Fake (West Hollywood 1)

Patrick waved to the fans screaming his name. An easy smile sat on his lips. Even my name was getting called out, which was wild. He tucked my hand into his elbow and on we walked.

Oh, God. So many people. So much noise. In the face of it all, my limbs went weak and I wobbled on my high heels. Deep, even breaths were the key. I could do this. Though I probably should have stolen the bottle of vodka out of the limo and swilled my way down the carpet. That might have been a smart move.

“Smile,” hissed Angie.

I pasted a somewhat demented grin on my face. I could feel it. It was all types of wrong.

Angie made a noise of despair. “That does not look natural.”

“She’s fine.” Patrick leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I’m right here. We’re doing this together. Everything is going to be okay, Pookie.”

“Pookie?”

Smile lines appeared beside his beautiful blue eyes. “Don’t like that one? How about Cutie Patootie?”

“Wow. No.” I laughed. “Where do you come up with these? Are you outsourcing to five-year-olds?”

His gaze filled with amusement.

“That’s better, Norah.” Angie sighed. “Keep that look on your face.”

Our minder moved us along as more people disembarked from their fancy rides behind us. The paparazzi seemed to have all been corralled into one large box beside the carpet. We stopped in front of a backdrop advertising the Actors Foundation Awards. Patrick slipped his arm around me, his hand resting lightly on my hip. Okay. All good. With Patrick at my side, things didn’t seem so bad. I stood tall, shoulders back, one hand atop his and the other holding my clutch. Making sure my ring was visible, of course. Photographers yelled out our names and instructions to look at them. Like I could see anything with all of the flashes. Then they started calling for a fashion shot and I moved well out of the way. Patrick gave them his devil-may-care grin and whoa.

“Gonna ride that man like a pony when we get home,” I murmured.

“What?” asked Angie.

“Nice weather we’re having.”

She narrowed her eyes and took a step closer. “Normally I would take this opportunity to lecture you on the wisdom of getting involved. Don’t bother to deny it. It’s beyond obvious.”

I kept my mouth shut. To my mind, this fell under the heading of none of her business. Patrick and I were consenting adults. Her opinion was not required. But here we go.

Someone in the crowd yelled out a question about Liv and we all ignored the idiot.

“But, Norah, we’re currently standing on a red carpet, one I didn’t think until recently I’d be able to convince him to walk. We’re waiting to hear if he’s gotten a role in a big-budget movie being made by one of the most promising up-and-coming directors of our time,” she said. “And Patrick is actually honestly smiling. So I’m going to keep any disparaging comments I might have to myself.”

“I appreciate that, Angie.”

She sniffed. Then she straightened. “Liv and Grant have arrived. Let’s move along.”

I caught Patrick’s eye and tipped my chin. And he came straight to me, all long, sexy strides in his black tuxedo, his gaze locked on mine. This time I trembled for all the right reasons. It was a little scary to feel this much this soon. To realize how in over my head I was when it came to him. Of course, I might just be sex addled. That made sense and was bound to wear off sometime soon. No one’s dick was that good.

I swallowed hard. “Time to go.”

“One thing first.” He cupped my face with one hand, pressing his mouth to mine in a gentle kiss. So tender it made my heart stutter. Nope. Not sex addled. More like besotted. Dammit. The photographers went crazy and the fans cheered.

With a satisfied smile, he took my hand and led me on.

The awards were held in the grand ballroom of a big fancy hotel. No less than nine after-parties were taking place on site afterward. Patrick steered us toward the one for the biggest streaming service in town. He’d been in a popular series of theirs a few years back. Though the best thing about the party was the lack of photographers inside. For four hours while the cameras rolled, my expressions had ranged from engrossed to delighted, stoic at Patrick’s loss, and back again. My face needed a break.

“I still think you should have won,” I whispered for not the first time.

“I know you do, Norah. That’s why you’re my favorite person here.” He grabbed two drinks off a passing waiter’s tray and handed me one.

“Why, thank you.”

I downed half of it. Four hours really was a long time and it’s not like the bar had been readily accessible. Nor did I want to run to the bathroom too often. The first filler who’d taken my seat during a bathroom break looked like a supermodel and had been a bit too into my fake fiancé. No idea if Patrick liked males, but still. Then there’d been the starlet who’d looked at him with ovaries in her eyes and done her best to throw herself at him on the way out. Lucky the man knew how to deflect. Guess for some people, the presence of a significant other standing beside the object of their lust was an unfortunate thing best overlooked. I hope she got to be on the receiving end of such behavior someday.