Fake (West Hollywood #1) -Kylie Scott Page 0,47

I’d left it on the bedside table. What a fucking disaster, given our big interview today. I climbed out of bed and got moving. Never in the history of hygiene has someone showered and brushed their teeth as fast as I did. I still had on last night’s sweatpants and tank top, so I headed out. My upper arm still ached like a bitch and the bruising had turned the most colorful shades overnight. Without a doubt, the sleeveless dress the stylist had planned for today would be out.

Mei and Patrick were in the living room, busy talking to a man of average height in a plain black suit. A weird anxiety eased at the sight of other people. The knowledge that I wasn’t in the house alone mattered more than it should.

“We’re late,” I said, not hesitating to interrupt their conversation.

“No we’re not,” Patrick said. “The interview’s been delayed a few days. Some hiccup on their end.”

Mei shot him a look before coming toward me with her arms wide open. “We’re hugging, Norah. Brace yourself for impact.”

“Okay.” I smiled.

“Watch out for her arm,” said Patrick, hovering protectively.

“That scared the crap out of me last night when I heard. I was going to come and check on you, then Paddy said you were resting and everything was under control and to leave it until today.” She stopped to take a breath, arms wrapped tight around me. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you.” I squeezed her right back.

“It must have been terrifying, having some lunatic come at you with a knife.”

“Yeah.” And the less said about it, the better.

Patrick watched on with his frown back in fine form. Granted shit had happened over the last twenty-four hours, but still. Seeing him upset sucked. Someday someone would make this man happy. Teach him it was okay to face life with optimism. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of that someone.

“Your cell is on the coffee table,” said Patrick before I could ask. “Thought you could benefit from sleeping in.”

“Thank you. Who are all those people playing in the garden?” I asked, spying activity outside.

“They’re putting in extra security,” said Patrick. “Cameras, motion sensors, there’ll be panic buttons for inside, the works.”

“We’ll be out by the cars when you’re ready, Mr. Walsh.” The man in the black suit gave us a short, sharp nod before striding out. Talk about the ultimate blank face. Bet he always won at poker.

“Let me guess, bodyguard?” I asked, moving toward the kitchen, because, coffee.

“One of them,” said Patrick. “Use a travel cup.”

“Where are we going?”

He stretched his neck, frowning even harder. “Malibu. Thought we might stay up there for a night while everything’s getting sorted here. Mei already packed you a bag.”

She gave me two thumbs up. “I got you covered.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I get that today’s interview has been moved. But what about tomorrow’s appearance at that party?”

Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but Mei was already there. “Angie’s worried you two are getting saturated. Given the events of last night, she decided it would be best to slow down for a while. Give your adoring public a chance to catch their breath.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “As long as it’s not about me being unfit for duty. Because I’m fine and dandy.”

“Of course you’re fine,” said Mei. I chose to ignore the doubt in her eyes. “But, Norah, wouldn’t it be great to have a couple of days at the beach with your hot fiancé?”

Patrick leaned against the kitchen island with his arms crossed, continuing to say a whole lot of nothing. Though the way the muscles in his arms oh so subtly bulged in his current position did a lot of talking for him. So hot. And yet very much just my friend.

“I mean, look at him, girl.” Mei gave me the most dubious wink in all of time and space. “Imagine how he looks in a swimsuit.”

“Can’t believe I’m getting objectified in my own house,” grumbled Patrick.

“It’s for a good purpose,” she said. “Look, your beautiful fiancée is smiling.”

“Mei, you are too good for this world.” I bit my lip to stop from laughing. But there was something about this that wasn’t funny in the slightest. I turned to him and said, “I feel like an asshole. Please tell her.”

He didn’t even hesitate, bless him. “Norah and I are fake.”

“Are you though?” She cocked her head. “I mean, really?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “It’s all a publicity stunt.”

“Hmm. If you say so. Anyway, I’ve got