Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“Your language shocks and stuns me,” I said. “I thought you were supposed to be a nice old lady.”

She snorted.

“I have to go. Can I call you later?”

“No doubt you’ll be too busy staring love-struck into his pretty blue eyes and forget all about me.”

“Probably.” It’s important to note that I came by my sarcasm honestly. “You looked him up, huh?”

“I never did trust the handsome ones. And he’s . . . goodness gracious.”

“I know, right?” I smiled. “I love you, Gran.”

“I love you too. Goodbye. And watch your back.” She hung up first. Gran was so punk.

Angie and Mei were watching me intensely. But if they had the file on me, they probably already knew about my disastrous history with men.

“He asked to borrow your credit card for a special secret surprise?” asked Mei, voice dripping with condemnation.

“Yes.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No,” I said. “It was overdrawn because I’d been running late with a few bills. Luckily. He dumped me soon after. Guess I wasn’t affluent enough for his tastes. Can’t con someone out of money they don’t have. Then a woman contacted me online asking some questions. That’s when it came out about all of his different lady friends.”

Mei groaned. “There’s always that one bastard in a woman’s background that just makes you want to sew yourself shut.”

This was true. My problem was that I wanted to be loved and accepted so badly that I’d put up with things I shouldn’t have. Guess it was thanks to my lack of parents. My father was unknown and my mother died when I was young. Numerous online articles, quizzes, and self-help books guided me toward this conclusion. They’d also helped me make the decision to take a break from dating. To stop and think a while.

Perhaps Patrick and I had a few things in common, after all. Trust issues and a tendency toward isolating ourselves. Neither of these was necessarily beneficial.

“Was the sex that good?” asked Angie, sounding only mildly interested.

“No,” I answered without hesitation. “That’s the thing. That’s why I needed to learn to make better choices.”

Mei sighed. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Love makes idiots of us all,” said Angie, pausing to take a sip of wine. “And there are some rabid assholes out there.”

Mei held up her cell. “You’ve already been given a couple name! You’re Natrick!”

“Natrick?” I asked in a dubious tone.

“It could be worse,” said Angie.

“You were such a cute teenager,” continued Mei, looking at her cell. “Look at you rocking those Daisy Dukes. Though I don’t suppose you gave them access to your photos or permission to share them, which is gross.”

“Probably got them off an old school friend’s social media account,” said Angie. “Bound to happen. We all have a history floating around out there on the internet these days.”

“And there’s you out with your friends.” Mei smiled. “You look so happy and relaxed.”

Angie made a noise. “What she looks is intoxicated.”

Meanwhile, my eyebrows climbed ever higher. I’d known there would be difficult moments. Times when I’d rue my decision to play this part. I just hadn’t thought it would happen so fast. “Holy shit. They’re really going to get all up in my business, aren’t they?”

“Yep,” said Mei, with a shrug. “But Paddy’s worth it, right?”

“Right.” I forced a smile. “This is fine. I’m fine. Patrick and I are very happy together.”

Mei just blinked.

“All they’re going to find is how perfectly average you are. The girl next door who got to date a superstar,” said Angie. “We’ve got coverage on all of the main gossip sites. Keep your shit together, Norah. This is only the beginning.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Certain elements make up the classic Hollywood love story. Such as being spotted on a date at an exclusive, opulent, and expensive restaurant. Chandeliers, crystal wineglasses, candlelight, and linen tablecloths. Patrick even asked Mei to book the tables closest to our velvet circular corner booth so we’d have the illusion of privacy. All while being visible to the paparazzo cunningly hiding in the garden outside the restaurant. Someone must have received a hell of a bribe to stash him amongst the foliage. If you didn’t know to look for him, you’d never know he was there. Patrick had again done his best to put himself between me and the paparazzi outside. There’d been all the usual shouting of questions and the blinding light of their flashes. With an arm around me, Patrick had steered me into the restaurant. Hard to tell if he was just playing the part or being protective. Though the former was most likely.

“So . . . how was your day?” I asked.

Patrick sat opposite me in a slick black suit, over a pristine white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He had a nice neck. Muscular and thick. Biteable. Ugh. Me and my lust.