Fake (West Hollywood #1) -Kylie Scott Page 0,4

a small and somewhat cautious step my way. As if he might kiss me on the cheek, or pat me on the head, or something that could be perceived as being semi-affectionate. Only, he changed his mind at the last minute.

Huh.

Not to be mean, but this was definitely not his finest acting performance. (I much preferred his work in Zombie Run, where he’d been part of a brave group of people about to finish a marathon when an outbreak occurs. A cool, if somewhat gruesome, film.) He about-faced and headed for the other end of the house. Guess that’s where the bedrooms were, et cetera. This area consisted of the living room, dining room, and kitchen. A pale blue kidney-shaped pool sat outside at the far end of the house, sparkling beneath the morning sun.

So this was how the other half lived. Nice.

Mei leaned in close. “Don’t mind him. Patrick isn’t exactly used to being in a relationship. Having someone in his space. You know.”

“I do know,” I lied.

“Of course you do. It’s huge that he asked you to live here with him.”

“Yeah. My, um, lease was up and he said, why not?”

“That’s fantastic. Might be the first spontaneous thing the man has ever done. Guess when it’s the right person, you just know,” she continued. “I always told him he needed to find a civilian. Someone outside of the industry. I can’t wait to hear how you met and everything. Whirlwind romances are so . . . romantic.”

I’d been in training for the last week for just this moment. Mostly in front of the bathroom mirror. Oh how my cheeks had hurt after one particular session of fake smiling. I’d iced them internally with a vodka, soda, and lime. Since I’d passed on drama club back in high school, I had a lot of catching up to do.

I smiled. It was my happy-with-a-hint-of-whimsical smile. Not the easiest one in my arsenal, but I felt it projected a sort of young-and-in-love vibe—which seemed appropriate for the situation. And with Patrick paying me top dollar, it was important that I gave this my all. “We met at my work, at a restaurant. He, uh, kept coming in and eventually we started talking and—”

“The rest is history,” finished Angie.

Mei kept right on smiling at me with nary a hint of doubt on her face. “That’s so sweet.”

Whew. I’d done it. Someone actually believed that I and a Hollywood heartthrob were an item. How extraordinary. The rush of victory rolled through me from head to toe. Not that lying to people was a good thing. And Mei seemed like a lovely person. Though it was just a small white lie. Sort of. Okay. So the truth was, the morals in this situation were murky as fuck. But at the end of the day, I needed the money and no one would get hurt. That’s what mattered.

An audience of one certainly scared me far less than facing the inevitable red-carpet events lurking in my future. I kind of wanted to puke at the idea. The last formal thing I’d attended was my prom, over a decade ago. My date ended the evening by stumbling drunkenly into one of Gran’s rosebushes and getting scratched to shit. Sadly, my taste in men hadn’t necessarily improved since then. No wonder I hadn’t dated in the past year or so.

Angie’s cell pinged. “That’ll be the aesthetician team and so on arriving.”

“The what?” I asked.

“Think of them as your fixers,” said Mei.

“I need a whole team to fix how I look?” I laughed, because, awkward. “Things are really that dire?”

Angie’s smile was all teeth. “Yes.”

“This is bullshit,” I grouched.

“There, there.” Mei patted my hand. “The French manicure looks great and your hair is so soft and shiny.”

Angie’s gaze remained fixed on her cell. “What’s your problem?”

“Let’s just say that was an extreme amount of waxing,” I said. “And I really should have had a say in some of it.”

“Au naturel was not acceptable. What if we decide to do a bikini shoot as part of the ‘relaxing at home’ article we’re planning?” asked Angie. “You can’t have all that going on down there. Even Photoshop has its limits.”

“It wasn’t that bad. And a bikini shoot?” I asked with horror. “No one mentioned that.”

“The things we do for love,” said Mei.

Angie ignored me.

But I was not done, dammit. “A woman’s bush is sacred and the state of it should be no one else’s business but her own.”

Mei laughed, then quickly