Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“I dated this guy once who insisted on calling me ‘dude’ all of the time. That was not good.”

“Tell me you dumped him.”

I winced. “Eh.”

His frown increased.

“How does ‘honey’ feel?” I asked.

“Still not quite right.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Am I supposed to be coming up with a name for you?”

For a moment, he thought it over. “No. It’s okay.”

“Okay. Let’s get this shopping done.”

Angie warned us not to take too long, and yet not to rush things either. It was a delicate balance. We didn’t want to look like we were hanging out waiting to be noticed. On the other hand, it wouldn’t look good if we walked out with practically nothing. That would be dubious as fuck. We were a normal couple doing our weekly grocery shopping. Nothing more, nothing less.

With Patrick trailing behind me pushing the cart, I got busy grabbing everything I’d need. Along with the world’s most expensive rotisserie chicken, green beans, and potatoes. Because a life devoid of carbs was no life at all.

People definitely kept on paying attention to us. At first, they’d stop and stare at Patrick. Then, sure enough, their interest would wander over to me. The woman at his side. Or leading him around the grocery store. It was weird enough having people gape at me from a distance. But when we got outside, it really happened. Four paparazzi were waiting, cameras at the ready. I hid behind a pair of sunglasses to maintain a little mystery. Angie didn’t want to give them too good a look at my face until we were ready for the big reveal. Whatever that meant.

They followed us, coming close to getting in the way several times, as we walked to Patrick’s Range Rover. And they shouted questions the whole way. Who was I? Were we dating? What would Liv say? Was Grant talking to him? Had Patrick been dropped from more movies? Was his career over? On and on it went. Talk about intrusive. Not unexpected given the situation, but not exactly welcome either.

I frowned and ducked my head, not enjoying it at all. Patrick tried to put himself between me and them, but it didn’t really work. We were surrounded. At least for me it was temporary, and I was getting paid well. Strange to think that this was a normal, accepted part of his life. Though I suppose he was well paid for it too. This was the cost of fame. You’d really have to love acting, money, or attention in general to put up with this shit on a regular basis.

I don’t think I took a breath until Patrick closed the car door for me and we were on our way.

“You okay?” he asked, tone subdued.

“That was . . . I don’t know what that was.”

“It can be confronting.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But I knew what I was getting into. I mean, I basically knew what I was getting into. That was just . . .”

“A lot,” he finished for me.

“Mm.”

His frown seemed particularly heavy. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” I asked, surprised. “No, don’t be. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He sighed. “Media interest is the one real downside to this. To acting.”

“The fame aspect doesn’t ring your bell?” I asked.

“It was kind of fun at first. To be validated that way. But these days . . . I could live without it,” he confessed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely.” I pasted a smile on my face. “We survived our first public outing. Yay.”

The worry in his gaze was replaced by mild amusement. Which I much preferred.

And I’d done it. I’d run my first gauntlet. Passed my first test. Sure, there’d been moments of what the heck and general discomfort, but I’d made it. I could totally do this.

I could not do this. Not even a little.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. The photos were okay, apart from a few taken at awful angles. Double-chin nightmare. No one had any idea who I was. Headlines ranged from “Patrick Walsh Spotted with New Mystery Woman” to “Liv’s Heartbreak as Patrick Moves On.” Like she hadn’t been playing happily-in-love-with-her-husband for the past month. I doubt she even cared. The way they made shit up was amazing and clickbait should be a crime.

But a couple of hours later my cell started to buzz with incoming texts. Followed fast by an avalanche of calls. Mostly from numbers I didn’t recognize. Seemed everyone was curious. And I did not answer a single one of them.

“Someone’s identified you,” said Angie, sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand. “It won’t be long until your name is all over the internet. I hope you’re ready.”

Deep, even breaths were key. A panic attack would help nothing. I’d agreed to this. Time to suck it up and get on with the show. My fifteen minutes of fame were about to begin.