She exhales. “Okay. Good. Now tell me something normal. Tell me about your day. Make me feel like this isn’t the prologue to a disaster movie.”
So I do. I tell her about the meetings I attended (boring), the coffee I didn’t drink (also boring), the book I’ve been reading (she laughs at my taste in literature—“Who reads nineteenth-century Russian novels for fun?”).
We talk for two hours.
By the end, she’s laughing again. Relaxed. The worry in her voice has faded.
I haven’t fixed anything. Damien is still out there. The truth is still waiting to detonate.
But for two hours, I got to pretend.
And pretending, I’m learning, is sometimes the bravest thing you can do.
CHAPTER 9
POPPY
“You’re bringing him here?”
Sage’s voice goes up an octave. She’s standing in my kitchen, holding a wine glass like a weapon, staring at me like I’ve just announced I’m joining a cult.
“I’m bringing him here,” I confirm. “Tonight. In about...” I check my phone. “Forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Maybe forty.”
“Poppy.” She sets down the wine glass. “I haven’t even showered. I’m wearing my Garfield sweatshirt.”
“You look great.”
“I have a coffee stain on my boob.”
“He won’t notice.”
“He’ll notice. Men like that notice everything.” She runs her hands through her hair, which does absolutely nothing to improve the situation. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you said you wanted to meet him. Multiple times. Aggressively.”
“I wanted to meet him after I’d had time to prepare. To come up with questions. To do research.”
“You’ve been researching him for a week. You sent me seventeen articles about billionaire red flags.”
“Eighteen. I sent one more this morning about men who are too good-looking.” She grabs her wine again. “This is entrapment. This is ambush friendship.”
“This is wine and appetizers and a nice evening getting to know the guy I’m taking to my sister’s wedding in three days.”
“The fake guy.”
“The...” I hesitate. “Complicated guy.”
Sage narrows her eyes. “Complicated how?”
“Complicated like maybe it’s not fake anymore.”
“Poppy Rose Gable.” She says my full name like a curse. “Are you telling me you caught feelings for your rental boyfriend?”
“I’m telling you it’s complicated.”
