Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“Me?” I asked. “No. Just as well. Your contract requires me to go without. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get caught in any compromising situations.”

A nod.

“How are we tackling PDA?”

“Public displays of affection?” he asked. A deep line appeared between his dark brows. “Wasn’t that covered in the contract too?”

“I thought it might be best if we went over it to make sure there are no mistakes.”

“Okay,” he said. “Holding hands, hugging, light kisses. Touching is restricted to my arms, or my chest and back above the waist.”

“That’s what you’re comfortable with?”

“Yes,” he said, looking as uncomfortable as humanly possible. “What about you?”

“I’m the same.”

He paused and cocked his head. “You’re comfortable with me touching your chest?”

“Ha. On second thought, maybe not. Might be best if we leave the boobs out of it. I think Angie wanted things kept to a PG-13 rating.” I popped up out of the chair. “I’ll check on the meals.”

Nothing from him.

“They look about right,” I reported. “Where are your oven mitts?”

“Cupboard on your left.”

“Would you like me to plate it or do you prefer to eat out of the container?”

“The container’s fine.” He too got to his feet, his frown having returned. “Let me. You don’t have to—”

“It’s not a big deal. You’re paying me a lot of money. The least I can do is help serve dinner,” I said with a smile. “Where do you keep the dishes and silverware?”

Without another word, he fetched the items. And all the while, the edges of his mouth drew downward while his brows drew in. I don’t know what I’d done, exactly. But the man was definitely unhappy. Maybe I’d stepped on his toes, doing stuff in his kitchen, making myself at home. Sort of. Having people invade your space was never fun. And it’s not like he’d ever been a fan of the whole fake girlfriend thing. Guess we both had some adapting to do if this was going to work.

“It was, ah, it was good to talk to you. I’m going to eat in my office,” he said. “I’ve got to start on that script.”

“Okay.”

“You’re all right with everything?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for dinner.”

“Sure,” he said. “Norah?”

“Yeah?”

For a long moment, he just stared at me. And I’d have given back every cent he’d given me to know what he was thinking. “Nothing. Never mind.”

And he was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

“That pressed juice is twenty dollars,” I said, pointing to the concoction in question.

Patrick didn’t even look. “Hmm.”

I just shook my head. Celebrities didn’t grocery shop like normal people. Pop-Tarts were right the hell out, for starters.

We were on our first ever outing as a couple at an upscale super-cool organic market. Angie decided this was as soft a launch as possible. A sneak attack on the celebrity life, if you will. Patrick wore basketball shorts, Converse, and a hoodie. While I had my minimal makeup face on (forty-five minutes application time), a messy bun, skinny cuffed jeans, a Helmut Lang 1950s-style white polo shirt, and plastic slides. They were ugly but comfortable. And I guess very cool, or the stylist wouldn’t have chosen them.

“Not only does this grocery store of yours have a café. But you can buy a latte for the bargain price of fifteen dollars.” My mouth hung open. “That is wild.”

“You want one?”

“No. Just getting used to how expensive and exclusive your world is.”

He said nothing and kept on pushing our shopping cart into the fruit and vegetable aisle.

Then it happened.

Someone had their cell pointed our way over by the display of pomegranates. Patrick obviously realized it too, because he paused, slipped an arm around my shoulders, and drew me in close. It was like he’d flipped a switch. All of a sudden touching was fine; cuddling was happening, apparently. He was no longer the large, intimidating, dispassionate fake boyfriend of a moment ago. Showing I too could improvise, I slid my arms around his waist and stepped into his body. Heaven. Just heaven. Hugging this man was indeed a not-to-be-missed opportunity. He was hot and hard and all-around swoon-worthy. And my hands were definitely within the agreed upon touching zones, despite the allure of his ass. One of his big hands rubbed up and down my back. Very comforting. Much romantic. The man had some smooth moves. If I hadn’t been so nervous about everything, I’d have enjoyed it immensely.

Then the moment was over.

Cool as can be, I took a step back, grabbed a package of something, and placed it in the cart. Because we were totally a normal couple restocking their pantry and nothing more. Despite the weirdness of having people now staring at us. Which I could totally ignore.

“You like dandelion greens?” he asked.

“No clue. I just grabbed the closest thing.”

Nothing from him.

“Do you think they have boxed mac and cheese here?”