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“Well, believe it. There is proof everywhere. All of those photos and social media posts. They talk about us onGood Morning America, for God’s sake.” I grab my phone and bring up a gossip site that features the photo of Tate and me kissing on the sidewalk right on the front page. I hold the phone out to her so she can look at it. “See? We’re together.”
Rachel snatches the phone from me and brings it close to her face, her eyes narrowing the longer she studies the photo. Finally she glances up at me, her gaze locked on me, her voice serious when she says, “Tell me the truth, Scarlett. Is this for real?”
I plop onto the bed next to her, flopping onto my back so I can stare up at the ceiling. “Of course it’s real.”
Even I can hear how false my voice sounds. Almost like I’m trying to convince myself?
Yeah, I’m definitely trying to convince myself, and Rachel.
Pretty sure I’m failing miserably.
We’re both quiet for a moment, the air becoming downright stifling the longer we’re silent, and just when I’m about to break, she speaks.
“I still don’t believe you.”
Sitting up, I nudge my shoulder against hers. “Why not?”
“Because the last time we talked, you were still fuming over Tate being a show-off and yearning for Prince Ian to finally notice you. You were downright pissed that those photos of you together at the party were spreading everywhere, despite it bringing you all sorts of attention, which is exactly what you’ve been wanting for what feels like forever.” Rachel rolls her eyes. “You don’t switch your feelings that quick, Scarlett. You’re loyal to a fault.”
I put on a brave face, my smile tremulous, my eyes most likely giving me away. “I can change my mind. Look at Tate. You told me that you thought Tate was a gorgeous human being.”
“He is. He’s so freaking gorgeous.” She sits up straighter and starts twisting a lock of blond hair around her finger. “I’m jealous of the fact that you got to him first. Do you think he’s a homie hopper? Would he be interested in me?”
I can’t stop blinking at her, trying to compute the words that she just said. “Um, I don’t know.”
“Aha!” She thrusts her index finger into my face. “If you cared about this guy at all, if you werereallyinto him, you would’ve immediately told me to back off.”
My shoulders sag. There’s no use in pretending any longer. Deep down, I knew I’d give in and tell her anyway. “Fine. You’re right. I’m not interested in Tate. Not like... that.” I wrinkle my nose. “But I’ve agreed to be his fake girlfriend for the next six weeks.”
Now it’s her turn to blink at me, her lips parting as if she’s trying to find the words to speak yet can’t quite come up with them. “Wait a minute. That just took a serious turn.”
I nod. “We’re meeting to sign the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Paperwork?” Rachel asks, her voice weak. “What, like an NDA?”
“Definitely an NDA. And whatever other legal paperwork they’re requiring to make this agreement airtight,” I tell her. “So I guess I’m not breaking it yet since I haven’t signed anything, right?”
“Right.” Rachel leaps to her feet and starts pacing around the room, her expression nothing short of puzzled. “Why in the world would you agree to this, Scarlett? You don’t like this guy. Or at least, that was the vibe I was picking up off you during your party.”
She’s right. I didn’t particularly care for him that night. At first. But when we ended up getting caught by the photographer, he seemed so... vulnerable. Like everything was riding on that performance and he just wanted one more chance for someone—lots of someones—to see him.
I understand where he’s coming from. I feel it in the very depths of my soul. I just want to be seen, so I guess we have that in common.
“Sometimes I think I sort of feel... sorry for him.” I shrug, at a loss for words.
“For big shot Tate Ramsey?”
“Don’t forget he hasn’t been a big shot for years. He trashed his career. Flat-out ruined it thanks to his drug problem,” I remind her.
“And that ex-girlfriend who fucked Jamie.” Rachel’s referring to the other Five Car Pileup band member who got caught with Tate’s girlfriend. “Has he talked to you about that?”
“Of course not. I barely know him.”
“But you know him well enough to agree to be his fake girlfriend for—how long did you say? Six weeks?”
I nod, hating how I have to defend my choices.
But I get it. She’s worried about me.I’mworried about me.
