Fake (Madison Kate #3) - Tate James Page 0,29

sliding out of the car as the boys both got out. "Why are we here?"

Kody wrinkled his nose, looking annoyed, but it was Archer who replied.

"You wanna talk to the guy who tried to kill you last night?" He cocked his head to the side, shoving his hands in his pockets.

I narrowed my eyes at him in suspicion. There were several other cars parked near us. Considerably more than I'd expect if there was a bloody, beaten man being held inside. "Yeah..."

A small, cold smile flashed over his lips. "Then you need to do something for me first."

Annoyance burned through my belly. "That wasn't the deal, Archer."

He just shrugged and started heading inside the warehouse. "It is now, Princess."

He disappeared into the warehouse, and I was left with the options of following or standing out in the cold indefinitely. I turned to Kody, like I expected him to provide me with answers, but he looked just as confused as I was feeling.

"If he's got something weird in there, I'll personally drive you home," he offered, "but that's Jase's car over there." He pointed to the silver BMW across the parking lot. "So I have to guess this is just work shit."

I scowled but let him lead the way into the warehouse.

"What's the fucking deal with Jase, anyway?" I muttered, walking close to him as slightly haunted memories flickered through my mind. The last time we'd come to this warehouse, it had been a makeshift Halloween party. Afterward I'd been pushed off the road, hunted, chased, and stabbed. Yeah, there weren't a hell of a lot of great memories inside this warehouse.

Except for making out with Kody.

"It's complicated," he replied, grimacing. "Wow, this place has taken shape."

I blinked at the artificial lighting of the interior and nodded my agreement. What had been a totally temporary, slapped-together bar a few months ago was now a permanent structure, and expensive, decorative chandeliers hung from the soaring rafters. Some construction was still in progress toward the far end, but the immediate area had been almost totally converted into an expensive, artistic night club.

"Oh good, you convinced her!" Nicky, the photographer from the guys’ underwear shoot, called out and waved at me. She had a huge smile on her face and her camera clutched in her hand.

Suspicion quickly morphed into understanding when I took in the photoshoot set up, and I shifted my accusing glare to Archer.

"Convinced me of what exactly?" I demanded, folding my arms.

"The, uh," Nicky started to say, then gave Archer a quick look of confusion. "The photoshoot," she finished in an uncertain voice as she walked over to me. "Archer didn't discuss this with you?"

I shot the dickhead in question a sharp glare, and he just shrugged and gave me the kind of smirk that made me want to kill him.

"No, he didn't," I replied with a deep frown as I folded my arms over my chest. I shot a glare at Kody, but he looked just as surprised as me and shook his head.

"News to me too, babe," he added to clear up any possible accusations of a set up. "But I think I can guess." He ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room.

Whatever his guess was, he didn't say it before heading across the room to speak with Jase. He didn't need to.

"I'm so sorry," Nicky apologized, cringing. "I just assumed..." She indicated to Archer and back to me, and I sighed. It wasn't her fault that he was an overbearing son of a bitch with no concept of personal rights, liberties, or free will.

Gritting my teeth, I shifted my attention back to Nicky. "It's fine," I said, even though it really, really wasn't. "Why don't you explain super quickly whatever Archer was supposed to convince me about?"

She gave me an apologetic smile, then launched into a hurried explanation of how her client—the new owner of the bar we were standing in—had seen the images she'd posted before Christmas of Archer and me during the underwear shoot. The owner had gotten in touch and asked if Archer and I would do the advertising campaign for her new bar.

Apparently... Archer had accepted on both our behalves.

"That's..." I started to say, rubbing at my forehead in frustration. "Look, I really appreciate the offer and I'm flattered, but I'm not a model. I'm sure you have so many other girls who can do this with a whole bucketload more professionalism than I'd be bringing to the party."

"No, see,

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