A Deal with the Devil by Elizabeth O’Roark

26

“Ihave a favor to ask,” he announces the next morning.

And here I was hoping he might be a little penitent after last night. How completely unrealistic of me.

“And it’s something so big you can’t even demand it of me, the way you usually would?” I ask. “I can’t give you my liver, you know. I only have one.”

He runs a hand through his hair and it flops forward. I wonder if he knows my heart pinches a little at that small sign of uncertainty. Already the answer is yes. Fine, Hayes, take my liver. Anything you need is yours.

“It’s my sister’s birthday this weekend,” he says. “I want you to come with me.”

Less invasive than losing an organ but nearly as painful. “You need an assistant for a child’s birthday party?”

“No,” he says, sighing. “I need you to act like you’re my girlfriend. I did it for you with your ex, and now I need the same.”

My eyes go wide. So wide I probably look like a comic book character, but I can’t seem to stop. “What?”

“We should run a hearing test on you at some point. I. Need. You. To—”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Yes, I heard that part. I just can’t begin to imagine why you need me when you have half the women in LA begging for your attention.”

“I can’t ask just anyone to pretend to be my girlfriend.” He toys with the lid of his coffee cup. “I need someone they’d actually believe, someone...impressive.”

This I find even more difficult to grasp. “I’m a failed writer who dropped out of grad school, can’t pay back an advance and now works for you, which is—no offense—sort of hitting rock bottom. How am I impressive?”

“You’re attractive and smart, which is a rarer combination than you might think. Though it would help if you wouldn’t describe anything involving me as ‘rock bottom’ when you meet my family.”

I hitch a shoulder, uncertain. Not that I won’t do it. It’s simply that I’m not sure he’s thought this through. He should be taking a celebrity or a surgeon, not me. “What am I supposed to tell them I do for a living? They won’t be too impressed when they learn I spend my mornings getting rid of the women you bring home.”

His eyes narrow. “That hasn’t happened once in nearly two months but you’re still bringing it up. Just tell them the truth—you’ve got a book due this fall.”

“Oh my God,” I groan. “I told you that in confidence. I hope you’re not repeating it to anyone.”

He shakes his head. “Seriously, Tali—what the hell? How many people write well enough to get a major advance based on fifty pages of a book at age twenty-three? You think that’s so shameful? Ask all the women in this city who slept with a bloated old director to get a part. I’m sure they’d gladly trade sources of shame with you.”

I mostly got the advance because I was dating Matt, but I suppose he has a point.

“Fine,” I say. “What do I wear?”

His tongue glides over his lower lip. He’s looking at me, but his mind is far away at the same time. “The beige dress,” he says, nostrils flaring a little. “Ella will fucking hate that.”

“What’s wrong with the beige dress?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Nothing. That’s why she’ll hate it. When you’re in the beige dress, there’s nothing wrong in the entire world.”

* * *

I put far moreeffort into my appearance on Saturday than is called for, cutting short my visit with Jonathan and Gemma—adorably chubby and way more active than I realized she’d be—to see a hairdresser-to-the-stars friend of Ava’s.

I walk out with amazing highlights—subtle caramel and gold like I once got from the sun as a child—my hair falling over my shoulders in perfect waves.

I’m trying to live up to this idea Hayes seems to have that I’m somehow capable of impressing Ella and his dad, but perhaps I’m hoping to impress Hayes too.

When you’re in the beige dress, there’s nothing wrong in the entire world.

No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. Did Matt tell me I was beautiful? Sure. But with Hayes, it wasn’t simply the words. It was the way he said them, bitten off like they were a curse he’d pay for later.

“Look at you,” Drew says over video while I get ready, “putting on actual makeup for your date with your boss.”

I dab concealer under my eyes. “It’s not a date.”

“No, it’s just your boss who said you were the most impressive, hot woman he’s ever met, asking you to pretend you’re his girlfriend and meet his whole family.” Which is not what Hayes said, but I’ve already corrected Drew on this twice and she seems determined to believe her own version of the story. “I would kill to have Six say that. I just wish he’d give me some sign what he’s thinking, you know?”

It seems to me Six has given her plenty of signs what he’s thinking and she doesn’t want to see them. Was I any different with Matt? He showed me in a hundred ways that he wasn’t the right guy. He talked me out of going to my dream school, he persuaded me to drop out of my master’s program. Sometimes the only sign you need is that a guy cares way more about himself than you.

“I think you should find the hottest guy ever and have four amazing months with him,” I tell her. “Just go be your best self, and Six will be eating out of your hand when he gets home. Lipliner or no lipliner?”

She leans back in her chair, tapping her fingers over her chest like a vaudeville villain. “Oh, Tali, you’re in so deep if you’re finally gonna call attention to those yummy lips of yours.”

I groan. “I’m not. I just hate this woman, and she kind of fucked him up, you know? I want to do my best to twist the knife.”

“Wear the lipliner, then,” she says. “I bet you a hundred bucks it winds up on his dick by the end of the party.”

* * *

He pullsinto the circular drive in front of my building and climbs from the car, eyes flickering over me once and again. He swallows. “The vomit came out of the dress,” he says quietly. “That’s good.”

“You flatterer you.”

He comes around to my side and holds the door. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m...never mind.”

The door shuts, and I decide to let it go. This whole situation is awkward enough without us opening up to each other on top of it.

“We should probably get our story straight,” I tell him when he climbs in, twisting my hands in my lap. How fortuitous Jonathan talked me into a manicure.

“You’re far too worried about this,” he says. “It’s a child’s birthday. No one’s hooking you up to a polygraph.”

I turn toward him. He’s skipped the jacket today and is wearing a deep blue shirt, collar undone, and khaki pants. His hair is a little fucked up, like he’s run his hands through it once too often. I’ve never seen anyone so handsome in my entire life. My gaze drifts to his neck, and I imagine nuzzling his skin there, like a pig after truffles.

“I’m not good at lying,” I tell him. “Otherwise, I’d lie to you all the time. I just need the basics.”

“Fine,” he says, pulling onto the street. “My cock is huge, and you can’t get enough of it.”

“Yes, that sounds like exactly the kind of classy thing your impressive girlfriend would say.” I roll my eyes. “How long have we been together? Where did we meet? Where was our first date?”

A muscle flickers in his cheek. “Just stick with the truth as much as possible. We met six months ago when you were tending bar.”

He glances at me and I worry I’m flushing. I sometimes think about how it might have gone if he hadn’t rushed out. But we are closer to a relationship now than we ever would have been had he tried something. And if it were a relationship, it would certainly seem like a good one. As if we’d really begun to care about each other.

“Where was our first date?” I ask.

“You’re not being interviewed for Cosmo. No one’s going to ask you that.”

I don’t know how he’s so relaxed about this. He’s the one who’ll look like an asshole if we mess this up. “They might. Or they could ask you why you asked me out.”

He rolls his eyes. “Anyone who sees you in that dress will know why I asked you out. Though if you’re as mouthy as usual, they might wonder why I kept asking.”

* * *

Hayes’s father and,um, stepmother live on a magnificent estate in Newport, surrounded by fields and trees, completely private. The house itself looks like an English castle, massive and stone-fronted. It even has ivy growing up the sides.

“Oooh,” I say delightedly, smiling wide. “I see why she chose him now.”

He levels me with a stare. “Yet you call me Satan.”

We walk inside, and a maid in full uniform takes the gift Hayes has brought—purchased and wrapped by me, of course—and offers us champagne before leading us to a backyard drenched in late afternoon sun, where there’s an elephant alongside the standard moonbounce/trampoline/swimming pool set up.

He gives me a quick half-smile. He’s as beautiful and confident as ever, but I see something uncertain and young in his eyes that breaks my heart. I’m going to be the best fucking fake girlfriend in the world today, just for him. My hand slides into his, soft to rough, small to large. He squeezes gently as his thumb skims across mine, and my body responds to his touch like it’s starved for attention. I want to memorize every callous, the pressure of it. Sure, I’m doing this for him…but I think I’m going to enjoy it more than I should.

A little girl, blonde and leggy like Ella, springs at him, throwing her arms around his waist. “What did you bring me?” she demands.

“I made a donation in your name to the NRA,” he replies, swinging her into the air. “Happy birthday.”

She grins. “Liar! You did not!”

“Hudson,” says a chiding voice, “that’s enough.”

I glance up to see Ella and Hayes’s father approaching. His father is nearly identical to who Hayes will be in twenty years, and Ella’s beauty is every bit as ethereal and delicate as it appeared in her photos, though there’s something a little icy in her blue eyes. Maybe it’s simply that I know who she really is.

“Tali, this is my father, Michael, and my stepmother, Ella.” I enjoy watching Ella wince at the word stepmother.

“Tali, it’s so nice to meet you,” Michael says, shaking my hand. “I was beginning to think Hayes would never bring a female over.”

My eyes widen. I’m not sure if he’s making a terrible joke about the last time he got introduced to one of Hayes’s girlfriends or if he’s put it so far out of his head, he’s forgotten what he did.

Ella colors prettily. “What a nice surprise. Hayes has never mentioned you.”

Acid begins to drip, drip, drip in my chest. After everything she did, is she really trying to sabotage the first relationship she’s seen him in? Dear God, I’d love to put this woman in her place.

“When would I have mentioned her?” Hayes asks calmly. “I haven’t seen you since the holidays.”

Her smile fades. My hand squeezes his. Well done.

“Has it been that long?” Michael asks. “Madness. We really need to see more of you. Come get some food.” He turns toward the buffet, walking beside us.

“I assume you’re an actress,” he continues to me. “Hayes might have mentioned I’m doing a remake of Roman Holiday.”

Hayes never mentions you, ever. “Oh, I didn’t know. But I’m not an actress. Have Hayes tell you about my amazing British accent, though.”

Hayes smirks at me. “She sounds like a pirate, and all her knowledge of England appears to have come from Mary Poppins and Harry Potter.”

“I quote My Fair Lady a good bit as well,” I agree.

“I wondered where you got it from. Top o’the morning guv’ner,” he adds, in a hardcore Cockney accent that makes me cackle in a very non-classy way.

“What do you do, Tali, if you’re not an actress?” Ella cuts in more forcefully. Her tone has a mocking edge, as if she already knows my answer will be porn star or “I’m between jobs”.

“Oh.” I really hate discussing it, but for Hayes’s sake, I will. For his sake, I’d claim to be an astrophysicist or world leader if I could get away with it. “I’m actually working on my first novel.”

“How lovely,” Ella says. “An aspiring artist in our midst.” She says it as if I’m a child, waving a stick-figure drawing in the air, and this time, it’s Hayes’s hand squeezing mine.

“Actually, Tali received a rather large advance for this book when she was still in graduate school,” he says, a warning in his tone. “There’s nothing aspiring about it. If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to introduce her to Grandmother.”

His arm wraps around my waist, steering me away from them. My hand goes to the small of his back, and it’s entirely for Ella’s benefit that I then let it slip as low as it can reasonably go.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I know you didn’t want to talk about the advance. I just couldn’t stand the way she was trying to belittle you.”

“You can tell them anything you want, true or false, if it puts that bitch in her place,” I reply, my voice laced with venom. “But honestly? She’s a total dick. I’m not sure why you even care about making her jealous.”

“This isn’t about making her jealous,” he says, holding me tighter as we start down the hill. These shoes were not made for walking in grass—or walking, period—and he appears to realize it. “Do you have any idea how miserable it is to attend these things on my own? With every single guest seeing me standing alone and thinking, ‘Oh, poor guy. He never really got over her’? Now they’re all thinking, ‘Well done, mate. You got over her in a big way, didn’t you?’”

I feel myself blushing, embarrassingly pleased, as he pulls me toward an older woman, bending low to kiss her on the cheek. “Grandmother,” he says, “let me introduce you to my friend Tali.”

She peers up at me. “Well, well, well,” she says. “This one’s much prettier than Ella, isn’t she?”

Hayes laughs quietly, holding a chair for me and taking the seat on the other side. “Yes,” he whispers, “but you’re not supposed to say that aloud.”

“I’m old. I can say whatever I’d like,” she replies. “And how did you manage to find this fine young specimen?”

I smirk at him. This isn’t a Cosmo interview, my ass. I’ll let him solve this on his own.

“She sat on my doorstep and refused to leave,” he says. “Eventually I figured I might as well allow her inside.”

She smacks his arm. “You’re not as amusing as you think. The truth now, please.”

Hayes’s eyes flicker over my face. “I saw her photo on Jonathan’s desk and started looking for her all the time, because she worked at this bar I’d pass on my way home,” he says. Weirdly…it doesn’t sound like a lie. “I saw her reading while she was walking in, even though it was raining. And I thought she was the loveliest thing I’d ever seen in my life, so I followed her.”

He stops, and my heart thuds loudly in the resulting silence. All this time, I thought he wound up at Topside by accident, but perhaps it was no accident at all. Because it was raining the night we met. And I can still remember the book I was reading as I walked in. Maybe he’s embellishing this for the sake of our fake relationship…except it doesn’t feel embellished.

His grandmother clasps her hands together. “And you’ve been together ever since!’

His gaze meets mine. “Not exactly. My assistant got wind of it and begged me to leave her alone because she’d had a hard year and I wouldn’t be good for her.” There’s a tiny note of bitterness, regret, in his voice. “But it worked out eventually.”

I swallow. If this is all true, then Hayes, with his reputation for being careless and selfish, walked out…for me. Is that why he felt so blindsided when I showed up as Jonathan’s replacement?

“I’m glad,” his grandmother says. “You deserve a nice girl, darling. I always thought you could do better than Ella.”

It would never have worked out, of course. Odds are, he’d have hit on me and I’d have shot him down in the rudest way possible. Or he’d have realized I’m generally not a one-night-stand kind of girl. But that what if is still ringing in my brain.

Hudson runs to the table and grabs his hand. “Hayes!” she cries. “Come ride the elephant with me!”

He grins at her. “I’m not sure it can support both our weights. You’ve gotten quite large.” She giggles, and he allows himself to be led to the line. I watch as this beautiful man walks off holding his sister’s hand, still completely stunned by his admission.

“He’s back,” his grandmother says, pulling my attention away from Hayes. “I was worried Ella had ruined his faith in women forever, but he clearly adores you. It’s such a relief.”

I squirm with discomfort. Even if we are pulling this off better than I ever dreamed, it’s all a lie. And while I don’t mind lying to Ella and his dad until I’m blue in the face, I don’t want to lie to this nice old woman.

“You must ignore Ella, whatever she says. The woman’s a parasite,” his grandmother continues, “the kind that mutates to best attack its host. She met Michael and suddenly became a producer’s wife. When she leaves him for someone else, she’ll become an equestrian or a go-go dancer or whatever it is her next victim requires.”

I shouldn’t be prying, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Who was she with Hayes?”

“A bit like you—down-to-earth, open. But she didn’t pull it off quite as well.”

I’m not sure if she’s placating me. I only know I want it to be true. And I know I want to avoid Ella all afternoon, if possible, but when I help Hayes’s grandmother up the hill and stop by the bar on my way back, she suddenly appears by my side. I doubt it’s by accident.

“He still drinks this, does he?” Ella asks, lifting the scotch I got for Hayes and giving it a sniff. “You should have seen him at Cambridge, choking it down, trying to impress me.”

“That was so long ago,” I reply, preparing to walk away. “I’m fairly certain he’s not drinking it to impress anyone now.”

Her head tips to the side as she studies me. “He’s not cut out for commitment, you know.”

I stiffen. A part of me assumed she must regret her decision—how could you not regret leaving Hayes? But I thought she’d at least be subtle about it. Instead, she’s openly trying to destroy what he’s found in her wake.

“He’s charming, and he’s obviously smitten with you.” She waves a hand as if all this is meaningless. “Just don’t start believing it’s going to last. One thing goes wrong in his life, and you’ll find yourself shut out completely.”

I have no idea what the one thing was that went wrong, but it also doesn’t matter. This bitch was never the right person for him. Never. “Maybe you just weren’t someone he felt he could turn to.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re delusional if you think he’s going to choose you.”

I laugh. She is jealous and so painfully obvious about it. “What’s worse, Ella? Knowing you made a poor choice, or knowing that every person here thinks Hayes dodged a bullet when you left?”

I grab the scotch from her hand and leave her standing there, red-faced and tight-lipped, and return to the table, where Hayes now waits.

He rises, and because I know Ella is still watching, I reach up and make a show of running my fingers through his hair. His eyes go hooded and feral as he observes me, swallowing as his gaze lands on my lips. “You’re extremely committed to this role,” he says hoarsely. His hands, already on my hips, tighten.

“Ella’s watching,” I tell him.

He pulls my palm to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to it before he pulls me down to the chair beside his. “I told you I wasn’t trying to make her jealous.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, “but I am. Because she sucks. I can’t imagine why you ever proposed to her.”

He prods his cheek with his tongue. “I never actually proposed,” he admits reluctantly. “She pulled me into a jewelry store one day and told me it was time. After staying together so long, it seemed like the right thing to do. In retrospect, I think she hoped getting engaged would change me in a way it didn’t—the whole thing about making me love her as much as I love myself.”

His voice is flat and factual, as if he’s accepted her ugly, bitter take on what went wrong. “Hayes, you sound as if you believe her, and you shouldn’t.”

He shrugs. “A part of me was relieved when she left, which seems to support her point.”

Before I can argue, Hudson appears, begging him to go into the trampoline with her. His smile makes my heart ache for him. His own child with Ella might have looked just the same. He must, occasionally, think about it too.

He rises. “Come on,” he says, holding out a hand for me.

“You don’t seriously expect me to jump in this dress?”

There’s a filthy smile on his face. “I’m commanding you to jump in that dress.”

I should ignore him, but I follow them to the trampoline. I have to hitch my dress up to nearly my crotch in order to climb the ladder after them.

“My plan is working swimmingly so far,” he says, his voice low and dirty.

“Enjoy the view while you can, big boy.” With a chuckle, he holds out his hand to help me balance as I climb in.

My foot sinks into the floor of the trampoline and I fall forward, into his chest.

He catches me easily. I allow myself a quick inhale—he smells like soap and clean air and him, and I want to huff him like glue. I force myself to step away, and we begin to jump in a circle, higher and higher.

In another life, he’d have been a good father, and kids would give him some of that meaning he seems to lack. Maybe he’d have gotten into a different job, or at least not allowed the one he has to take over his life. I wonder if it’s still possible for him, somehow.

Hudson falls, and I trip gracelessly in an effort to avoid landing on her. We all end up on our backs laughing and he swings her high in the air overhead. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look quite so peaceful as he does now: smiling wide, his body loose and relaxed.

When we depart the trampoline, he lifts me so I don’t have to descend the ladder—large hands spanning my waist as he lowers me lightly in front of him, sliding me down his body as he does. The contact is not obvious to onlookers, but has us both sucking in a breath. My feet are on the ground but his hands linger, his gaze drifting over my face. It no longer feels as he’s playing a part, and I know I’m not. Nothing feels more natural than my hand in his, my head pressing to his shoulder. And I wonder if we are both getting a little lost in playing this role.

I go inside, to a bathroom that’s larger than my apartment, wondering how I’ll stand to return to a world where his hand isn’t on the small of my back or his arm isn’t around my waist. I wish I could hoard all these moments and somehow savor them throughout the year.

As I exit, I come face-to-face with his father. I don’t think he was waiting for me, but his timing here is odd and there’s something eager in his eyes.

“So, you and my son,” he says, his voice a little too jovial.

I smile stiffly, unsure where this is heading. Hayes seems to have forgiven his father, but I have not. Because who does that? He’s a good-looking man with plenty of money. He could easily have found a woman other than his son’s fiancée.

“Yes,” I reply.

“I’m glad he’s finally found someone,” he says, and then he sighs. “He and Ella...I guess he told you.”

“He did,” I say, my voice flat. If he’s looking for a pat on the shoulder, I hope he’s not holding his breath.

“You know, they’d never have worked out,” he says. “He needs more than her.”

My head jerks upward. What a shitty thing to say about his own wife, even if it’s true.

“I’m not saying Ella is lacking anything,” he continues. “She’s perfect for me. But Hayes—he needs a firecracker, someone as strong as he is, as smart as he is, an equal. And whether he’d ever admit it or not, she never was.”

I raise my chin. “What an unusual thing to say about your own wife.”

He runs a hand through his hair. It’s far cuter when Hayes does it. “I know. And you’re possibly the only woman at this party with the balls to call me on it, so you just might work.”

If any of this was real, I’d suspect…he might be right. Even based on our limited interaction, I know someone like Ella could never be enough for Hayes, could never challenge him and keep him on his toes the way I would. But me? I could make him happy, and I’d take care of him. For the briefest moment I am staggered by my desire to do exactly that.

Hayes walks in the French doors and stiffens at the sight of us, his eyes going dark.

“I was just telling Tali here what a nice couple you are,” his father says, swishing the ice in his empty glass. “She’s perfect for you.”

Hayes’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling me tight to his body. “Glad you approve, Dad.” His voice is dry as the Sahara and he stares his father down, as if this moment is about something more. It’s only when his father walks away that he turns me toward him. His hand slides to my hip, even though we’re the only ones in here. “What was that about?”

“He asked me to have a drink with him later tonight, once everyone’s gone.” I wait just long enough for his jaw to drop before I laugh. “Kidding. He told me it was for the best that you and Ella never worked out because she isn’t your equal.”

“You’re shitting me.”

I shake my head. In retrospect, it’s all pretty appalling. “You won’t be surprised to learn I made my disapproval clear.”

He laughs, looking younger and freer than he has looked even once, during all the time I’ve known him. “Of course you did. You about ready to go?”

I nod, though I’m not really ready for all this to end. He takes my hand, and we walk back outside to say goodbye to everyone. Ella hugs us both, barely touching me while she lingers with Hayes, pressed up against him. Everyone watches it happen, and I’m furious all over again with his father. What a horrible situation to put your son in for the rest of his life. I don’t care if he did Hayes a favor. He’s a garbage human being, and he got the wife he deserves.

* * *

I sinkinto the sun-warmed leather seat of his BMW with a relieved sigh, realizing only now how much my feet ache.

“If we happen to pass any bonfires on the way back to my apartment, pull over so I can throw these shoes in.”

He glances over at me as we wait for the gates to open. “That you managed to wear them all day was above and beyond the call of duty.”

“For real,” I agree. “And now that I’ve done a favor for you, I need you to do something for me.”

He smirks. “You’re not in much of a bargaining position now that the afternoon is over, but proceed.”

I bite my lip. “Take next weekend off. I never filled it in.”

We discussed the idea weeks ago. It’s possible I simply ignored him when he said he wasn’t interested.

His nostrils flare. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Come on,” I wheedle. “What’s two days?”

He sighs heavily. “Do I really have to tell you how much money I can make?”

I throw out my hands. “Think of how much you have, Hayes! For God’s sake, what are you working so hard for if you can’t even enjoy it?”

He turns up the music as if the conversation is over. “Fill in the days.”

“You’re just scared,” I say, turning the music down again. “You’re scared of what happens when there’s nothing to do. You fill every free moment with work. That’s no way to live.”

“I seem to be filling an increasing number of moments with shrill nagging from my assistant,” he replies. “I’m not scared of time off. I just don’t need it.”

“Then prove it,” I insist. “Take two whole days off and show me you’re not scared. I found a little house you can rent, right on the beach. Swim and nap and read. What could be better?”

“Making ten grand in a day would be better,” he replies. “Which would happen if you weren’t so averse to doing your job.”

That’s the last word we exchange on the matter until he pulls in front of my apartment.

“I’ll walk you up,” he says.

I shake my head. I’d rather he not see how I live—how far apart our worlds actually are. “No, don’t. You’ll get towed.”

Our eyes meet, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I haven’t been in this situation often in my life, but I know what it is: It’s when you realize you like someone, and he might like you too. It’s the moment when we’d kiss, if things were different.

“Thank you for doing this,” he says. “I don’t think a single person thought it was fake.”

It’s an opening. It didn’t feel fake to me either, I could tell him. Except the very thought of that conversation turns those butterflies into a flock of birds, scattering at the sound of a gunshot, wings flapping, feathers flying loose.

“Surely they realize you’re going to pull a George Clooney and not settle down until you’re fifty. I’m way too old for you.”

“True. Jonathan’s daughter is probably a better fit, age-wise,” he replies.

I laugh, and then it fades. I don’t actually see him pulling a George Clooney. I see him growing a little more alone each year, and I have so little time left to fix it.

“What do I need to do to get you to go away next weekend?” I ask. “I’ll work a week for free. Name your price.”

He glances at me and swallows. “Fine,” he says. “Come with me.”

My eyes fly open wide. “What?”

“Never fear, I’m not propositioning you.” He leans back in his seat. “But it would be fun to have you there, and I want someone to handle the grunt work.”

“What grunt work?” I ask. “It’s a vacation.”

“I need someone to do all the shit I don’t want to do. Like going to Starbucks in the morning and getting groceries.”

I frown. It’s not that I’d mind going—I’d sell my liver to go, as short-sighted as that might be, and the book is stalled out again, so I could use a break. But it’s not what I had in mind for him.

“Hayes, I think maybe…maybe what you’re missing in life is the bad stuff. Maybe what you need is for me not to buffer it all for you.”

“This sounds like an elaborate excuse to make me take care of myself, something that doesn’t interest me in the least.”

My smile is weak. I suppose I am asking him to take care of himself, and it’s something I have to think through for a moment before I can explain it to him.

“It’s not,” I finally say. “But here’s the thing: I don’t like going to Starbucks either. But when I step outside and the sun warms my skin and I take that first sip of my latte, just before I spit in yours, it suddenly feels as if the world is a decent place. You don’t get that. Or any of the other moments like it, so you look for your happiness in things that do more harm than good.”

His eyes darken. “So much judgment from such a small package.”

“I’m not judging you. How could I? I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, I’m about to be unemployed, and my ex is now splashed all over the internet with a girl who’s much better looking than me. If I saw an easy fix for any of that, I’d take it, and if your life made you happy, I’d be all for it. It just doesn’t seem to.”

“She is not better looking than you.”

I laugh. I can’t believe out of everything I said, that’s the part he heard.

“I still want you to come,” he says. “I’ll stand in Starbucks with you. Show me what this normal, happy life would be like if you had a weekend off and didn’t work for me.”

A normal happy life with him if he wasn’t my boss. It’s the kind of thing I don’t even allow myself to imagine, and now he wants me to act it out with him.

He raises a brow. “Oh, look how reluctant you are now that you’ve got to go. Not so fun anymore, is it?”

But he’s got it all wrong.

I’m not worried about showing him what our life would be like together...I’m worried about showing it to myself.