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He isn’t completely wrong about part of the reason I’m agreeing to this right now.

I’m sick of needing approval for half the things in my life, but I hesitate, still debating if I should tell him about the King’s fiasco.

Everything surrounding that night feels so wrong.

Part of me wonders if letting him in on my motivation would alleviate some of the burden.

Antonia would definitely advise against it, and my mother would probably keel over at the mere thought of me offering up a confession.

Which makes blabbing to Decker all the more appealing.

I wrote a song about urges like this once. It was titled Self Sabotage.

I clear my throat. “It’s not seeking their approval, it’s respecting their roles in my life so I still have a functioning work environment when all this is done. That’s why I agreed to do this.” I shift in my seat, scanning our surroundings as though anyone can hear us over here in our corner.

He leans closer, lowering his voice. “When is this done anyway?”

I think for a moment, but I already know the answer. “It only ends when we both feel like we’ve met our goals.”

“Which are?”

The words flow as easily as the champagne, pouring out of me before I can stop them. “Evading arson charges and whatever you’ve set your sights on for your next big career move.”

“Arson?” Decker sputters, bubbly dribbling down his chin as he mops it up with the back of his hand. His eyes go wide. “Does this have anything to do with the music hall and Gable’s?”

I nod, biting my lip so hard I’m shocked I don’t taste blood.

“Is that what all this is about?” When I don’t answer, expletives hurl from his lips as he runs a hand through his wavy hair. “I thought your publicist told my manager you needed to partner up for a charity thing. Because you were getting bad press after a breakup.”

“Well, kind of.” I sigh and ease into the story of the beginning of my downfall two nights ago at the music hall. When I finish, Decker is silent for a long time. Too long.

“You realize that was my ‘next big career move.’” He quotes the last sentiment with sharp strikes of his fingers.

“What was?”

“Gable’s Restaurant and Lounge. It’s for sale. I was going to buy it.” He shakes his head, flags down our passing waitress, and asks for an old-fashioned.

My stomach sinks. Not only did I ruin countless other people’s plans that night, but now I can put a face to a victim of my destruction.

My eyes sting, and I wonder if I actually feel bad for him or if I’ve had one too many drinks.

I watch as he stares at his hands, wondering what to say next, wondering what he’s going to say.

Finally, he pinches the bridge of his nose, his lips parting as he processes the news. “You do realize you somehow managed to destroy two historical landmarks in one night?”

“Ugh. Why is everyone so caught up about the landmark thing? I didn’t mean to.” Which is true. I wasn’t aiming the bottle at the candles, I was aiming for Callum’s head. That’s why I get paid to sing and not to play offense on a field. “It’s not like anyone died.”

“How can you be so casual about this?”

I chew my cheek, biting back a fresh surge of emotion.

My only option is to be casual. If I’m not, I might cry, and once the tears start, who knows if they’ll stop.

My choices are limited: detach and keep it cursory, or lean into my feelings and fall apart in public.

As nonchalant as I’m trying to be, I can’t squash the panic beginning to rise at the thought of him abandoning our plan.

If he backs out, it’s my fault. Not only do I have to see him disappointed in me, but I’ll have to face a very disappointed—and probably very irate—manager, and that’s the last thing I want on my list of failures for the week.

The way Decker is staring across the table at me now reminds me of the millions of times my mother has disapproved of something I’ve done.

I hate it. Something crumbles in me under his rigid gaze, and suddenly, I’m back to seeking approval from people I shouldn’t be seeking it from.

“Does that change things? You don’t wanna be my fake boyfriend anymore, do you?” I lean forward, my head feeling heavier than normal with all the golden bubbles I’ve been guzzling. “You’re gonna tell someone it’s my fault, aren’t you?”

“I should.”

“Should. Could. Will .” My tongue feels thick as I form the words, and I force a smile at our waitress as she drops off his drink and hurries off again.

“It’s fine. It’s probably time I take a career break anyway.

Nothin’ like a little prison down time, ya know what I mean?

It’s a shame I don’t look better in orange.

” I pour myself a half glass and knock it all back in one swallow, trying to force away the lump building in my throat and the blur creeping in at the edges of my vision.

Decker watches, not a word leaving his lips as he grips his lowball glass.

My nose stings, and my eyes grow hazy with booze and unshed tears.

He sighs, chewing his lip as he scans the room before leaning forward and grabbing my hand.

I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassment heating my face when two tears trickle down my cheeks.

Great. Just what I need. Here I am, sitting in the presence of this oaf, drunk-crying my dumb little eyes out.

Could this week get any worse? Not only have I committed what I assume Antonia and my mom would consider a cardinal sin—confessed the cause of the fire—but I jumped the gun.

I made a choice without them, and here I am, getting shot down for a fake relationship by some man I never wanted to associate with in the first place.

Decker shifts in his seat, glancing around the room and awkwardly patting my hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

“Okay? I burned down half your restaurant.” I dab my cheeks, a little wail slipping from my lips.

He hunches forward, lowering his voice. “Can you keep it down?”

I snuffle.

“You charred a single wall, and it wasn’t mine,” he says, straightening back up.

“Not yet.”

“There are other investment opportunities. I’m just glad I hadn’t pulled the trigger yet. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe I need to look into something else.”

“Like what?” I sniff.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really have a backup plan.” He lets out a bitter laugh as he brings his drink to his lips. “If it makes you feel better, you can pay me back.”

I pull my hand from his. “Look, I know it’s common knowledge that I’ve amassed a little bit of wealth over the years, but I don’t know if I can get my team on board with?—”

“No. Not money. This.” He gestures between us. “Lena, I know I don’t have to tell you this, but being seen with you is never a bad thing. Everything you touch turns to gold.”

I dab my cheeks with my napkin, taking a deep breath as I listen to him.

“So, if anything—” he leans back, his hands out to the side as though he’s having some major revelation— “I’m all in. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“Ugh. I’m immediately writing that out of our rules. Don’t scratch my back.”

He smirks and leans forward. “Anything for you, babe .”