The Fake Out: Chapter 15

I did what any other adult woman would do in the face of such a question. I gasped. I stared. Then I ran.

Ran might not be the best word; I definitely scurried though. And I avoided the bar area, but, as hard as I tried, I knew Chris was still there. He didn’t approach me, but he did send Amanda over to tell me he’d stay until the end of my shift to “talk.”

Then I told Amanda to go back and tell him I wouldn’t be off for hours and he probably shouldn’t wait.

Then Chris sent Amanda back and told her to tell me he didn’t have anything else to do.

And then I tried to send Amanda back with another message, but she got annoyed and told me that we weren’t ten-year-olds on a school playground and to give him the message “my damn self.”

So, at the end of my shift, I changed out of my uniform into shorts and a t-shirt. After stalling as long as possible, I finally skulked to the bar, backpack tossed over one shoulder. Amanda had taken Kara’s spot bartending. Chris perched on the same barstool.

“I’m leaving,” I announced.

“Let’s settle up your check.” Amanda scooped up his credit card. “I’ll be right back.”

Chris turned my way, his eyes settling on my face. “You look tired.”

“It’s almost one a.m. I’m exhausted and some weirdo proposed to me out of the clear blue sky earlier tonight.” And my feet ached, and I still had a forty-five-minute drive back home, and then I’d have to get up and do this all over again tomorrow night. “Do you do this a lot?”

“What?”

“Propose?”

“No, this is a first.”

“Huh.” I rested an elbow on the bar.

“What do you think? Wanna get engaged?” he asked as though he was asking if I wanted paper or plastic.

“You cannot be serious.” I hitched up my backpack and turned to leave.

“Wait.” He stood and took a step toward me. “Can you just hear me out? It won’t take long.”

Over his shoulder, I saw Amanda coming back our way; I thought of the phone call I’d overheard earlier. “Okay, fine. You give Amanda a five-hundred-dollar tip and I’ll listen.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Five hundred dollars?”

“Yep. That’s what I said.”

With a grin, he held out a hand. “Deal.”

Cicadas sang to us as we walked across the parking lot. The air was sticky and warm, but tolerable. There were only a handful of cars left, belonging to employees finishing up the night and prepping for tomorrow. I stopped beside my car, unlocked the door, and tossed my backpack inside.

A hand on my hip, I let my impatience show. “So, let’s talk.”

“Do you want to sit, or something?” He gestured toward my car and frowned. “Maybe not there. I don’t know if I can fit. Come on.” I followed him to his truck near the edge of the parking lot. He flipped down the flap to the truck bed and tapped it. “We can relax and enjoy the scenery.”

The scenery in question was a patch of neglected land adjacent to the parking lot. Even in the dim light of the moon and parking lot lights, the empty beer cans, plastic grocery sacks, and occasional chip bag littered the overgrown grass. “Not exactly prime real estate.”

“We can look at the stars.” He patted the truck. “Hop up.”

The truck was one of those big half-ton deals with extra-tall tires. I eyed the distance between the ground and the truck bed. “I’ll stand.”

“I feel like you’re going to fake me out and run away.”

“I’m not going to run away. I am an adult.” And kind of mad I hadn’t thought of that myself.

Chris narrowed his eyes and then a grin curled one side of his mouth. “This isn’t because you can’t get up there, is it?”

“No, of course not.” I eyed the lip of the truck bed. I could get up there. Probably.

He smirked. “You know, you could ask for help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Okay, fine. No help being offered.”

To prove my point, I tried to hoist myself up. That didn’t go well. I side-eyed Chris, who looked like he was holding in a laugh. Fine. Whatever. I tried pulling myself up again, but it wasn’t working.

“Are you sure?”

“I got it.” My only other option was to hook a foot onto the truck and pull myself up. Not only was it a completely graceless move, but I almost fell on my butt. With my head high, I straightened and turned back to Chris. “You know what? Standing is fine.”

“You are stubborn.” Chris moved toward me, determination scribbled on his face. He stopped within a few inches of me, his eyes twinkling.

“Um, excuse me,” I said. “You’re in my personal bubble.”

“This will only take a second.”

Then before I had a chance to gather a reply or understand what was happening, two large hands wrapped around my waist and hoisted me on the truck bed like I weighed no more than a toothpick when I was a solid two hundred pounds. I landed with a surprised squawk.

His hands lingered a few seconds, tightening on my waist before sliding away to rest on either side of my hips. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You manhandled me,” I said, my voice full of righteous indignation. But truthfully, a tiny secret part of me was a little, I don’t know, turned on at the display of caveman strength, at a man who was taller than me by several inches, and so strong.

“You’re welcome.” He tapped on my nose before easily hopping onto the truck.

I patted at my overheated cheeks. Because it was hot outside. That’s why. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Right. A few of the guys on the team talked me into going to Vegas for my birthday. It was a good time and then it got to be too much.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t drink a lot. I’m kind of a lightweight. So, I had a couple and that was it. The rest of the guys? Like it was their last night on earth.”

“Classy.”

“Then the strippers showed up and everything got a little crazier.”

“So, you decided to help a mostly naked stripper out?”

“Yes.” Pause. “Well, no.” Another pause. “There’s something else.”

Good grief. What else? Was she pregnant with his child?

“I need you to keep this between us. No matter what.” He paused and put his hand on my arm until I turned to look at him, his eyes serious.

I nodded. “I promise.”

He blew out a breath. “That woman in the video? She’s my sister.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

“She lives in L.A. We’re close. She has a little boy who just turned three. His name is Oliver.” He pulled out his phone and showed me a photo of a little boy with dark hair and bright-blue eyes.

“He’s adorable.”

“I know. Looks like his uncle, right?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Anyway, I don’t get to see her often so when she asked if she could drive over and see me when I was in Vegas, I was all for it. Soon as she got there, I could tell something was off. The next thing I know she’s guzzled half her weight in rum and Coke and is stripping off her clothes and dancing on tables and taking dares to recite the preamble to the Constitution while standing on her head. I got her out of there as fast as I could.”

“Is she okay?” I asked.

“We had a long talk and she admitted things have been really tough, and she’s been drinking more than she should. I found her a rehab where she could bring Oliver with her, and she stayed there for a few weeks. She’s doing better. It’s kind of a one day at a time sort of thing. She’s fragile right now and I don’t want anything to derail her.” He pulled off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I try to keep my personal life out of the spotlight. The media is a beast and once they get a hold of something, they won’t leave it alone.”

“Which is what would happen if her name got out.”

“Yeah.” He smacked the cap on his knee and then yanked it back on his head. “When that video came out and they all assumed she was one of the dancers, it seemed like the easiest way to keep her name out of all this.” His shoulders slumped. “But now the Children’s Heart Fund is threatening to sever ties over it. They don’t think that video is the right image for a children’s charity.”

“Well…”

“A lot of responsibility comes with this job and I take it seriously. I’ve been so careful where and who I hang out with, what words come out of my mouth when I do interviews. I don’t want some little kid asking me about naked dancers the next time I do a hospital visit.”

He flopped back on the truck bed with a frustrated growl and stacked his hands under his head. I absolutely did not notice the sliver of skin that peeked out at the bottom of his t-shirt.

I tucked a knee under me so I could see his face. “Is it really the end of the world if you have to find another charity to work with after this all dies down?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “My youngest sister, Millie, was born with HLHS, hypoplastic left heart syndrome. Basically, a part of her heart wasn’t formed correctly. Instead of four chambers like you and me, hers only had three. I was fourteen when she was born, and it changed our whole family.”

“Is she okay?”

“She still has regular check-ups, and she’ll need more surgery as she gets older. But she’s doing okay.” He stared up into the inky sky, where the stars were just visible despite the light pollution from the city. “Anyway, I decided I wanted to find ways to help other kids and families who have to go through this.”

I rubbed at my chest where a small pinching feeling had settled. “That’s very admirable.”

He sat up suddenly, his face very close to mine, close enough to smell cinnamon on his breath. “Do you believe me?”

His sincerity was so evident that it was impossible not to. I nodded slowly. “But I have no idea what this has to do with me and a marriage proposal.”

“I probably could have approached that differently. My team has a plan to fix all this bad publicity.”

“Your team?”

“My agent, publicist. The team.”

Of course, he had a team. “Okay.”

“They say we need to create a distraction. Something that would help my image. What’s better than a fiancée? Not any old fiancée either: a small-town, salt-of-the-earth librarian. You’re smart, you’re the right age, you aren’t otherwise engaged, right?” He frowned as if this thought may have just crossed his mind.

“Well, no, I’m not.”

He clapped his hands. “You’re perfect. It’s like the book. Except we won’t have to get married. It’s an engagement of convenience.”

I huffed a laugh. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s a great idea. I need your help and you could use mine.”

“What exactly do I need help with?”

One dark eyebrow rose. “You need money.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re working seven days a week. Your mother has a lot of medical bills. Ali told me about the situation with the library, and how you’re worried about your sister and paying for college.” He sat back, a satisfied smile smeared on his face.

I wanted to wipe that smile off his face even if he was correct about everything he’d listed.

“Ali has a big mouth,” I snapped.

“Think about it. Please.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. I really am.” Those honey-colored eyes of his gazed into mine with so much dang sincerity.

“I can’t believe I’m even giving this space in my head. I don’t have time for this. And who in the world would believe you would propose to me, of all people?” I wagged a finger in his direction. “So many things could go wrong. You’re fixing a lie with another lie. What would your mother think?”

That was a shot in the dark. I had no idea what his mother would think but I felt certain if there was a Mama Sterns somewhere, he would care what she thought.

He winced. A-ha. Bull’s-eye. “I’m a little worried about that myself but if we do it right, my mother will never need to know it was all for show.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

“I know this is a lot to take. Think about it. Please. But I need an answer soon. By Monday.”

I shook my head. “I can already tell you my answer. It’s a no. A big, fat no. Very loud with lots of exclamation points.”

He sighed. “I understand.”

“Good.” I hopped down from the truck. “I should get going.”

I was halfway to my car when his voice stopped me. “Mae, one more thing. It pays a hundred thousand dollars.”