Fashionably Fake

Ros

Jackson Levi was dead.

Not literally, but if he knew what was good for him, he’d delete my number and retract his stupid statement.

Us, in a relationship? No one would believe it.

I’d woken up to forty missed calls, a hundred or more texts, and countless voicemails. Most of them from Jackson fucking Levi.

A month ago, the Scottish actor had been fun. For a time, a very very short time, he was my friend. I could always count on him for a good laugh. Shit at work blew up? One text to Jackson and I’d laugh. Bad date? I’d open my phone to find a stupid meme waiting for me. I could enjoy myself, never feeling like he’d want something in return and be my normal dorky self.

I knew there would be no way he would ever be interested in me. Men only ever wanted to use me and, let’s face the facts head on: I had no money, no fame.

Yes, I had connections, but they were all in the fashion realm and none of them would have the first clue how to help an Academy Award-winning actor.

Over the summer, he’d become the perfect distraction from my shitty, unpredictable life.

And then he’d ruined it all.

I lay in bed for over an hour, scrolling blurry-eyed through the messages and headlines. The more I read, the more my blood pressure spiralled.

Jackson

We need to talk. ASAP.

Abi

Don’t go to work today. The vultures are descending.

Jackson

I panicked. I’m sorry, but we need to talk. Stop screening me.

I snorted.

Yes, Jackson, every time I miss a call, I’m screening you.

Couldn’t possibly be that he was three hours behind, and I’d gone to sleep at a normal hour for the first time in weeks. My world totally revolved around the entitled asshole.

Okay, I didn’t mean that.

Things were great until he’d asked me out and that wasn’t a crime. Unfortunately.

I didn’t like it, but I could forgive it. The awkwardness would fade out, maybe by the next time I saw him, and we’d go back to being friends. But telling the press I’d been his girlfriend for six months? That I couldn’t forgive.

I dialled Abi, laying there with my eyes covered like some stupid childish game where it would all go away if I couldn’t see it.

“What the fuck happened last night?” I asked the second she answered.

“I’m still getting all the facts but we can’t find Jackson and he’s not answering his phone,” she said, her words almost drowned out by a sea of voices and low music in the background. “I’m still at the production company afterparty. Can you hear me?”

I grimaced, my ears straining. “Just about.”

“Hold on.”

I shifted onto my back and waited, staring at the ceiling like it might magic up a time turner. Shit, I’d give my favourite Gucci jacket for a way to go back in time and stop the idiot from opening his mouth.

A couple of seconds later, the party sounds cut off. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good. I’ve probably got five minutes before someone starts hammering on the bathroom door, so let’s talk quick.” She blew out a breath. “Are you okay?”

I pursed my lips and considered her question. “I don’t know yet. I’m still in bed so I have no idea what’s waiting for me outside the apartment.”

I rubbed at my eyes, tiredness hitting hard. It was unusual for me to see this side of 7 AM after a gruelling month at Paris Fashion Week. The least I deserved was a week of long lie-ins and late starts. Instead, the universe threw a scandal at me the first chance it got.

“Why did he say it?”

“One of the magazines is claiming he had an affair with a married woman.” Silence fell for a second and I could imagine my red-haired best friend chewing her lip, destroying whatever was left of her lipstick. “I think he panicked. Shaun and Nathan are pissed at him for not walking away.”

My brow furrowed. “I might join them.”

He had other options, but he’d chosen to drag me into it. Why? I’d have to return one of his many calls to find out. Or at least listen to his voicemails. Neither of which appealed.

I might do something stupid. Like agree to play along.

I shivered at the thought. Even pretend monogamy would be a step too far for me.

“The guys don’t think it’s true,” Abi said. “The married woman, I mean. Not him saying you… you know.”

I hummed in response.

What the hell was I meant to say to all this? Thanks for turning my life upside down for your own gain? Fat chance of that.

“But it’s sweet though, right?” she continued, rambling through my silence. “You were the first person he thought of when he needed help.”

“You’re a terrible matchmaker. Don’t even try it.” I threw the covers back and climbed out of bed, scowling at the dark sky outside my window.

I had another two weeks before preparation chaos started for New York Fashion Week in December. As much as I’d love to throw the covers over my head and hide from the world, I couldn’t and, honestly, I didn’t want to be that person.

My mother had tried it for years – burying her head in the sand and ignoring my father’s cheating, as if that would make it go away.

Abi went suspiciously silent.

“I might have pushed you at Finn, but that doesn’t mean you need to return the favour, Abs. Jackson is my friend.” I winced. “Was my friend. Remember when you tried to set me up with the guy from your agency?”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh no, I think you need reminding.”

I stepped into the silent kitchen and flipped the coffee machine on. It had been five months since Eva moved to LA in June to be closer to Abi and I still hadn’t gotten used to it. Probably never would.

“The date went horribly. He threw every red flag in the book at me.”

“I remember. You don’t have to remi—”

“And then!” I said louder than necessary. “He turned into a stalker.” I leaned against the counter, staring at the peeling off-white paint on the cabinet in the tiny kitchen. “So tell me again how great your matchmaking skills are?”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep it to myself.”

I nodded. “Good choice.”

“But that doesn’t mean Jackson will.”

“Abi!” I pinched the bridge of my nose, desperation leaking from me. “Can we not? He fucked up, and he needs to fix it before he turns my life upside down, but this changes nothing. I wasn’t interested in ruining our friendship a month ago and I’m not interested now.”

“I know. I know. I just think…”

“Stop.” The coffee machine started spitting out my energy nectar, so I found the will to dig up some patience. “We’re not doing this. He has a PR team or whatever, he can handle it.”

“What if he can’t?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Then he’s royally fucked… but on his own. A pang of guilt sliced through me at the thought.

“Then it’s not my problem.”

If it’s not your problem, why are you still talking about it?

“Even if you could help the guys salvage their launch?”

My eyes narrowed. “Wow! Abs, tell me you are not pulling the emergency card?”

“What if I am?”

“Then I haven’t had enough coffee, alcohol, or sleep, and I need to hang up before you do it.”

“No, don’t hang up.”

My head tilted at the panic in her voice. “You’re avoiding something.”

“Am not.” Her voice hitched, giving her away.

“Hmm.”

She sighed. “I’m avoiding Finn.”

“Explain. Now.”

Abi had been head over heels in love with the Irishman since before filming wrapped on Married Blind. The only time she’d avoided him was when they’d broken up before the show ended. She couldn’t say no to the man, and they were nauseously cute together.

“I’ve been nursing the same drink for the last few hours, and he’s getting suspicious.”

“Why would he get suspicious over a drink and why aren’t you downing all the free booze like you’re twenty-one again?” Then a lightbulb went off. “Oh my god! Abigail McCarthy, are you motherfucking pregnant?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, her voice ridiculously low.

As if Finn would be eavesdropping on her in the bathroom. I almost laughed. Almost.

“That’s amazing! Congrats!”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her tone sheepish.

“Does Eva know?”

“No.”

I grinned. “Oh, she won’t let you live that down.”

“Which is exactly why you’re going to pretend I said nothing.”

“Sure I am.” I chuckled, but quickly sobered.

“But that settles it. I am not getting involved with Jackson Levi.” Abi and Finn had only moved in together in August last year. Mona had a baby two months ago. Cat and Nathan just got engaged. I would not be rounding out the final piece in the Kings of Screen puzzle. No way.

“Ros!”

“No! Absolutely not. There’s clearly something in the bloody water down there.”

“Not every man is your dad.”

“That would be impossible.” I rolled my eyes, trying to shrug off the emotions thoughts of my father always elicited before they could fully settle again. “Doesn’t mean I need to tempt fate though, does it?”

“I don’t know, it might be nice.”

I snorted. “Nice is not the word I would use.”

Ulcer-inducing, definitely.

“I like my life. I don’t need the man or the ring. I’ll be the fun aunt who swoops in, spoils your kids, and then leaves you with a sugar-fuelled child with a slight addiction to Christian Louboutins.”

“And I get that, but —”

The doorbell sung out, cutting her off.

“Hold that thought. Someone’s asking to be murdered.”

Before I could take two steps, the pounding started.

“I’m coming!” I scowled in the general direction of the front door.

Knocking on my door before 7 AM. Definite death wish.

The pounding continued, grating on my last nerve. To Hell with stranger danger warnings. I’d seen enough slasher films to know better, but I was ready to go full psycho on the idiot trying to bust down my door at the ass crack of dawn. Consequences be damned.

I swung open the door.

Just Jackson on my welcome mat, arm still raised to pound again.

For a split second, the last month ceased to exist, and a smile tried to claim my lips. Staring into his wide hazel eyes, I almost, almost, invited him in.

Then reality caught up.

I froze up while this war waged inside of me. Just stood there, mouth agape, emotions swirling from happy to annoyance to anger and back.

This is why I don’t get up before the sun.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is why you check the peephole. You never know who is going to darken your door — axe murderers, religious zealots, the mob, or idiot actors who can’t keep fiction separate from reality.

I needed a vat of coffee to deal with him. And maybe a getaway car on standby. Fuck.

Abi squawked in my ear through the phone I had mercifully not dropped, demanding to know who it was.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll talk to you later. Congrats again.”

I hung up, never taking my eyes off the asshole smiling at me like he wasn’t here to sweet-talk me into doing his bidding. Hell the fuck no.

“Why are you here?

Jackson

Ros stared at me from her doorway, her arms crossed, eyes spitting fire. Every time I saw her, I’d almost come to expect the gut punch panic that something amazing might slip through my fingers.

It didn’t matter how long I went between sightings, how long it had been since she’d stopped responding to my calls and texts, that need to win her had never eased.

A couple of years ago, that might have worried me. Now, I was tired. Of the expectations placed on me, of the vice-like grip of my past failures, of watching my best friends couple up and suck me into their new realities.

A month ago, I asked Ros out. Let’s just say I was still reeling from the rejection.

“We need to talk.”

“So pick up the phone.”

My eyes narrowed on the pixie haired menace. “I did. You screened me.”

“I did not,” she huffed and her eyes flashed with indignation. “There’s such a thing as time zones, Jackson. How about letting me wake up first?”

I crossed my arms and waited.

Last year, she might have gotten away with that lie. Now, I knew every tell. Her days of bullshitting me had come and gone.

Ros Butler avoided anything awkward or emotional. She never would have called because then she’d have to deal with what happened and that would make her feel awkward.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Fine. I wouldn’t have called you back.”

I nodded, satisfied. “And that’s why I’m here.”

I glanced down the hallway, checking for prying eyes or the odd paparazzo who’d followed me into the building. Aside from an elderly neighbour shuffling towards the lifts with her little dog, it was thankfully deserted.

Didn’t mean it would stay that way.

“Can we have this discussion inside?”

She stared at me, chewing on her lower lip.

“Ros, please.”

Fuck, it felt weird, pleading with someone. It didn’t matter that we had an odd sort of history; the words never came easy to me. But I didn’t ditch my company’s first film premiere, hijack our jet, and fly across the United States without a bodyguard in the suit I’d worn on the red carpet last night to give in easily.

“I know I screwed up.” I held my hands out, trying to present a totally unthreatening image. “You wanted space, and I gave you that, but I need help, Ros. I need your help. Please.”

She stepped back, gesturing me in. I didn’t celebrate, couldn’t until I had her on the jet back to Los Angeles. Still, I smiled and brushed past her. Despite me going for friendly, she scowled at me.

“Stop looking at me like that, pixie.” I shook my head. “It’s all going to be fine.”

Her brow arched. “Are there paparazzi camped outside my door?”

“Not yet.”

“Yet being the important word.” She shut the door, but her hard expression didn’t slip so much as an inch. Ros was the queen of bravado and, unfortunately for her, she’d handed over some of her keys this summer. “I have a life, Jackson. What the hell were you thinking?”

My smile turned sheepish as I scratched at my bearded jaw. “I might not have been.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Shaking her head, she led the way into the living room. I couldn’t stop myself from soaking in every eclectic piece of her flat. I’d missed it.

My house in LA was catalogue perfect. Whites, creams, and greys. Stark and sprawling. Ros’s apartment was tiny in comparison, but it held so much life, so much colour.

It was rare that I’d need to be in New York. All of my business was in LA unless I was filming. Over the summer, I’d found every excuse under the sun to be here, to spend time with her. Just hanging out on her threadbare sofa filled me with more energy than an hour at the swankiest Los Angeles restaurant or bar.

She would never admit it, but she’d been grateful for my visits. Eva had just moved out West to be closer to her sister, my best friend’s wife, Abi. That left Ros alone with a half-empty apartment. Now a clothes rack lined the wall in the living room, blocking the TV. Faded throws and pillows swallowed the single sofa, while art prints framed it.

Despite how in place everything seemed, it had all been pushed aside to make room for her true pride and joy. A black iron sewing machine.

She’d quickly claimed the space they left, but that didn’t mean she’d taken it well. When asked, she’d put on a bright smile and wax poetic about all the benefits, knowing that no one would be able to see the dullness in her eyes or the pinch to her lips.

She hated it, and she stubbornly pushed through.

The first time I spotted it, I’d made up excuses to stay in New York for a full week and hung out with her every night. Then I’d returned periodically all through the summer. We’d tried out new bars, watched every cheesy film she loved, gone to shows and scouted every thrift store in New York City.

And I’d loved every second of it.

Living, laughing, breathing… without so much as a grain of concern that the person sharing all my time was faking their interest in me to further their career or would turn around and sell me out to the press.

Instead, everything we shared was raw and real.

A friendship I’d screwed up by letting my growing feelings and attachment to her get out of hand and control my mouth.

I bit my tongue at the urge to ask if the loneliness had gotten better. The answer wouldn’t help. It might even make her more suspicious. She wouldn’t appreciate me using our history to guilt her into a life-disrupting arrangement.

No, I needed to play this straight and cross my fingers she saw reason.

Ros took a seat in the only armchair in the room. She tucked her feet beneath her and fixed me with a hard stare. “When are you retracting your statement?”

I sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. Deep breath in. Here goes nothing.

“I’m not.”

If I’d blinked, I would have missed the switch flipping in her eyes. She went from pleasantly irritated to incredulous in less than a second.

“I’m sorry.” She laughed, the sound nervous. “I can’t have heard you right.”

“I’m not retracting my statement.”

Her jaw shifted, my one and only warning before she shot to her feet.

“Yes, you are.” She paced the tight confines of the living room, her pale face reddening. “I have a job, a career I’m working my ass off to build. This,”—she gestured at me, her eyes wild—“you, it’s not in the plans, got it?”

“I know. If there were any other way, I’d take it.”

“There is another way.” She stopped in her tracks, staring at me. “Retract the statement. Admit you panicked. That’s the other way.”

“If I do that, they’ll think I lied about the other story too.” I shook my head. “I can’t do that, Ros. It’ll destroy all of my credibility right when I need it. And it won’t just hurt me, but Shaun, Finn, and Nathan too. Your best friend —”

“Don’t you dare bring Abi into this.” She pointed at me, her expression shifting to deadly. “You don’t get to fuck up and then emotionally blackmail me into going along with your bullshit.”

“Shit!” I scrubbed a hand across my face. “Ros, I’m sorry…”

I’d barely started and already I was screwing this up. It wasn’t a simple ask. If she agreed, she would have to uproot her life, I was fully aware of that.

“If you were sorry, you’d swallow your pride and do the right thing. Instead, you’re here.” She crossed her arms. “Not that I want you to, but you’re terrible at grovelling.”

I bit my cheek, holding in a grin before she read my reaction wrong.

“I can get on my knees, if it’ll help?” I arched a brow at her and almost grinned when she blushed. “Or we could start with me ordering breakfast from your favourite diner down the street and pouring you an extra strength black coffee before we get into the details?”

“There won’t be any details.”

“Ros, please,” I groaned. “Work with me. Just a little.”

“No!” She started pacing again. “Not everyone is a big shot actor who can command people to do whatever the fuck he wants. I have a job, a boss, a life that didn’t end just because my best friends skipped off to LA to follow you bloody celebrities.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to move.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Feed that line to someone who knows nothing about your life. I’m not stupid.”

“Okay, so that probably wouldn’t work.” I held my hands out, trying to placate her. “But I’d pay you. Just name your price.”

Her mouth dropped open. Her shoulders fell, the anger draining away as she blinked at me. Dread dug its claws into my stomach the longer the silence stretched.

“That way, you won’t be out of pocket for taking some time off,” I rushed on before she could formulate a response that would cement the destruction of my career and any chance of us rekindling our friendship. “I could pull some strings and find you an even better job in LA too if you didn’t want to stop designing.”

“I can’t quit my job with no notice.” She shook her head, muttering beneath her breath as she started pacing again. “And I definitely can’t just pick up another job in LA. It doesn’t work like that.”

Then she went right back to muttering to herself. I couldn’t make out more than snippets. Fashion Week, proving herself, a couple of unsavoury things about me that I’d begrudgingly allow. The vast majority of it was incoherent grumbling.

My grip on the sharp edges of my panic quickly started to wear off. Jimmy wanted us on a talk show as early as next week. No matter how many times I tried to reason with him on the flight here, he refused to be logical.

She hadn’t even agreed yet, and he and Audra, my publicist, had already packed her schedule with dress fittings, red carpets, conveniently public dates where at least two paparazzi would be ready and waiting to snap photos of us.

She’d always made fun of me for my fame, claimed to not want so much as a grain of it. It had been one of the many things that drew me to her, even if it was contradictory. How could she be a fashion designer with her own label and not be famous?

I should have conceded defeat, apologised, and walked out the door. Returned to keeping my distance until Christmas when Abi and Eva would force her to join us in LA. If I had any other choice, I would have. But there were no other choices. She was my only hope.

Her rant cut off as I stood. Hope flickered across her face, making my resolve falter for all of a moment. Only I couldn’t afford even an ounce of weakness. Not now.

So I squared my shoulders and brushed past her. Such a brief touch but I had to clench my fists to stop myself from reaching for her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as I walked past her and into her kitchen.

I froze on the threshold. I always forgot how tiny this bloody kitchen was. How had the three of them shared such a small flat and not killed each other?

The cabinetry created a cramped U-shape but two people wouldn’t have been able to pass each other. Especially not if the fridge or oven doors were open.

She deserved so much better.

“Jackson!” Ros shouted, tearing my focus from the outdated and inadequate space. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to make you breakfast,” I said as I opened her fridge. Nothing but a bottle of vodka, a packet of shitty American cheese and a few mouldy tomatoes. Not even slightly surprised. “But maybe I should just order in.”

I shut the door and started opening cupboards. If I couldn’t make her breakfast, at least I could make coffee.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your coffee stash.”

She snorted. “Why the hell would I keep coffee in the apartment when the better coffee is at the street cart down the road?”

“Good point. Safer than you burning down the flat first thing in the morning.”

We both laughed. The first real, genuine laugh between us in a month.

Fuck, it felt good.

If she just said yes, we could have this every day.

“Did you make it to that immersive Great Gatsby show?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t go.”

I wanted to ask why, but held the question in.

“Did Abi invite you to the premiere?” I asked, knowing full well that she had and Ros had refused. “I was surprised you weren’t there last night, at least for the catch up time with Abi and Eva. Minus the drama, you would have loved it.”

“She did, but I had things I needed to do here.” She shrugged.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“What’s not to believe? Work keeps me busy. I live in the best city in the world.” She planted her hands on her hips, staring me down like she could actually cow me.

It was an oddly endearing sight.

“There’s no one in the apartment to complain about my machine running or to get annoyed when I miss dinner because I’m focused on my latest project. Life is great.”

“Right.”

Sighing, she relented. “Fine, it’s been lonely here and if you hadn’t pulled your shit, I would have been there, enjoying all the free booze and critiquing all the outfits. Happy?” She glared at the cabinet behind my head.

That pang of guilt returned to stab me in the chest. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your problem. I manage perfectly well on my own, like always.”

“I never said you didn’t.”

Her brows climbed.

“What? I didn’t.” I took a deep breath, getting my voice under control before I made this worse. “It is my problem. I know you well enough, Ros. Being away from your friends is making you crazy and, if it wasn’t for me, you would be in LA right now, enjoying time with them and getting a break from feeling lonely.”

“Don’t start.”

“If you accepted my offer, you’d be in LA, with Abi and Eva within easy reach at all times and zero concerns about money.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Would accepting my offer be so bad?”

She glared at me. “You can’t buy me off.”

“You’d enjoy it. You know you would.” I smirked. “All the red carpet events, talk shows, galas, private parties. A personal stylist and easy access to the latest fashions.”

She pulled a face that confirmed I was right.

Never one to quit while I was ahead, I leaned closer and dropped my voice. “You want to wear haute couture to a premiere? Met Gala? No problem. Want to grill a particular designer for industry secrets? I’ll set it up.”

Her eyes fell shut on a shiver of delight.

“You hate being sensible, Ros, so stop trying.” I took a step, closing the distance between us. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back up. Minor success. “Let me help you escape. Just for a little while.”

“Hypothetically, if I said yes,” she held her hand out, silently cautioning me to keep my mouth shut when excitement shot through me. “If I said yes, how long would our arrangement last?”

“A year.”

“A year!”

“I tried. I promise I did.” I shot her an apologetic smile. “They think anything less would look suspicious.”

I thought I finally had her. I took a step towards her, forcing my most charming smile to my lips.

“We would— No!” She shut her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t need to know. I’m not doing it.”

“Just think about it.”

“I don’t need to.”

I fixed her with a ‘get real’ look. “Forget the last month.” I stared into her face, willing her to hear the truth in my words. “I can’t handle this on my own. As my friend, I’m begging you to help me.”

Ros

As my friend, I’m begging you to help me.

I’d give it to the asshole, he knew how to make me listen. How to dig himself so deep into my psyche the thought of not helping him hurt.

But how could I? I’d meant it when I’d said I couldn’t just pick up and leave. An adult — as much as I despised calling myself one — didn’t abandon her responsibilities on a whim.

Not even when that whim involved saving her friend from being massacred by the press.

Of course, knowing all of that didn’t lessen the sickly ache of guilt.

I wish I could say my day righted itself after Jackson left. Somehow I went from running early to panic-inducingly late.

“What happened to you?” The receptionist at Dakota Reed asked when I finally stepped out of the elevator.

I glanced down, wincing as I took in my soaked Alexander McQueen wool pants and stained Balenciaga blouse. I’d barely made it halfway to my local subway station when the skies opened, emptying almost a bucket of water on my head.

I’d never been more grateful for my pixie cut than that moment. Unlike all the other unlucky souls around me, my hair had dried out by the time I reached my stop and it didn’t matter that it stuck up in places. It matched my aesthetic.

I stopped at the crosswalk outside the subway station because I didn’t have a death wish, a car jumped the light, and I watched in slow motion as it drove through a puddle.

“You don’t want to know,” I muttered, walking past the reception desk. “Is the she-dragon in yet?”

The last thing I needed was to run into Dakota Reed before I’d erased the evidence of my disastrous commute.

“No. Her assistant said she’s stuck in traffic.” She glanced at the clock on her desk, her lips pursed. “You’ve probably only got ten minutes though.” She flashed a concerned smile.

I waved her off. “Ten minutes is all I need.”

I rushed across the open plan space, dodging mannequins, spools of fabric, and interns too focused on their tasks to look where they were going. Barely containing a sigh, I made it to my office without further destruction and drew the blinds.

I made a beeline for the closet of backup clothing I kept just in case Dakota flipped out over a particular piece in the show. One day I’d find it amusing that I now needed to use it to save myself from her potential wrath.

For now, I cared about one thing, and one thing only. Getting rid of my destroyed outfit.

Five minutes later, I dumped that carefully thrifted outfit in the trash.

I stared down at it, a pile of once perfectly stitched fabrics. It felt callous to throw them out without at least mourning their loss for a second. Maybe thanking them for their service… not that I was into that mumbo jumbo crap.

The phone rang, saving me from making a decision.

“Roseline, good, you’re in,” Dakota said, her tone almost disappointed.

I winced at her use of my full name.

I’d told her once six years ago that I preferred Ros and she’d ignored me.

“Do you have a minute to chat?”

Oh, this could not be good. Dakota only called when there was an emergency.

“Of course,” I said, somehow keeping my voice even.

Everything’s fine. I have nothing to worry about. I aced fashion week. She probably just wants to congratulate me…

“I have to say I’m surprised you were able to keep a lid on it for so long.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I hope you are.” She tutted. “Don’t play coy. I know about Jackson. I’d wager the entire office does.”

Well, yeah. None of them lived under a rock and Jackson’s bullshit had pretty much blanketed every gossip rag on the planet overnight.

“Okay.”

Deafening silence followed my response.

“Honestly, it’s kind of a relief,” she said, her tone sympathetic for some bizarre reason. “You’ve been distracted the last few months. Now it all makes sense. Of course, it would have been good to know before now. Those kinds of connections come in handy.”

“Do they?”

“Well yes, he and his friends have proven themselves quite popular. Do you think he’d walk for the New York show?”

“Uh I don’t think so.”

“But if you asked him, he would say yes.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You can’t ask your boyfriend to do you a favour?” she asked, her tone dripping with disbelief. “I’m afraid your position has become untenable.”

She couldn’t mean it.

“Don’t worry about finishing out the day. You can leave your keycard on your desk,” she said, amusement tinging the words. “And I’m sure one of the interns can take over your clean up tasks from Paris.”

White hot anger pulsed through me, wiping out the shock. Firing me because I refused to exploit a relationship was one thing, suggesting an intern could handle my workload was very much another.

I couldn’t even focus on the fact she’d fired me. My brain just fixated on the insult.

“Ros. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon,” Jackson said, his surprise audible through the phone. “Is everything okay?”

I couldn’t answer the question truthfully, so I didn’t even try.

“We’d have separate rooms?”

For a second, silence reigned and I worried that maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he didn’t need the favour anymore.

“Yes,” he choked out. “Are you—”

“I’d have to kiss you… in public?”

Another beat of silence, but he recovered faster this time. “Yes, but not senselessly. My team will insist on strategic PDAs and they’ll orchestrate the moments for them so we’ll be prepared.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re uncomfortable at any point, you can tell me and I’ll do what I can to limit those instances.”

“I can do that.”

“Are you… agreeing to help me?” Jackson asked, barely restrained excitement in his voice.

That was… good. Right?

Every time I thought of Jackson kissing me, my brain blared alarms at me. As if thinking it would somehow push me over that line and place the destruction of our friendship on me.

I didn’t have many friends, especially not guy friends. Keeping them was important to me, more than any relationship ever could be. Friends wouldn’t abandon me because I couldn’t give them something. Boyfriends, now those were an entirely different ballgame.

He’d admitted he’d screwed up, he knew asking me out was a terrible idea that had temporarily put a blip in our friendship. So the risks were minimal, right?

I needed the money. He needed the image repair. I’d get to spend more time with Abi and Eva. I’d escape the guilt of leaving one of my friends to fend for themselves.

It was a win-win for all of us.

I just needed to say the words…

“You said the compensation was up to me?”

“Name a figure and it’s yours.”

My eyes widened. “Just like that?”

“Aye.”

“I could say something stupid like a million.”

“You could,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Do you want a million? We could build a monthly payment into the contract and, of course, I’d pay your rent for the next year so you’d have the option to return to your old apartment.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Deadly serious.” Jackson laughed as my jaw dropped. “You’re giving up your life to save my career, Ros. I’ll give you anything you want.”

I chewed my lip. This whole situation was insane. One minute I had a normal life, a good job, friends and family nearby. The next, the rug got yanked out from under me and I was left scrambling to pick up the pieces.

It was ridiculous. Outrageous. The type of wild, impulsive nonsense I usually avoided at all costs. My reckless little heart pounded, begging me to dive in head first and screw the consequences.

And I was inclined to agree with it.

Where had playing it safe gotten me recently? Jobless, lonely, worrying about money and the future. If I said no to this, what other options did I have? I’d almost certainly be evicted if I didn’t figure out another source of income quickly. My student loans ate up most of my salary and my vintage fashion addiction took the rest of it. My savings were non-existent.

So say yes!

“You know this is crazy, right?” I narrowed my eyes at the office wall that I still needed to strip of personal effects. “I could ask for five million and you’d just whip out your cheque book?”

He chuckled. “Probably. But a million seems fair.”

“Fair,” I muttered. As if a million wasn’t also an extreme exaggeration. As if any of this was normal.

It was temporary, I reminded myself. One year of the Hollywood circus to get my feet back under me. Was my pride really worth more than that?

“Fine,” I huffed. “One year. But I want it in writing that I can back out anytime, no penalties, and I get the full one mil if I do.”

“You can back out within reason, and your fee will be prorated.”

My mouth dropped open. Why the hell was he pushing back? He wanted me to agree. I chewed my lip, staying silent, willing him to buckle to my terms, but he didn’t so much as sigh. No sweating on his part. The bastard knew he had me.

“Fine,” I huffed.

“Good. I’ll have my team prepare everything.”

“And I know your reputation, loverboy. Keep it in your pants.”

I needed him to stay a friend. Friends stuck around. Boyfriends left, eventually.

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman, scout’s honour.”

“You were never a scout.”

Despite myself, I smiled at his ridiculousness. I let out a breath. This was happening. I was really doing this.

“How soon can you leave?”

“How soon do you need me to leave?”

“The jet can be ready by 6 PM. Would that work?”

That gave me less than two hours to get home and pack. “Can I bring my sewing machine?”

“Sure.” He didn’t even sound surprised. “I’ll pick you and your many bags up at six.”

Pick me up to move to LA.

To his house.

Where, every time we went out, every eye would be fixated on us and the gossip rags would dissect my every action and outfit.

But at least my money worries were over and I’d have my friends back. Right?

Fuck.

I stepped onto the private jet, my Docs sunk into plush carpet.

This was fancier than any five-star hotel I’d ever stayed in.

“Champagne, Ms Butler?” A steward in a crisp uniform appeared as if by magic, offering me a crystal flute.

I accepted it automatically, unable to tear my gaze from the jet’s interior. Cream leather seats, polished wood accents, mood lighting... It was straight out of a magazine shoot.

Jackson chuckled as he sank into a seat, amused by my awe. “It’s just a plane.”

Just a plane? Was he kidding?

If I had his money, I’d be in awe of all the pretty things around me every single day. I would fill my life with any excuse to get on this jet and luxuriate in comfort on my way to the next exclusive experience.

Instead of doing any of that, he closed his eyes and relaxed. It was wasted on him.

I sat across from him. “Maybe for you. The rest of us aren’t accustomed to flying around in the lap of luxury.” I took a sip of champagne, savouring the dry bubbles. “I mean, we have a guy whose only job is to bring us champagne and nibbles!”

Jackson smiled, opening his eyes to study me while he reclined lazily in his seat. “Perks of the job, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” I shook my head in disbelief. “This is incredible. The seats are so comfy!” I wriggled deeper into the leather. Though I’d be worried about putting my Doc Martens on the seat, no matter how new and clean they were.

“I’m glad you approve.” Jackson’s gaze turned soft. “Make yourself at home. We’ve got a few hours before we land in LA.”

LA. I gulped more champagne to steady my nerves. In a few hours, we’d be starting our crazy charade as a couple. Of course, the promise of the first instalment of eighty large hitting my starving bank account within the next week helped settle them a little.

“Don’t look so worried.” Jackson reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll love it there, I promise. Sunshine, beaches, easy access to Abi and Eva. My assistant will be on hand to help you with anything you need too.”

I sighed, setting down my champagne flute carefully before I dropped it. “That does sound pretty nice.” Not as nice as the buttery soft leather under my hands, but lovely all the same. “What happens when we land?”

Jackson took a swift sip of his champagne before responding. “The usual media circus, I’m afraid. Paparazzi will be camped out on the tarmac, clamouring for shots of us together.”

I tensed. “Seriously? They’re allowed to just wait there and ambush people?”

“Who knows. It’s a nightmare either way.” He fixed me with a serious look. “It’ll be loud and very bright. You’ll be tempted to respond to their ridiculous questions. It’s important that you don’t.”

Like he shouldn’t have when he falsely announced to the world we were a couple?

Right.

He patted my hand reassuringly. “I have a team who will escort us safely to the car. Tinted windows, the works. Once we’re inside, my driver will get us home quickly.”

Home. His home. I took a bracing gulp of champagne.

“My assistant Jen will meet us there,” Jackson continued. “She’s fully briefed and ready to help you get settled. Anything you need — groceries, salon appointments, bank errands — she’ll take care of it.”

I nodded, already compiling a mental list. New wardrobe suitable for sunny LA and whatever fancy events he needed me to attend. A wine fest with Abi and Eva at the first available moment. Scout out some new thrift stores…

“Before I forget, the contract.” Jackson rummaged in his briefcase, pulling out some stapled documents. “Had my lawyer draw these up. Standard stuff, but let me know if you have any questions.”

I took the contract, skimming through the legalese. A lot of privacy clauses, payments scheduled monthly, one-year term... everything we’d agreed to.

Wait. “An NDA too?” I frowned at the non-disclosure agreement. “You don’t trust me to keep my mouth shut?”

Jackson winced. “It’s not personal. My team insists, that’s all.”

“Of course they do.” I tossed the NDA back on the table. “I’m not signing that. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Ros…”

“No.” I crossed my arms stubbornly. “If we’re doing this, it’s on equal ground. I’m not some employee you can bully into silence.”

Jackson sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I know it seems unnecessary between friends. But in my world, NDAs are standard procedure. It protects us both.”

I bristled, hackles raising. “Protects you, you mean.”

“That’s part of it, yes,” he admitted. “But it also means I can relax and be myself around you. No second-guessing if something private will end up as a tabloid headline.”

I bit my lip. When he put it that way, it almost sounded reasonable.

Jackson leaned forward, holding my gaze earnestly. “This past year hasn’t been easy, Ros. My life splashed across the gossip rags constantly.” His jaw tightened. “I believe I’m safe opening up with you and I could never imagine you selling my secrets, but my instincts have been proven wrong before.”

I looked down at the document, chewing my lip. “I still don’t like it. But... fine. If it means that much, I’ll sign.”

It’s not like I ever planned to sell him out anyway. Reckless I might be, but a traitor? Never.

Jackson’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you. Truly.” He raised his glass to me. “Here’s to a fresh start for both of us.”

I clinked his glass. The champagne bubbles fizzed like the butterflies in my stomach.

Here goes nothing.

Jackson

The six hour flight back to LA passed far too quickly for my liking. I would never get enough of Ros’s enjoyment.

When we’d first met at Finn and Abi’s wedding for the reality TV show, Married Blind, she’d been an excited force of life. Rubbing her hands together for the potential between her friend and mine, happy that Abi would finally have her life shaken up. Part of me thought she’d jump on the opportunity to instil some of that chaos into her own life when I made my offer.

Still, it didn’t faze me that it took half a day for her to agree. Life-changing decisions should be considered properly, no matter how odd it seemed for rebel Ros.

But something did faze me for the first time in my career. Getting off the plane and inflicting a pack of rabid paparazzi on an innocent woman. Not once had I hesitated to open a door knowing they were outside, impatiently clamouring for the shot. Until now.

“Are we getting off or going back to New York, Jackson?” she asked, her tone amused but the undertones of exasperation leaked through.

I glanced down at her, wishing for the first time that I wasn’t an actor. Wishing she could see my concern and believe it, truly understand that if there had been another way, I wouldn’t have involved her. But she expected pretty words from me. Whenever I chose to be authentically honest with her, she assumed it was nothing more than an act. This would be no different.

“Of course we’re getting off.” I forced a smile. “Just bracing myself for the madness.”

Still I didn’t exit the plane. I turned back and took her hand, tugging until she looked into my eyes, her brow puckered in confusion.

“Remember what I said.” I leaned down, ensuring I had her full attention. “Don’t give them anything. Don’t react. Don’t even flinch at their questions. You stay tucked under my arm until we get to the car and say nothing. Got it?”

She bit her lip, a thread of concern flickering in her eyes before nodding.

I stood there for a second longer, studying her. What I planned to do if she couldn’t handle it, I had no clue. I couldn’t exactly smuggle her off the plane.

In the end, I put our fate in the hands of the universe. I’d done all I could.

Taking her hand, I led her out the plane door, placing my body in front of hers instinctually. I paused at the top of the stairs, absorbing the chaos below. A pack of at least twenty paparazzi waited on the tarmac, jostling like ants and unleashing a barrage of blinding camera flashes into the fading pink sunset light. Black-suited security guards grappled to hold them back as the pack pressed towards the plane, trampling each other recklessly for the money shot. Their shouted questions echoed around the private airfield.

“Jackson! Over here!”

“Is Ros Butler behind you?”

“Why were you in New York?”

“Where have you been hiding her?”

“Why haven't we seen you together until now?”

“How did you keep your relationship secret for so long?”

“Is this another fake relationship for PR?”

She flinched behind me but I squeezed her hand, silently reminding her to keep her game face on. I plastered on a grin, waving as my security pushed back the crowd.

“No comment today, lads!”

The cameras continued to flash blindingly as we made our way down the steps. A bodyguard met us at the base of the stairs, his face set in severe lines.

“This way, Mr Levi.” He gestured to the SUV waiting in the opposite direction of the cameras.

I nodded and took off towards the car, pulling a stunned Ros along. The paparazzi got louder, screaming their questions until they blended in a cacophony of sound I had no chance of deciphering.

Finally reaching the car, I opened the door and guided her in first, catching a glimpse of her stunned expression.

Guilt swamped me. She didn’t deserve the nightmare I had dragged her into.

I slid in after her, taking my first deep breath since we’d landed. The door slammed shut behind me, blocking out the chaos. My heart pounded as we pulled away, the tinted windows concealing us from their intrusive lenses.

“You okay?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “That was... full on.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t let go of her hand; my fingers had almost seized around hers. The whole thing had triggered an instinctual need to keep her safe and turning that off proved difficult. Fuck. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s fine,” Ros said, pretending to be confident while she stared back at me with an unnaturally pale face and her voice shook. “I knew what I signed up for.”

Even if she had, it didn’t make it right.

Christ. What had I done?