The Fake Out by Sharon M. Peterson
TWENTY-EIGHT
At a bonfire with friends, I once had a guy ask if I had any Irish in me. I responded with no and he asked, “Would you like some?” Mind you, I was sitting on my boyfriend’s lap at the time.
He left shortly after that.
—ASHLEY H.
“We have a problem,” Piper said.
I blinked and tried to keep my attention on her, but she stood in front of an enormous stuffed moose. I mean, enormous. It had to be almost nine feet tall. How had they gotten that thing in here?
After work, I’d come right over, and had been ushered into an open living area at the Stuffed Animal House (sounded better than Creepy Taxidermy House). The room was huge with a vaulted ceiling accented with wooden beams. All dark wood and leather and so much space for critters of all kinds.
Chris nudged me with his shoulder. “Right?”
“What?”
Piper frowned. “This is serious.”
“Sorry. That moose has such sad eyes.” Like the poor guy had just wanted to decompose naturally like a dead moose should. “What’s going on?”
“One of the gossip blogs released an exclusive interview from an anonymous source who gave a tell-all about Vegas,” Piper explained, handing over her phone so I could watch.
This source was nothing more than a shadowy figure wearing a hoodie with an altered voice. He claimed to know the identity of the woman Chris was with and went on to imply the two of them were then and now “very, very, very close” and not in the brother-sister way.
“Do we know who this guy is?” I asked.
Piper’s jaw ticked. “Not a clue right now. I’m working on it.”
“You could clear this up with one statement,” Doug said. He lounged in an oversized chair covered in what I suspected was actual cowhide, an ankle resting on his knee. He had, thankfully, not been around much at all but he’d made a special trip so we could “all be on the same page.”
Ugh.
“I’m not revealing who she is, if that’s what you mean,” Chris said. I could feel how tense he was even with two feet of couch separating us.
“That’s not what I meant,” Doug continued, picking at invisible lint on his suit jacket sleeve. “I think we should go with their story. You had a little fun. Who cares? You’re a grown man. Think what it could do to your image.”
“I don’t see how that would help his image at all,” I said.
Doug shook his head in disgust. “You wouldn’t. You don’t know how these things work. But Chris here gets some notoriety and then he’s getting endorsement deals with the big companies. He’d make money, hand over fist. Instead of all this charity work or whatever the hell he wastes his time on.”
“Being bad makes him more marketable?”
“Exactly.”
I glanced at Chris, saw his jaw tighten, watched the fist resting on his knee curl. He hated this idea.
“That’s just stupid. No, absolutely not. Chris is not doing that.” I felt the weight of Chris’s gaze and wondered if I’d misread him.
Doug snorted. “It’s so very convenient that if he did do it, he wouldn’t need a fake fiancée anymore, would he? You’d be out of a job.”
I decided at that very moment that I hated Doug. I hadn’t liked him before but now we’d moved on to a different level. A level even Peter Stone had not reached. I opened my mouth to explain to him exactly where he could shove his opinion of me.
And just as quickly closed it when Chris slid his hand on top of mine and spoke. His voice had an edge of steel in it. “That’s enough, Doug.”
The two men stared each other down like they were about to have a shootout, spaghetti western style.
“Knock it off, you two.” Piper took a seat across from us. “We have a plan. We’re getting tons of engagement and views on the updates we’ve been posting online. A lot of positive attention. I think it’s time we take this to the next level.”
That sounded foreboding. “What does that mean exactly?” I asked.
“We need to bring the attention right back to you two lovebirds.” Piper smiled at us. “I think it’s time for a trip to meet Chris’s family and announce the engagement.”
Meet his family? Meet. His. Family. Announce the engagement. My brain wasn’t sure which one I should latch onto first and freak out about. I forced a smile, but a wave of panic hit me. Were my hands shaking? Was I dying? That sounded nice. That’s what you think, the eyes of the stuffed moose seemed to say.
“Deep breaths.” Chris moved closer until I could feel his thigh touching mine. He placed a reassuring hand on my back, rubbing small circles, calming me just by being nearby.
It occurred to me that this was Chris all the time. He didn’t rattle easily. I don’t think I’d ever heard him raise his voice. Right this instant, it’s what I needed. His calm calmed me.
Which was confusing and terrifying all by itself.
“What if they don’t like me?” I whispered.
“This is ridiculous,” Doug muttered.
“Shut up, Doug,” Piper said, her voice mild.
“They’ll like you,” Chris said.
I shot him a glare. “You can’t know that. What if they figure out we’re fakes? What if they secretly hate Texans or redheads?”
The hand on my back slid around my shoulders and pulled me against his side. I didn’t resist. I was too busy wondering how in the world my life had gotten this weird.
“Having known them all my life, I don’t know of any anti-redhead opinions they may hold. I feel confident they’ll like you, despite the hair.” The trace of amusement in his voice irked me, even if I was being ridiculous.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
He grinned. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“Yes, you are.”
In reply he squeezed my shoulder. “They already know all about you. They’ll be excited to meet you.”
“How do they…”
“I told them.”
He told them? What had he told them? I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Right.”
“We’ll leave right after the library closes on Friday and get back early Monday morning. You’ll be tired but you’ll be back at the library to open it.”
“That seems like a lot of driving for less than forty-eight hours. Maybe it’s not worth it?” Please.
“Chris has access to a private jet through the team,” Piper said. “You’ll use that. It’s not a long flight.”
“We’re flying?” I asked, my voice at least three octaves higher.
Seriously, could this get any worse?