Fiancée for Rent by Elizabeth Grey

Chapter 5

Kylie

I grimaced as the star-struck waitress let another plate clang down on the table too hard. The awkward portion of my first date with Liam continued past the point of me wanting to run from the lovely, secluded table.

"I like to just say plot twists and move on," I noted to the poor girl with an attempt at a straight face.

At least Liam laughed out loud. The red-faced waitress pulled from her trance, gave me an appreciative smile that didn't reach her eyes before she moved on with haste.

"Poor thing. I'm not sure she's going to make it through the whole meal without spilling something on one of us," Liam leaned in and whispered to me. "But thanks for a laugh. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."

"I suppose the great Liam Hendrix is used to this sort of service."

"Unfortunately. I make a lot of people nervous," he uttered, with a shake of his head as I tucked in a curl behind my ear. "Fame. Money. It has its good and bad sides. I don't like to make people feel uncomfortable, but I guess I'm long past trying to fit in as a normal guy, too."

"Born past it, maybe?"

"You're probably right," he concurred. "But, I feel you know too much about me. Tell me more about you."

"You mean the poor girl, born to nobody's parents?"

"I didn't mean..."

"Oh, I know you didn't," I cut him off. "Life is what it is. We are born to who we're born to."

"I am genuinely interested," he added.

"I got that from your tone," I offered, a gift to ease what I guessed was his guilt. "So, it's pretty straightforward. I was born to Peter and Ashley Davis on a small farm in Montana. I have two older, over-protective brothers and a younger sister and oopsie brother, proof my parents are still very much in love."

"That's nice. I bet they were always home. Always in your business."

"Yes, they were. Guessing by the way you said that, your parents weren’t."

"No," he murmured as he rolled his shoulders down.

I followed suit now that the conversation had started to flow.

"Oh, I didn't always appreciate it, but now, being out here, what feels like worlds away from home, I do more and more with each phone call back home."

"So what brought you to Hollywood? Dreams of being the next Julia Roberts?"

"I would have to go more with Grace Kelly."

"I can see that."

I tried hard not to fidget as he looked at me. Though I was used to men gawking, this type of attention left me unsettled, off my game.

"Thank you. I take that as a huge compliment. But no, not acting. That dream was all on my manager to make the right connections. I went to school to write and produce films, not act in them. Definitely not to play the role of pretty bimbo."

"I'm sorry, it sounds that your time as an actress has been tough. You are beautiful, though. And, I'm getting the sense that's inside and out."

"Well, thank you again. You, mister rock star, are two for two there with the compliments. And yes, there's much more to me than what you see. And I dream of seeing one of my films produced someday."

I grabbed my wine to soothe my dry throat.

"Have you written many?"

"A few. Acting has been taking all my time recently. I wish I could do it full-time. You know, produce one, write one, live the dream. I guess that's how you live, right? Write songs by day, sing them at night."

"Used to," he grunted, then chewed up his next bite of steak with a bit more vigor.

"What changed?"

I put down my fork and offered him my full attention. He gave me back a quick smile, his fingers playing over his napkin as they might the neck of his guitar.

"To be honest,  last year, when Isabelle cheated on me, it was like she packed up my talents—hell my masculinity—and left with them. But, whatever, I'm over her now."

He brushed his fingers across his lips as his phone chimed again. It seemed like a nervous tell of his, something he did to indicate he just lied to me. Of course, he wasn't over Isabelle. No one with access to the news would believe that, and I'd seen the way he reacted to her. Besides, I could see Isabelle's name come up on his phone’s screen repeatedly for the past thirty minutes.

"You wanna get that? I don't mind," I offered right before I bit off the tip of a slice of asparagus.

"Not really. Isabelle showed up at my house today. She saw what was supposed to be her engagement ring on the table. I told her it was for you."

I stopped mid-chew as I began to choke.

"Are you okay? Need my water?" he offered as I'd finished mine.

I waved it off and swallowed hard before I got out, "You told her what?"

"Well, we'd been fighting about last night. It just kind of came out. I couldn't let her think it was for her. I'm sorry, it's just..."

"It's fine. But, more importantly, how did she take it?" I asked with enthusiasm, my eyes wide as I took the water he had extended and began to sip.

"Oh well, how she acted last night, multiply that times ten."

"So she's freaking out?" I sputtered the words through a giggle. "Sorry. It's horrible of me to take pleasure in that, but the way she treated me."

"You take all the pleasure you want in it."

"Tell me more," I said, wiggling in my chair before I traded the water for wine.

"Isabelle gets what Isabelle wants, and now that she thinks I want someone else, she wants me back, again. I've taken her back so many times before."

"Now she thinks you're marrying me. She has to hate that."

"Yes, she does," he said with a grin, and I matched it. "So let's get married."

"Funny," I spat, followed by a dismissive huff. "Thanks for waiting until I had no food in my mouth this time."

"No, I'm serious," he stated, then watched my fork slowly lower to the plate. After the tiny cling, he continued. "Hear me out. Dating one person exclusively could clear up my bad boy image. If we announced our engagement, maybe I could get some of my sponsors back. But, best part, I could save face with Isabelle. If she thinks I lied or you rejected me, or worse, finds out the ring was for her... I can't stomach that. I know it's petty, but people have gotten married for worse reasons. I mean, surely they have."

"Surely," I muttered with a nod of my head, my eyebrows raised.

I waited. My breaths came fast but shallow as I watched Liam scrutinize my face before he glanced down at his barely touched plate.

"With looks like yours, it won’t be hard to believe I fell for you so fast, especially in this part of the world. Not after the kiss last night. I could maybe produce some good headlines for a bit."

He stopped a moment, his eyes moving back and forth as if contemplating some major question.

"Let me sweeten the deal. I could finance your movie after we divorce. What do you say?"

"I say... I say it's a bad idea. I say you've had too much to drink."

"I'm on my first glass," he countered, "happy to have a clear mind for once."

"I actually already have a meeting with a film production company. I didn't want to bring it up earlier and jinx it."

I stretched out my hand to touch his where it rested on the table.

"Liam, why do you care what Isabelle thinks? She cheated on you. She obviously doesn't care what you think."

The words made him tense. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand from under mine before he grabbed for his wine and gulped down the rest of the glass.

"You're right. Just forget it," he said like I'd taken his last hope. Clearing his throat again, his voice recovered, he went on, "Tell me more about this farm you grew up on. Would you believe I've never even been on one?"

I let my head fall back on the couch and threw my feet up on the table as thoughts of Liam continued to plague me. The man, heart-stopping gorgeous, had obviously let wine, women, and fame drive him mad. For a second, I'd grown grateful I wasn't famous.

My one bed, one bath apartment wasn't much with its white walls and gray floors, but I remained proud of it. My little roles had provided enough for me to have a clean place to live. Even though I had yet to produce my film, I'd provided a life for myself within the film industry. I'd left the farm and followed my dreams, or at least I tried. And as my father said, that's what matters. One couldn't try and fail in his eyes.

A sudden burst of homesickness made me reach for my phone and skim through pictures of my family. I settled on one from the last time we were all home. In our silly Christmas sweaters, a mom began tradition, we'd posed in front of our large, home-grown tree, devoid of anything store-bought as far as decorations.

My father, my biggest cheerleader, his hair gone a premature gray, stood with his arm around my mother, a true embrace, a whole-hearted smile with his four children on the floor in front of him. He had his other hand clasped down on one of my brother's shoulders. They remained my inspiration, my support, my everything.

With a full heart, I set the phone beside me on the worn couch and cued up the film my friend had just won an award for. As the opening credits played, I sighed, wishing for the days to go faster. Even during the magical Christmas seasons I'd had as a child, I couldn't remember ever being more excited for an event as I was for my meeting with the film producers.