously you’re a handsome specimen of manhood.”

He sat perfectly still, watching me. Despite the blank face, I could have sworn he was amused.

“It’s not like you need me fawning over you. Your online following must be in the millions.”

He tipped his chin in acknowledgment. “You seem like a pretty honest, straightforward person. Are you going to have a problem misleading people about us?”

“I wouldn’t have taken the job if I did. Though Mei seems nice. I don’t like lying to her.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I doubt she believes it.”

“Really?”

“Mei is one of the smartest people I know.”

I’m not sure if that made me feel better or worse.

“You said you had two jobs—what was the other?”

“Ah, updating accounts and pricing inventory at a boutique a friend owns. Just a couple of mornings a week when needed.” I took a sip of water to soothe my dry throat. “I also sometimes delivered for another restaurant when Little Italy was closed. Until my car died a few months back.”