Page 7 of Pretend To Be Mine

I pressed my palm against my eyes, feeling the hot prick of tears. “What if he says no?”

“Then he says no, and we’re exactly where we are right now. But what if he says yes?”

What if he says yes?

The possibility bloomed in my chest. What if Adrian Blackwell actually helped me find a way into the industry? What if this was the break I’d been desperately waiting for?

What if I finally got my chance?

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, if you really don’t mind asking.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Chris said. “And Lizzie? This is going to work out. I know it will.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly.

“Thanks, Chris.”

“That’s what annoying older brothers are for. Well, that and sending you pictures of cats in costumes.”

I laughed. “You really nailed that part.”

After we hung up, I sat on my sad couch in my tiny apartment and let myself hope for the first time in months. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment everything changed.

“Please,” I whispered to no one in particular. To the universe, maybe. To whatever force decided whether people got their shot or spent their whole lives waiting tables and smelling like French fries.

“Please just give me a chance.”

3

ADRIAN

The address Chris had sent me led to a burger joint wedged between a dry cleaner and a bodega in Hell’s Kitchen. I stood outside for a moment, double-checking my phone to make sure I had the right place. It was definitely not the kind of place I usually frequented.

I pushed through the door and cringed at the smell. It wasn’t bad, but it was a dense. It just kind of hit you all at once. Grease, onions, and meat. The combination of powerful scents actually made my stomach growl. Chris was already sitting at a corner booth. He raised a hand in greeting when he saw me.

“Chris, dude.” I slid into the booth across from him, shrugging out of my suit jacket. I felt overdressed in this place, all polished wool and Italian leather among the Formica tabletops and cracked vinyl seats. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, it has, man.” His smile faltered slightly. “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out more. After the funeral, I wanted to give you space, and then time just got away from me.”

The funeral. I pushed away the memory of that gray November day. I felt like I had been in a daze at the church while thousands of people I barely knew offered their condolences. Chris had been there, had sought me out specifically to pay his respects.

“Don’t apologize,” I said. “I’ve been difficult to reach lately. Life has gotten busy.”

“Understatement of the year, my friend.”

A server appeared, a woman in her fifties with bleached blonde hair and a name tag that read “Patty.” Chris ordered something called the Cardiac Arrest Burger without even looking at the menu. I scanned the laminated card quickly and went with the same, figuring if Chris trusted it, it was probably safe.

“Two Cardiac Arrests,” Patty confirmed, scribbling on her pad. “You boys trying to meet Jesus today?”

“Just trying to meet lunch,” Chris said with a grin.

She smiled and strode toward the kitchen.

I leaned back against the booth, letting myself relax. I had almost forgotten how to do that. The lunch request with Chris had come out of nowhere. He’d texted me yesterday afternoon asking if I was free. Something about the message had felt urgent. I’d almost said no, my default response to anything that wasn’t directly related to work or Fashion of Love Week, but I’d caught myself. When was the last time I’d done something normal? Something that wasn’t a business meeting or a family obligation?

I couldn’t remember, which was exactly why I said yes.

“How are you?” I asked.