Page 1 of Love is Fake (Love is Everything #1)

Chapter

One

Squinting into the low June sun, I reach over to the glove compartment, grabbing the sunglasses I stashed there when I picked up the rental.

I only take my eyes off the road for a split-second, before a deafening horn blasts behind me.

The sound makes me jump out of my skin and I frown at the enormous truck beside me – way too close beside me – and the driver who is currently flipping me off.

Crap.

I turn the steering wheel, realizing I started drifting into the lane next to me.

“Eyes on the road, Iz,” I mutter to myself, gripping the wheel like I might fall off if I don’t.

Living in New York for the past five years meant I hadn’t exactly needed to drive.

Judging by the current shitshow that is my driving, I’m clearly more than a little rusty.

The daughter of a mechanic who can barely maneuver a car.

My father would have a field day if he could see me.

I snort at the thought. It would have been funny if I wasn’t so terrified of causing an accident on the freeway.

You owe me big for this one, Kiara.

As if thinking her name has made her appear, my cell starts buzzing with an incoming call. I risk taking one hand off the wheel for a second to press the touch screen to answer.

“Are you there yet?” Kiara has never been one for pleasantries.

When we first met, she told me ‘I don’t do small talk’ and in the years I’ve known her she’s proven that point again and again.

Not that I’m complaining. Her bluntness and take no shit attitude are some of the things I love most about her.

I sigh, heavily. “No, Ki, and calling me every half an hour isn’t going to make me get there any faster.”

“You can’t be late.”

“I’m never late, you know that.” If anything, I’m the person who’s chronically early – to everything. Meeting up with friends, I’m always the first one there, especially as all of them are always late. I make a habit of taking a book with me now whenever I go out and inevitably have to wait.

“You do have a point, but if you keep driving like an old lady then you will be,” Kiara mutters.

“I do not drive like an old lady,” I grumble back at her, ignoring the unladylike sound of disbelief she makes at the other end of the line.

“And if I didn’t have to go all the way out to The Damn Hamptons then I wouldn’t even have to drive,” I point out.

Not even a second later, I’m cursing under my breath as I almost miss the turn the GPS is telling me to make.

“The client was very specific - ” Kiara starts, but I’ve heard the spiel already.

“Yeah, yeah, I know – extensive orthopedic experience, blah blah, but the client also very specifically asked for someone else ,” I remind her.

I’m not bitter or disappointed that I wasn’t the first choice – it makes sense, there are a bunch of physiotherapists more senior than me at our clinic.

For one reason or another, none of them were available today.

So, here I am – uninvited, but showing up anyway.

“I get that you didn’t want to pass up a big VIP client, Ki, but Michael is way more experienced than I am. Can’t this guy just wait a couple days? Did you explain that Michael’s had a family emergency when you told him why you were sending me?”

I tap the accelerator, noticing I’ve dropped well below the speed limit as I’m getting tailgated by a woman who looks old enough to be my grandmother. I’m distracted enough that it takes longer than it should for me to notice my best friend’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Ki…?” Oh hell no. “You did tell the client that Michael wasn’t coming, right?” I grit my teeth because I know the answer before she even voices it.

“Not exactly…”

“Kiara!” I groan out her name, headbutting myself on the steering wheel in frustration.

“If I had, then we would have lost him. His manager was very particular that he only wanted the best and while Michael was his first choice, he had a long list of other physiotherapists who would jump at the chance to work with his client.” Kiara doesn’t sound even a little contrite – it’s against her religion to back down from an argument, even if it’s with me.

“His VIP client whose damn name I haven’t even been told,” I complain, pissed that I’m about to walk into a supremely awkward situation. And I’m already awkward enough all on my own without adding in external factors.

“I had to sign an NDA before his manager would even speak to me, Iz.” It’s the closest I’m going to get to an apology from Kiara, so I take it.

I know it’s killing her not to be able to tell me, we tell each other everything and my best friend is prone to more than the occasional over-share.

“And how was I supposed to know Michael’s wife was going to go into labor 4 weeks early? ”

I can imagine her throwing her hands up in frustration at the inconvenience of the cute premature arrival.

“I’m sure what you meant to say was that you’re over the moon that our friend Michael has a happy and healthy baby and he understandably wants to spend time with his family and work comes second to all that.”

Kiara lets out a long-suffering sigh and I smile to myself.

“Yeah, we both know that’s what I meant,” she relents, begrudgingly.

“That’s why we’re so good together – we balance each other out.

You keep trying to stop me from being a complete bitch and I keep trying to give you just enough bitchiness to stop you from being a complete doormat. ”

I laugh at the straightforwardness of her explanation, as if it’s a universal truth which can’t be argued.

“First of all, you’re not a bitch – well, not all the time,” I tease. “And, second of all, I’m not even close to being a doormat!” I check my rearview mirror carefully before changing lanes and exhale in relief when I do so without causing an accident.

I really do need to get comfortable in a car again and I need to do it soon if I’m supposed to be driving to and from The Hamptons three times a week.

And I’ve just found out that’s now a very big ‘if’.

Once this client sees I’m not the renowned physiotherapist he was expecting, he may very well just send me packing.

I tuck a stray chestnut curl behind my ear, a nervous habit I’ve had since kindergarten.

“You can do this, Iz.” Kiara reads my mind in that uncanny way of hers. It’s one of her strengths and it’s made her a great businesswoman and a great boss. But sometimes I wish I wasn’t quite so easy to read.

“I’m not Michael.” In fact, I’m about ten years younger than him with about ten years less experience.

“Yeah, well – duh.” Kiara’s eye roll has actual volume. “But the client wants the best and you’re the best.” She says it with so much confidence, it’s tempting to believe her, that is if I didn’t already know the woman could sell snow to a damn snowman.

“Michael’s the best,” I point out.

Kiara blows out a frustrated breath. “He has the name, Iz, but you’re just as good – Michael’s said so himself. And he’s been your mentor since college, so he should know.”

I smile at the kind words, although I still can’t bring myself to believe them.

Sure, I graduated top of my class and I’ve been shadowing one of the top sport physios in the world since college, but that doesn’t mean I can do this without him.

He’s always been there to bounce ideas off of, to be the ‘face’ of the clinic to the clients and I’ve been more than happy to take the backseat.

This would be my first high profile job flying solo and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little nervous.

“You can do this, Iz. I wish you had more confidence in yourself.” I can practically hear Kiara shaking her head, making her signature statement earrings clatter against the phone.

I don’t tell her that compared to teenager Izzy, the woman she knows is unrecognizable. In high school I had been painfully shy, embarrassed about my very existence, not helped by the fact I was the definition of dorkiness. Talk about a painful puberty.

It had taken moving to New York, starting college and meeting like-minded people to lift my self-esteem off the floor.

I’m proud of the person I’ve turned into.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still doubt myself every now and again, especially when shit gets real, but that’s why my mantra is there to fall back on.

“Fake it ‘til you make it,” I mutter under my breath.

“That’s the spirit!” There’s a percussive sound as Kiara smacks her hand down on her desk. “You’ll be great. And you can thank me later – after you’ve met him.”

“Thank you for what?” I squint at the GPS screen, my contacts irritating my eyes after having worn them since the early hours when I started work. With Michael on paternity leave, I haven’t stopped the past couple of days.

“You’ll see. But if his photos are anything to go by, you’re welcome!”

Possibilities of who the mystery man could be whirr through my brain – maybe he’s a famous actor or a model?

Kiara’s insistent voice interrupts my musings. “Now, put your foot on the accelerator and get there already. Call me when you’re done, ‘kay?”

“Sure, but what am I supposed to say when he asks why I’m the one who showed up and not Michael?” I slam on the brakes as a shiny black Escalade darts in front of me and I roll my eyes at the heavy bass pounding out of it. Could this guy be any more cliché?