Page 38 of My Real Love Affair

The humiliation was hard to swallow, but I supposed desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Tell me about the PR team,” I heard myself say.

Austin picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “Best in the country. They handle crisis management for Fortune 500 companies, celebrities, politicians. They’re discreet, they’re effective, and they’re expensive as hell.”

“And you’d give me access to them?”

“Full access. They’d work directly with you to craft your narrative, plan your comeback strategy, manage your media presence. Whatever you need.”

“And the lawyers?”

“Ready to go after Femme Curve the second you give the word. Breach of contract, unauthorized image manipulation, damage to your professional reputation. We can hit them from multiple angles.”

I took a sip of wine, buying myself time to think. “What about when we break up? Won’t that just create another scandal?”

“Not if we control the narrative from the start. We date for a few months, make it look real, then have an amicable split. ‘We care about each other but want different things.’ That kind of thing. By then, you’ll be back on solid ground. The breakup will be a blip, not a crisis.”

He’d thought this through. Really thought it through. I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or offended.

“And you’re sure this will work?” I asked. “Sure, your family will buy it?”

“Cash will be suspicious, but that doesn’t matter. My father is the one who makes the final call on my trust fund, and he wants to see me settled in a relationship. Acting like a proper Bancroft. I don’t have to be married, just not doing what I was.” Austin’s expression was one of disgust. “This gives him what he wants without me actually having to change who I am.”

There was something bitter in his voice. I saw him differently. This wasn’t just about money or convenience. This was about survival in his own family.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Austin’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll be your fake girlfriend.” The words felt surreal coming out of my mouth. “But I have conditions. A lot of them.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“I’m serious, Austin. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. With rules. And boundaries. And absolute clarity about what this is and isn’t.”

“Agreed. Whatever you need.”

I pulled my day planner from my bag. The leather-bound organizer went everywhere with me, filled with Cleo’s carefully color-coded schedule and my own notes. I flipped to a blank page and pulled out a pen.

“First, you don’t post anything about us on social media without my approval. Nothing. Not a photo, not a caption, not even a comment.”

I wrote while I talked.

“Done,” he said.

“Second, no flirting or kissing in private. We save that for when people are watching. When we’re alone, this is professional.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Sure about that?”

“Austin.”

“Fine.”

“Third, you can’t call me baby girl. Ever. Under any circumstances.”

“But you get so cute when you’re all pink and pretty.”

“Austin.” I was beginning to sound like his mother.