Page 30 of That Fake Feeling

Connersits up and looks at his phone. “It’sSterling.”

I’dbetter not have snored or drooled. “Didwe fall asleep?Werewe sleeping?What’sthe time?”

Connorlooks down at me with that cute smile. “Iguess you were out cold.Forabout twenty minutes or so.”

“Oh,God.”Iscrew up my eyes against the sunlight and rub my forehead. “WhatdoesSterlingwant?”

Hereads the text. “‘Photosup already.Needa meeting.NOW.’”

8

CONNOR

Sterlingis ensconced behind the desk in my library and ready to hold court whenRoseandIget back.

Itwas a silent cab ride fromCentralPark.Sterling’stext didn’t look good.AndRosespent the whole journey turned away from me, staring out of the window, twiddling her hair or pulling at the hem of her shorts.

Icouldn’t help but watch her fingers in action.Particularlythe oneI’dsucked earlier.I’dlost myself for a second, forgotten we were performing for photographers disguised as bushes or tourists or whatever it is they did to get their candid shots.Fora moment there,I’dbeen more relaxed thanI’vebeen in years, lying on a blanket in the sun next to a beautiful, funny, irritatingly committed-to-her-task woman, feeding me a strawberry.AndbeforeIknew it,I’dlicked and sucked on that delicious finger.

Thelook on her pretty face had been a picture, like she’d been startled from a dream and suddenly remembered what it’s like to be awake.

Thelibrary in my house is less fancy than it sounds.It’smore of a home office, but my architect called it a library and it stuck.It’sreally just a medium-size room with a couple of walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and two large windows that face out back.

It’salways cozy in here.Thesunlight reflecting off the deep red and brown decor makes it warm and welcoming, and there are two inviting comfy armchairs with footstools.There’salso a big wood desk whereI’msupposed to work.ButIhave my fill of work at work.Thisroom is whereIcome for peace and quiet after particularly frustrating days.Sometimesit’s even more therapeutic than the bar or a club.

Sterling, however, has sucked out all the welcoming vibes.

Heslaps his palms flat on the desk and stands up.

“Onejob.”Heflings his hands into the air. “Youguys had one job.Justpretend you like each other.Alot.Imean, how hard can that be?”

Rosechews her top lip, her brow furrowed. “Ithought we’d done all right,Sterling.What’swrong?”

Hespins his laptop around to face us. “Thisis what’s wrong.”

It’sa page from theAfterDarkGossipwebsite.Theheadline isn’t awesome.

ThereSheBlows:DashwoodAndDateGetDownToBusiness

Atthe top there’s a large picture of me lying on my back in the boat, withRose’sface buried in my crotch.Myexpression is contorted in surprise, but it looks like it’s contorted for an entirely different reason.

Onsecond thought, maybe that’s not so bad.Ifthings have gone horribly wrong this quickly, maybe we can scrap the whole plan.

Rose’shand flies to her mouth. “Oh, shit.No.”

Shepoints at the screen. “Thatwas just for a second.Hegot stuck on a bush and—”

“Well, it certainly looks like somebody got stuck on something,”Sterlingsnaps.

PoorRose.WhileIcouldn’t give a shit, this obviously upsets her. “Oh, come onSterl.Itwasn’tRose’sfau—”

“Andthere’s this little gem.”Sterlingignores me and turns his laptop back toward him.Hechanges the page and swings it to face us again.

Thistime it’s theEntertainmentCentralsite, with a picture of me standing overRoseon the picnic blanket, my arms in the air, mouth wide open likeI’myelling at her, while she looks down in pain, sucking her finger.

It’saccompanied by another glorious headline.

DashwoodDateFight