Fake (West Hollywood 1)

He sipped his wine.

“You don’t even get scared when I talk at you anymore. At least, you haven’t tonight.”

He looked away for a moment. “I may be a bit wary of having new people around after what happened.”

“The Liv thing.”

“Yeah.”

I nodded and ate some more of my heaven-sent pastry. So good.

“You’re still not going to push me for details?” he asked. “I know everyone’s dying of curiosity about it.”

I just looked at him.

“What?”

I put my fork down and pushed the plate away. “Patrick, you keep expecting me to do that, and honestly it’s kind of insulting. I’m sure that as charmed a life you lead, a person in your position can get used and abused in all sorts of ways. People wanting to feed off your fame or talk you out of your money or use your connections and so on. Now, you don’t know me that well, but I’d appreciate it if you could give me the benefit of the doubt. At least until I do something to prove otherwise.”

His frown returned tenfold. Unhappy as heck.

“I mean, I’d like us to be friends. But of course that’s up to you.”

He sighed. “Norah . . .”

“Yes, Patrick?”

“You always just speak your mind like that?”

“It’s one of my more charming qualities.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. Weirdly attractive. “Right.”

“Though my Gran says that I was in fact born with a perfectly functioning filter, I just forget to use it most of the time,” I said. “Guess I’d rather be honest and get things out there and dealt with, you know?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then came, “Yeah.”

“I’m not amazing at making friends,” I confessed, because my mouth just wouldn’t stop. “I tend to say too much or say the wrong things.”

Nothing from him.

Right. I’d overshared and made it awkward. Nothing new there. It was possible I had a slight crush on my fake boyfriend, which made me even more anxious and likely to overshare than normal. But who could blame me? Given how long I’d been alone, I was probably primed to fall. Didn’t mean I couldn’t ignore and deny.

Time to finish my dessert. Because, priorities. The man would say, do, and think whatever he liked. All in all, there wasn’t a hell of a lot I could do about that. When I finally finished all but licking the plate, I pushed it away and relaxed back with my hands on my tummy and a happy sigh. Good pastry was its own reward.

Then I remembered, I was here to do a job. And I was not acting like the lovelorn fool I’d promised to be. Dammit. Getting to wear shiny clothes and eat in high-end restaurants like this blew my mind. Sitting next to a man whose face had graced countless billboards and magazine covers amazed me. This really was the adventure of a lifetime. But I needed to deliver on the girlfriend front.

So I turned to Patrick with a beatific smile. One that said you are my whole world, and then some. “How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“You liked the wine?”

“Yes.”

“And the food?”

“Sure,” he said.

Excellent. We were back to monosyllables.

Just when I thought he might be getting comfortable with me being around. Considering he’d been missing in action all of last night and today, it wasn’t like he should be reaching saturation levels now. We spent plenty of time apart. It was a pity that the time we spent together couldn’t be pleasant. Or pleasanter. Because all in all, this wasn’t a bad night or anything. Despite me getting overly honest and making things weird.

“You know,” I said. “You can always tell me if I’m talking too much.”

A little line appeared between his brows. “You’re not.”

“Are you sure about that?”

His gaze was as serious as serious could be. “Yes. Look, Norah . . . I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Honestly?”

“Trust me, Patrick. I have no interest in hearing lies.”

He took a breath. “Alright then. The truth is, I’m embarrassed I have to pay you to do this. To pretend to be with me to clean up this mess. In all honesty, I fucking hate it.”

“Oh, my God.” My mouth fell open. “That’s why you’ve been so grumpy?”

“I wouldn’t say grumpy exactly.”

“I would. And not to tell you how to feel, but you don’t need to be embarrassed about that,” I said. “I have no idea what went down with you and Liv and Grant. But guess what? It’s actually none of my business. I’m sure as hell not judging you according to what some internet gossip site said.”

“You’re not, huh?”

“No. I’m judging you by how you treat me.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Okay. I can live with that.”

A strange sort of silence fell between us after that little revelation.

“Not to brag,” I said, “but I totally got through dinner without spilling any food on myself.”