He takes my hand as I fumble down the steep steps, and I hightail it to the start of the hiking path.
We make it back to the bus stop where we started, and one thing is clear: I might have developed unprofessional feelings for my boss and friend.
This is not fucking good.
Chapter 16
jett
She needs to stop talking.
Right now.
I glare lasers at the side of her head, but Sofía ignores it, lamenting about her idea to start a PR relationship, how many views we’ve had since, and the buzz it’s built around my docuseries and philanthropic efforts.
“So, yeah, that’s it…” She trails off, waiting for Molly and Doug to offer their thoughts about her fake-dating scheme.
An uncomfortable quiet echoes through the car.
I don’t know why Sofía decided to mention it. There was no lead-up to this conversation. No probing question. We didn’t get caught mimicking them. She simply blurted out the information, babbling her way through the explanation, and left me fully stunned in the process.
Maybe this is a part of the plan I’m not aware of.
“It’s been working well,” I add, as if to save some of our dignity. “We’ve sold three hundred tickets so far.”
Sofía glances at me, Molly and Doug sitting in the front seats as we head to a freshwater creek north of Townsville, somewhere in the Atherton Tablelands.
I trust Sofía, which is why I agreed, but the concept’s untruthful nature is not one I’m fond of. Starting a PR relationship—something that, at its core, is built on lies and deception—with a person I can visualize dating is a problem. When the wordsrelationshipandSofíaappear in my mind, there’s never the wordfakeanywhere near my fantasy.
Molly speaks first. “You two are going to…pretend you’re dating by modeling us?”
“Well, we’ve already started, but yes, that’s the idea,” Sofía says, quiet and unsure.
I hold my breath in anticipation of Molly telling her it’s a horrible idea and no relationship should be faked for the purpose of public relations. I wait, but that never comes. Instead, Molly bursts into laughter.
That’s it, they’ve both lost their minds.
“I’m flattered,” Molly says between breaths. “We’re like their love gurus,” she says to Doug, patting his free arm.
“I have to say, it’s an unorthodox idea,” he says. “But it has merit.”
He glances in the rearview mirror, cocking his head at my frown.
After Sofía left my room last night, I stared at the ceiling for hours, my mind a swirling nightmare of thoughts and memories of the panic when she was falling right toward the cliff’s edge. The embarrassment and guilt she tried to hide when she thought she broke my camera. The surprise when I tucked the flower behind her ear.
I surprised myself with that one, too.
“Neither of you think this a bad idea?”
“What’s the harm?” Molly says. “It will help the docuseries, and you’ve been working so hard on it.”
The harm is my sanity. If she touches me like it means something, even if it’s for a camera, that’s the way my brain will interpret it.
Physical affection always means something to me. I can distinguish the difference between friendship and romance, but I don’t think I can do the same for real and fake. Not when my pulse already races when she touches my arm or sits close.
Her cherry perfume is a damn aphrodisiac, and when she shares her joy without reservations, my heart stops and restarts in my chest.
The doubt Sofía held melts away like the last winter snow. She elbows my side, and electricity ignites my skin. “See? We can totally pull this off.”
