The Fake Out by Sharon M. Peterson

SEVENTEEN

Is your name Google? Because you have everything I’m searching for.

—ASHLEY

Chris’s rental house was known locally as the Wilson place. A few miles outside of town off a dirt road, it was a sprawling ranch-style home with a little red barn in the back and a front porch that stretched across the entire front of the house.

I pulled into the driveway and parked between Chris’s truck and a BMW. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I sat, giving myself a pep talk. “You can do this. Sure, it’s lying but it’s lying that pays a lot of money.”

Someone knocked on the driver’s side window and I shrieked. Chris grinned and pulled the door open. “Are you talking to yourself?”

“No.”

His grin grew two sizes. It was clear he didn’t believe me. Whatever.

I grabbed my purse and climbed out of the car, trying to hide my nervousness.

Chris led me to the front door and hesitated before opening it. “Ready?”

“Nope.”

His eyes were gentle. “Thank you for this.”

I cleared my throat, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “I’m just using you for your money, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He put a hand on my lower back and ushered me into the house.

Although I’d never been in the house before or after the renovations, I had in mind something simple that would appeal to a variety of potential renters.

I was wrong. So very wrong.

The front door opened to a large entrance hall, and I gasped. Rustic wood covered all the walls and complemented the reclaimed barn wood floors. A large oval mirror fashioned out of what appeared to be ropy pieces of tree branches hung over a side table, the legs of it made of thin tree trunks. While all that together made me feel like I’d walked into a log cabin, it was not what made me gasp.

That was because of all the eyes staring at me. The eyes didn’t belong to people. They mostly belonged to all the deer. Not just one or two: there were six mounted deer heads proudly on display. On the side table next to a cheery bouquet of wildflowers, a stuffed fox perched, one paw permanently raised as though it was waving hello to visitors.

“Um,” I said, my gaze fixed upon one particular deer whose creepy stare seemed to be following me. “This is a lot.”

“I should have prepared you. Whoever decorated this place was really into hunting. You should see the elk head in the master bedroom.”

“How do you sleep like that?”

He leaned closer and I got a whiff of clean, warm Chris. “I put a towel over its eyes. I can’t handle it watching me all night.”

An image of the big, strong football player cowering in bed because of an elk head amused me.

As I followed Chris through the rest of the house, I took in the gobs of dark wood paneling, the oversized leather furniture, the many, many paintings hung on every possible wall, probably with names like “Alert Dog in Field Who Just Spotted the Mailman” or “Ducks. A Whole Lot of Ducks.”

And. So. Many. Stuffed. Animals.

“Is that a beaver?” I asked as we passed a wall of built-in shelves. “And a squirrel and, oh, an armadillo.”

“It gets worse.”

We stepped into the dining room, and I understood what he meant. There was an entire wall devoted to guns, antique and otherwise. A bobcat perched on a sideboard, its teeth bared. A trio of stuffed mice rested on a shelf. Someone had taken time to arrange them around a miniature table that resembled the big oak one in the middle of the room. One of the mice wore a tiny felt hat.

I hesitated. Chris put a hand on my back and pushed me forward. He pointed to one of the two people in the room; he was razor-thin with quick pale eyes who liked to yell at servers for accidentally spilling barbecue sauce on them. “This is Doug McGill, my agent. You probably remember him.”

“Her?” Doug asked Chris. So much incredulity packed into one little word.

“Hi,” I said. “Nice to see you again.”

Frowning, he inspected me from head to toe.

The woman next to him didn’t wait to be introduced. With her cap of sleek dark hair and shrewd eyes in a short, compact form, she radiated a “I’m nice but do not mess with me” attitude. She held out a hand. “I’m Piper Connor. I’m Chris’s publicist.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Piper clapped her hands. “Why don’t we all have a seat and get started.”

Doug scowled. “Chris, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone.”

The two walked through a swinging door I imagined led to the kitchen. Piper indicated the chair at the front of the table, and she took one at the other end.

“So, you’re a librarian?” Piper asked.

“Yes, I—”

A loud thump interrupted me, followed by muffled, raised voices behind the door. I flinched.

“Don’t worry about them. They have a love/hate relationship, heavy on the hate on both sides. Between you and me, I have never understood why Chris stays with him,” Piper said, her voice brisk but friendly. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

Someone, I thought Doug, yelled, “I’m done.”

“Um, I’m good,” I said.

The door flew open, and Doug tore into the room, his face a storm cloud. With a huff, he threw himself in his seat next to Piper. Chris followed, looking for all the world like he’d just been on a leisurely evening walk. He took the seat beside me.

Ooo-kay.

“Let’s get this over with,” Doug snapped and slid a packet of paper down to me.

I grabbed it and read the top: “Non-Disclosure Agreement.” A pen came flying down next.

“Doug, knock it off,” Piper said, and I liked her even more.

“Sign it.” He wagged a finger in my direction. “Remember, it’s legally binding. You break it, you’ll pay for it.”

“You’re a real charmer,” I muttered. I picked up the pen and began scanning the document. Unsurprisingly, I’d never even laid eyes on an NDA. It was four pages front and back. “This is a lot. Am I signing over my firstborn child?”

“Keeping all this a secret is very important,” Piper said. “You won’t be able to tell anyone. Not even your family. Everyone needs to buy it.”

I glanced at Chris to find him studying me. He appeared relaxed but one of his hands rested on the table and he was rubbing his thumb across his fingers repeatedly like he was nervous. Was he worried I’d back out? Should I back out?

“Am I the right person for this? I’m sure there are any number of Brazilian swimsuit models who would mud-wrestle for the chance.” Swallowing, I put the pen down. “Or actresses who are, like, professionals at, you know, acting.”

Doug threw his hands up in the air. “That’s what I told him. But he won’t listen.”

Chris shook his head. “I choose Mae. She can handle it.”

“But why? Who would believe it? You with someone…” Doug waved his hands in my direction “…who looks like her.”

Chris leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I held up a hand. “I got this.”

“Go for it,” he said, amused. “Let me know if you need to tag me in.”

Then I turned my attention to the weasel at the end of the table. “Someone who looks like me?”

Doug glared at me. “Like you said, you aren’t exactly a swimsuit model.”

Piper sighed. “Doug.”

I pushed my chair back. “You know what? You’re right. I sure as hell am not the right person for this. Because if it means spending another second in your presence, I might end up in prison for twisting you into a pretzel trying to stick your head up your ass.”

From my vantage point, I could see Piper roll her lips together, dark eyes dancing.

Breathing hard from anger, I stalked to Doug and towered over him until he had to tilt back in his chair to see me. “I’ll have you know, if I wanted to be a swimsuit model, I would be. I know you weren’t implying there was anything wrong with my body, were you? Because I sure don’t need your approval.”

Everyone’s eyes were on me, including the stuffed bobcat, two of the three mice, and a bird I’d just noticed in the corner. Twenty whole minutes, and my mouth was already getting me in trouble.

As much as I’d have loved to walk out the door and pretend I’d never given this whole plan a second thought, the truth was I needed that money. Not for me but for Mama and Iris. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before turning toward Chris. Time to save face. But the look on Chris’s face surprised me. He looked almost… proud.

His smile unfurled slowly. “Like I said, I choose Mae.”