Page 3 of Love is Fake (Love is Everything #1)

Turning the key in the ignition, the car chokes a little as it turns over, but thank God it starts.

As I indicate to pull out into traffic, my eyes meet Gray’s dark ones and I expect to see a scowl on his features, the same one he’s worn the whole time we were talking, but instead, there’s something else.

Something I can’t place. Something I don’t have time to analyze right now.

Not when my focus is on what the hell I’m going to say to the VIP who I’m now running late for.

Dammit! Out of all the times for something like this to happen, why did it have to be today?

I already know the answer to that. Life has never exactly been fair to me.

In fact, I’d say it’s been using me as it’s laughingstock for quite some time now.

If someone’s going to slip on a banana peel walking down the street, it’s going to be me.

I’m the person who bumps into mannequins in stores and then apologizes to the mannequin before realizing I’m talking to a mannequin.

And, apparently, I’m also the person who gets into car accidents with high school crushes and then calls them assholes!

“Oh, man,” I groan aloud. Could this day get any worse?

And I should really know by now the answer to that question is ‘yes, it really can’.

I reach for my phone to call Kiara to give her the heads up about what happened so she can call ahead and grovel to the client but – of course – I have no cell service.

“For Chrissakes!” I grumble to myself. At least I’m only a few miles away. With any luck, the client will be running late too – these VIP types always keep their minions waiting around for them. It’s one of the reasons Kiara can charge them such exorbitant prices.

The nice British GPS lady informs me there’s only a mile to my destination and I tell myself to get my shit together. Fake it ‘til you make it, I remind myself, before pulling up to a set of gates that probably cost more than my apartment.

“Here we go,” I mumble, bracing myself, before buzzing the intercom.

“Trade entrance is round the back,” the disembodied voice grunts before I’ve even said anything. I peek at the camera which has obviously clocked my crappy car and lack of celebrity status.

Trade entrance. Of course, who doesn’t have a trade entrance?

I follow the signs, directing me along the perimeter of what looks like a massive property until I get to a decidedly less-impressive set of gates where I’m buzzed in immediately.

I try not to be freaked out over the cameras that appear to be tracking my every move.

This is definitely something I’m sure there will be no getting used to.

At a slower pace, now, I continue through the property. The house itself is imposing and super modern, but it’s the garden that catches my attention, it’s lush and green and looks a little magical in the dusky Spring light.

I slow down as a guy dressed head to toe in black and looking more like a Navy Seal than a bodyguard holds up a hand for me to stop. I roll down my window, smiling winningly at the huge man.

“You’re the PT?” he asks in a Southern accent I’m surprised to hear. He sounds more New Orleans than Alabama, but still, it makes me a little homesick.

“That’s right,” I nod, striving for the confident, competent look.

The guard doesn’t look impressed as he mutters something into the earpiece he’s wearing. “ID?”

I nod, hurriedly handing over my ID card for the clinic. He peruses it before pausing as he listens to something that’s being said to him. Something I can’t hear.

“Go on through, you can park down there, and someone will show you in.” He hands me back my ID and I nod to him in thanks, catching the way his eyes go to the trashed bonnet of the rental.

“That happen recently?” He quirks an eyebrow.

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, like a half hour ago.”

The guard gives me a sharp look, his eyes scanning my face. “Are you alright?”

His genuine concern, so different from Lennox Asshole Gray’s reaction, is so comforting it makes me feel a tad emotional. I shake my head a little to pull myself together. Okay, so I may have a little latent shock from the accident, but now is not the time to lose it.

“I’m fine, thanks, although I’m not looking forward to the argument with the rental company,” I joke.

“I can imagine.” His features soften as he gives me a slight smile, his eyes warming, and I feel myself blushing although God knows why.

“Hey, any chance you can tell me who I’m going to find inside?” I ask on impulse. Forewarned is forearmed and all that…

He frowns in confusion. “You don’t know who lives here?”

Sure, when he says it out loud, it sounds weird.

I shake my head. “Confidentiality and all that,” I gesture vaguely.

“Right.” The guard rocks back on his heels a little, looking conflicted before he stills completely, listening to something through his earpiece and then sending me an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, ma’am, they’re waiting for you.”

Great. The one time I’m late and they’re freakin’ on time. I just about resist the urge to face-palm in view of the security guard and follow his directions to park in front of a bored-looking man in board shorts and a vintage Nirvana shirt.

Is this the welcoming committee or my client?

I scramble out of the car as fast as I can, half-tripping as my foot gets tangled in the seatbelt, because that’s how I roll.

“Woah, you alright?” The surfer comes complete with quick reflexes and he reaches out to steady me as I all but fall out of the car.

Smooth, Izzy, real smooth.

“I’m good, thanks.” I smile up at his seemingly genuine concern, downplaying my embarrassment.

“I’m Isabella, good to meet you.” We shake hands as I wait expectantly for him to introduce himself.

“Cool, come on in. I was just heading inside when they asked me to come meet you. I guess the butler’s got the night off, so I’m the next best thing.” The long-haired surfer dude gives me a conspiratorial wink and I can’t help but smile at his comment.

He turns around and motions for me to follow him into the house.

“So…you’re not my client,” I confirm as I walk a few paces behind him, trying not to gawk at the huge entryway that’s bigger than my whole apartment.

Surfer Dude laughs outright as if the idea were hilarious. I assumed as much – he’s way too unaffected to be the kind of famous the NDA warranted.

“You don’t know who you’re meeting? Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” He looks over his shoulder at me, amused, his blue eyes dancing as he teases me.

I shake my head, smiling back at him in spite of myself. His sense of fun is contagious and that catches me off guard.

“My mom didn’t stick around long enough to teach me much, so I guess I’m a little slow on the uptake,” I banter back.

“Ouch, funny, gorgeous and emotionally damaged, watch out Shortcake, you’re totally my type.” He elbows me jokingly and I laugh out loud at his outrageous flirtation.

“Why do I get the impression this isn’t the first time you’ve used that line, today?” I raise a mock-accusing eyebrow at him, and he puts his palms up in a defensive pose.

“Just because I’ve said it more than once, doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” He winks broadly at me as my face cracks into a smile.

“Kai, get in here!” A commanding voice booms through the hallway making me jump, but my host just rolls his eyes.

“You’re in luck, sounds like he’s in a good mood.

” My chaperone – Kai – motions me towards a closed door and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

Even worse, I don’t have time to ask before he’s leading me inside and I’m taking in a sleek gym that’s all polished concrete floors, top of the line equipment and wall to wall windows.

It looks like something out of an architectural magazine and before I know it, I’ve let out a noise of appreciation that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Nice set-up, right?” The preppy guy who’s appeared by my side follows my gaze around the gym.

“It’s incredible,” I agree, taking a look at the person I’m here to work with.

I’d thought the VIP was an athlete and although this guy’s in shape, he’s not someone on my radar.

I make a point of keeping up to date – the NFL, NHL, NBA, WNBA, soccer – I have to be on top of it all, it’s part of my job.

Maybe this guy’s sport is something a little more left-field like fencing or polo?

He’s dressed super preppy in chinos and a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt, so that would fit.

“You’re not who we were expecting.” And from his expression, he’s not all that happy about it.

Well, that makes two of us, my friend.

“Michael had a family emergency,” I don’t expand because I figure it’s not anyone else’s business. “But I’m fully qualified and have a lot of experience.”

“I know, Michael emailed me with his recommendation. He was very complimentary.” There’s a hint of a challenge in his voice and I don’t balk at his tone.

“Your boss told us to expect you twenty minutes ago.” It’s a statement more than an accusation and I wince inwardly at looking so unprofessional in front of a new client.

“I’m so sorry I’m late -,” I’m about to explain the car accident when he holds his hand up.

“It’s fine.” Although the way he says it tells me that it’s really not fine.

I don’t make excuses, there’s no point, and something tells me this man wouldn’t appreciate them anyway.

I lift my head, projecting the confidence that Kiara has trained me to fake. “Really, I’m never late, I can only apologize and tell you I’m as unhappy about this as you are.”

Preppy Dude tilts his head at me, a flash of respect coming into his face. Hopefully it’s in appreciation of the fact that I haven’t tried to bullshit him.

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he says and gives me a pointed look. I nod hurriedly in acknowledgement, feeling a little like I’ve just dodged a bullet.

“Come on, Dec, you know traffic out of Manhattan is a nightmare. Cut her some slack,” Kai pipes up from behind me and I send him an appreciative smile. He winks at me and I notice ‘Dec’ rolling his eyes at the obvious flirtation. “Besides, Nox only just got here.”

“Nox?” I frown between the two men, trying to figure out what the crap is going on and who the hell my mystery client is.

I like to be prepared and have all my ducks in a row, some people (Kiara) might say I’m even a little OCD about it, but it’s part of what makes me good at my job. So, this situation, where I’m totally on the back foot is not something I’m comfortable with, which makes me spiky.

“Is someone going to tell me why I’m here or is the guessing part of the fun?” I plant my hands on my hips, looking between the two men.

Kai snorts a laugh and Dec looks like he’s about to say something when his gaze goes over my left shoulder, his eyes widening slightly at whatever or who ever he sees there.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I freeze, recognizing a voice that makes me go hot and cold inside.

No. No. No. Even my luck can’t be this bad.

But even as the thought enters my head, I know it’s just wishful thinking.

Slowly, I turn around to face the last person in the world I want to see right now or, you know, ever.

Lennox Fucking Gray.