Fake (West Hollywood #1) -Kylie Scott Page 0,3
breath and tried to summon some courage. Any would do. Because without a doubt, this was a bad idea. Just an awful, terrible idea. Yet here I was, contract signed and cash in hand. A great deal of it. And there’d be more to come. I’d already been able to move Gran into her own room at a much nicer nursing home with better care and facilities. I’d also quit my jobs and given up my apartment. Talk about standing on the edge of a precipice.
All of a sudden, the gate started opening, and I stepped back in surprise. Guess someone was watching the security cameras. The wheels on my battered suitcase rattled along the asphalt behind me. I’d brought along only a few of my favorite things and left the bulk of my belongings in storage. They’d be providing the necessary Hollywood girlfriend wardrobe. Whatever that entailed.
And this was fine. Everything would be great. I was a grown-ass woman who could totally do this. This was an adventure to be both embraced and enjoyed.
Heck yes.
I believed this right up until I saw him standing in the doorway of a white, sprawling single-story building that was either modern or mid-century, or a bit of both. The house was cool, but it didn’t compare to yet again seeing Patrick Walsh in the flesh. He was like a work of art, more than deserving of the pedestal he sat upon. You can’t grow up in LA without seeing celebrities, but this was different. How his presence hit me in the heart and loins. Maybe I’d never get used to him. Annoying and embarrassing, given that he was now my boss.
I didn’t expect to be greeted by the man himself. I figured he’d be too busy and important for something like this. For someone like me. I hadn’t seen him since the other day at the restaurant. Everything had been handled by his “people,” as in, his lawyers. I doubted I could sneeze without express written permission for the next six months.
I’d done my fair share of wondering why me? As Angie stated so succinctly, I was average. But I guess my lack of glamour worked for the whole reformed-and-no-longer-shallow-player persona they were attempting. I don’t know. But he’d paid me a lot to put my life on hold and resurrect his reputation. So that’s what I’ll try my best to do.
“Norah,” he said with a frown, which seemed to be his face’s go-to setting. “Let me take that.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for, ah . . . for doing this.”
“Sure,” I said.
With my suitcase trailing behind him, he headed inside. As wrong as it was to objectify people, the man had an amazing ass and his jeans really showcased it. I’d never considered myself a connoisseur of asses, but his was something else. Don’t even get me started on the breadth of his shoulders.
The interior of the house wasn’t bad either. Open plan with polished concrete floors and pristine white walls. A chunky cream couch and a shaggy gray rug, along with a fireplace and various pieces of art. One side of the building seemed to be constructed entirely of glass walls or fold-back glass doors. We were perched on the side of a hill, overlooking the entire city. Talk about, wow. It almost distracted from the shaking of my hands.
Two people were waiting for us in the living room. One was Angie the publicist. AKA the Dragon Lady—which is mean and insensitive to dragons, but, oh well.
“You must be Norah,” said an Asian woman with a beautiful smile and shoulder-length dark hair. “I’m Paddy’s assistant, Mei.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She beamed. “Don’t you two look great together? The press are just going to eat you up!”
Patrick gave me side-eye. Like incorporating me into this grand plan hadn’t been his bright idea. Idiot.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“I’ve got stuff to do.” He took several steps, then stopped and turned back to me and frowned some more. “Later, baby. Babe.”
My stomach did not perform somersaults. It was just gas or something. “Later.”
“That doesn’t feel right.”
I froze. “It doesn’t?”
“No. Wrong terms of endearment.” His gaze narrowed. “We’ll work on it.”
“Okay.”
Mei appeared charmed by our weirdness. It had been decided by Angie that she would be our first audience. A trial audience to test out our characters, if you will. To see if we were in the least bit believable as a real couple. I didn’t like our chances of fooling her.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
He nodded and took