Fake, page 21
“Yet you still can’t talk about money. Or your mom. Or any of the things that matter. Did you tell him about me? That we’re friends?” She holds out her hands, like she’s begging me to see her point, but all I see is someone who’s too proud to admit she might have been wrong.
“I’m sorry but you weren’t exactly top of mind last night. We were at an event—”
“Ohhhh, an event. How very bougie of you. Can you hear yourself right now?”
“Would it be different if he’d taken me to a dive bar and fucked me in the back of a pickup? Would you be happy for me then? Because Nathan’s rich, that makes all this bad?”
“What makes this bad is who he is and who you are. You guys don’t live in the same world. People like him? They see opportunities and they take them. They don’t worry who gets hurt. Or who they use. Or if what they’re doing is right or wrong. That’s how they get ahead. It’s why they’re rich and the rest of us struggle.”
“Funny. His creepy friend said people like me see people like him as opportunities. That all I saw when I looked at him was a dollar sign. Maybe it says more about you and Dom than me and Nathan.”
Fallon takes my shoulders and the intensity in her eyes begs me to see her point. “I make a living following the lives of people like this. I know them better than you. You need to slow down because Nathan West will chew you up and spit you out.”
“I’m good, Fallon. Better than good. I’ve never felt anything like this before and I know you think he’s faking it to use me for some diabolical plot, but you’re wrong. He’s not a villain.”
“Then what is he?”
“He makes me feel safe to be who I really am.” I flash to last night, curled up in his lap on his couch. “And I think he feels safe with me too.”
“Funny thing about con men. They’re pretty good at making you think and feel exactly what they want you to. Facts, Mina. Not feelings. If Nathan West isn’t a villain, what is he?”
“He’s none of your damn business, that’s what.” I unfurl the throw from around my shoulders, fold it carefully and drape it over the back of the couch. “I don’t know if you’re upset because you were wrong about him and will have to stop telling everyone he’s a bad guy or—”
Fallon gasps. “You don’t have to get mean just because you don’t like when I’m right.”
Getting mean? That wasn’t mean. That was me, telling her what I’m thinking, just like she’s been telling me. So, she’s allowed to speak without a filter, but I’m not?
Has our friendship always been this off balance?
Dear God. Feeling a little blindsided right about now. Clarity would be a blessing. Yours forever, Mina Blake.
“You know what.” I hold up my hands in defeat. “I’m gonna go.”
“Mina…”
“We’re not getting anywhere, and I don’t want to go round and round with you. Thank you for looking out for me, but stop, Fallon. Just stop.”
I leave, but don’t want to go home. There’s only one place I want to be, one person I want to be with. I make the drive to Nathan’s house with Fallon’s arguments circling my head. Does she really think now is the time to ask him for favors? I can’t wrap my mind around that. Sure, I haven’t told him she’s my friend yet. I keep meaning to, but the time is never right. And now we’ve come so far, and he hates her so much, I can’t imagine his reaction when I finally do tell him.
Scratch that. I can totally imagine his reaction.
It won’t be pretty.
I haven’t intentionally kept it a secret, and last night was not the time to drop that bomb.
But maybe now is.
And I can tell him everything she said about him, about us, and he can assure me she’s wrong and all will feel right with the world again.
I park in the driveway, then knock on the door, tapping my fingers against my thigh as I wait.
And then Nathan appears in the doorway, looking just as happy to see me as I am to see him, and I take my first full breath since leaving Fallon’s apartment.
“I was just thinking of you.” He draws a knuckle across my cheekbone, and I shiver in delight.
“I’m just now realizing I probably should have called or something. I was out and wanted to see you and here I am.”
Nathan draws me inside, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me deeply. “Don’t be silly,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine. “You’ve made my evening. I was just about to have a drink and enjoy the sky.” He jerks his chin in that direction. “Join me?”
I nod and follow him through the living room and onto the deck. The setting sun sends golden light shimmering over the ocean, and I take a moment to lean against the rail and breathe it in. The wind rustles my hair and my skirt brushes against my legs while Nathan presses a kiss to the back of my neck, my shoulder, my throat.
Maybe I don’t need to say anything about Fallon.
Or maybe now isn’t the time.
Or maybe I need to stop making that excuse and get it over with.
“Are you okay?” Nathan asks, resting a hip on the rail beside me. “You seem tense.”
“I’m fine. I had a strange conversation with my friend and just needed…you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You make everything better and—”
Nathan silences me with a kiss. His lips are charged, electricity releasing from his body to mine as his hand lifts my skirt and slides up my thigh. “Funny. I’ve been thinking the same thing about you.”
I pull back because I need to tell him about Fallon before I get distracted by his touch. “Nathan, I—”
“Tell me after,” he growls, his voice sending a shiver of delight down my spine.
After, I think as he nuzzles my neck.
After, I think as his teeth graze my lips.
And then he palms the tight bundle of nerves between my thighs and I stop thinking altogether.
His fingers fumble with his pants and he bends me over the rail. I’m staring at the ocean as he kicks at my feet, spreading my thighs. I glance over my shoulder to find him watching as he enters me, his face transforming in ecstasy as his cock slides inside. With one thrust he has me weak in the knees. With another I’m little more than the night sky, hanging somewhere near the moon and glimmering with the stars. He grabs my hair, wrapping it around his fist as he pulls my face skyward, changing the angle while I grunt and moan each time our bodies collide.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So perfect. So exactly what I needed.”
And then he’s beyond speaking and it’s just his hands on my body. His fist in my hair.
The rush of the water blends with my moans and then there’s nothing but sensation. Nothing but Nathan.
Nothing but us.
THIRTY-ONE
Nathan
As of the charity auction last week, we officially overshot our financial goal for the adult side of the Reversal of Fortune Foundation. The board gave its perfunctory okay and Aunt Maisie is as excited as I am about this new venture. Next is community outreach and marketing and we’ll finally be able to offer some relief to the people drowning in this hard new world.
My family isn’t worried about me anymore. The concerned glances and fake smiles are gone, as is my general mistrust for humanity at large.
I pull open my closet and flick through a few shirts before a realization stops all movement.
I’m happy. I’m actually happy.
Who would have thought several months with Mina Blake, Hot Mess Express, would give me my life back? I feel comfortable in my skin again. I don’t have to be the villain or learn to play the hand I was dealt. I can just be me. The guy who feels best when he’s giving. And I don’t have to worry about being lied to or taken advantage of. Mina doesn’t want my money. Or my notoriety. She doesn’t want anything from me except me.
I haven’t regretted one thing about letting her into my life. Not one thing. These last six months have been the best of my life.
My phone pings and I smile expectantly.
It’s probably Mina, informing me she’s running late for our dinner date. She and Benjamin have been going over the final plans for my house before we send them to the builders and start purchasing materials.
That right there might be one thing I regret.
That damn lair on a secluded stretch of beach.
I don’t need that much space. Even if I wasn’t living alone.
But Mina and Benjamin are ecstatic about the build, and he swears it’s going to be the thing that gets their business noticed. If that’s true—and I think it might be—then I can’t regret it. Not if it’s the first step to Mina realizing her dreams.
Satisfied, I check my phone.
Fuck.
Not a text from Mina.
It’s another alert on my name. Another article by Fallon fucking Mae. I read the headline and my heart trips, stumbles, and falls flat on its face.
It’s Fake Folks. Nathan West Strikes Again, and Buckle Up, This One is a Doozy.
It’s fake?
It’s fake?
There’s only one thing that article could be about. My relationship with Mina.
Which is not only exceptionally real, thank you very fucking much, but there’s no way Fallon should know about it. Not unless she’s some kind of super sleuth or paid off Mina’s ridiculously good-looking assistant for weekly updates.
Maybe there’s some other part of my life Fallon’s grossly misrepresenting. Unlikely, but a man can hope.
I scan the article and there it is. Laid out in black and white. Everything from the fact that Mina is my interior designer, to the twenty percent increase in payment she negotiated before she agreed to the whole thing in the first place. There’s speculation I bought the dress for the gala because I was embarrassed for Mina to show up in what she could afford followed by innuendo about our dressing room antics. As if that isn’t bad enough, Fallon doubles down on douchebaggery and outright says I’ve been taking advantage of my fame and fortune to cajole Mina into bed, all while keeping my heart at a distance so I can get out of paying her for the fake relationship.
I’m dumbfounded.
The only person who would know so many details is Mina, but this didn’t come from her. There’s no way, especially considering that last part, a gross mistruth if I’ve ever seen one. Maybe someone hacked her diary or eavesdropped on a phone call or…something.
There has to be something.
I refuse to believe Mina would tell anyone this much about our life together. Specifically, a someone she knows I despise.
That’s a Blossom move, and Mina is not Blossom.
“Fuck.” I stand and pace, fists clenching. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I’m going to ruin Fallon Mae. I’m going to find her and make her personally apologize to Mina for spreading lies, then to my family for making them believe something that isn’t true.
I mean it was true.
It isn’t anymore.
There is nothing fake about the way I feel when I’m with Mina. Nothing fake about what I feel for Mina. Nothing at all.
Damn it. This doesn’t help me believe the trust I’m rebuilding in the world is justified. When I find out who’s responsible—
My phone buzzes with a call from Dad and I hurl curse words at the screen.
I can’t talk to him right now. I’m too pissed off. Too confused. Too ready to blow. How in the fuck does Fallon know what she knows? Who’s to blame? Where can I direct my anger? Maybe it’s Dom feeding her information…
I entertain the idea for a minute or two, but no, that’s too despicable, even for him.
The call goes to voicemail and I take half a breath of relief before my phone starts ringing again.
Fuck…
This couldn’t be about the article.
Could it?
With a heavy sigh and my head in my hand, I accept the call. “Hey, Dad.”
“Where are you?”
My father has always been kind and patient. After growing up in a series of foster homes—some good, some terrible—he knew his job as a parent was the most important thing he’d undertake in his life. He drew hard lines when we needed them and wouldn’t let us cross boundaries, but he’s never been harsh. Never made me feel like my slipups meant I was a failure. According to Collin West, missteps are part of the human experience. He made sure all three of his children knew it’s not our mistakes that define us, but what we learn from them.
Tonight, Dad’s voice is sharper than it’s ever been. Clipped and tight and concerned.
“I’m at home,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “For now, anyway. I’m taking Mina to dinner soon.”
Oh, shit. Do I really want to be out in public right now? How many people have read that article? I might lose my shit if I caught anyone staring, or whispering, or laughing…
“What’s up?” I ask, shaking my head and pinching the bridge of my nose.
“There’s something I need to tell you and well…”
There’s an urgency about my dad. Something that has my hair standing on end as goose bumps flare across my skin. A rock settles in the pit of my stomach. My heart races.
“Is everything okay?”
Dad swallows hard. “Nick’s missing.”
“Nick?” My ass hits my mattress before I realized I needed to sit. “Missing…”
“Kara and Wyatt just got the call.”
“When did…how…what do we know?”
“Not much. His unit disappeared sometime last night.”
Disappeared.
So fucking ominous. There’s no certainty. Nothing to do. Nowhere to start looking. He’s just…gone.
“I see,” I say, as calmly as if I was going over an application with one of the ROF caseworkers.
But I’m not calm.
I’m numb. I’m terrified. I’m angry. My heart gallops and my jaw tightens and I want to punch something or break something or fly out to wherever he is and lead the search and rescue team myself. It’s what he’d do for me.
“What can I do?” I’m up, patrolling my room. To the window. Pivot. Pass the bed. To the door. Pivot. To the window…
Nick’s missing.
It’s Fake, Folks!
Nick…
Mina…
Fallon…
It’s Fake…
Fuck! Make it stop!
“The family’s meeting at The Hut,” Dad says, jarring me off the merry-go-round in my head. “There’s not much to do, but we want Kara and Wyatt to know they’re not alone. Maybe answer some questions with everyone together so the rumor mill doesn’t distort the truth. But you know, mostly we just want to be together. If you want to help, that’s the best way.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, my voice echoing through the shock numbing my body, then text Mina to let her know I won’t make dinner tonight, explaining that family stuff came up.
I pause just before I hit send. Could it be her? Is she the one who told Fallon everything? Anger tightens my fists. Fury clenches my jaw. Rage tenses my shoulders and I’m ready to punch and curse and kick and swear. A hurricane of emotion demolishing everything in my path. Mina being Fallon’s source makes too much sense…
Except that would mean Dom’s right and I’ve been an asshole, falling for the same shit twice in a row. And I know in my heart that’s not true.
It’s just not.
“Focus on one disaster at a time,” I murmur to myself.
With a terse nod, I press send then make the drive to The Hutton Hotel, my knuckles white as I grip the wheel.
THIRTY-TWO
Mina
After my argument with Fallon last week, I set an alert on Nathan’s name because I want to know anything and everything she says about him from now on.
I honestly didn’t expect it to go off.
I grit my teeth, preparing for the worst, but hoping for the best.
Fallon is my friend. She might not like Nathan, but she loves me. That should be enough for her to slow down and process what I’ve told her about us. Nathan isn’t a villain. He’s the hero. He’s good for me. Hell, he’s good for anyone who crosses his path. From little kids needing a pep talk before a talent show to full blown adults who need a helping hand, Nathan West is the one reaching out. Maybe Fallon finally heard me.
But then I see the headline.
It’s Fake Folks…
Jaw dropped, I forget all about getting ready for my date with Nathan and scan the story then scan it again. What I read can’t be real.
It’s the article she suggested we write as leverage all those months ago. The one I absolutely didn’t agree to.
As I continue to read, my heart stops. This is worse than I thought. So much worse.
Fallon didn’t just give details of my life, my relationship, things I only shared because I thought they were protected by best friend code.
She embellished.
First, she betrayed my trust, then she doubled down and added speculation as if it were truth. I look bad, but Nathan looks like Asshole of the Year.
My heart pounds so hard I feel my pulse in my ears.
Fallon just ruined everything. My relationship. Our friendship. Hell, maybe even my career. Will Benjamin want anything to do with me after this? They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but I’m not sure he operates like that.
I don’t know who to call first, Nathan to apologize or Fallon to rip her a new one. He’s sure to be a mess, but she deserves to feel my outrage while it’s fresh.
A text comes in just as I pick up my phone to call her.
Nathan
Can’t make dinner. Family stuff. I’m sorry.
Family stuff.
I stare at my reflection in my vanity mirror, distress tightening my brows, my jaw, my lips.
Not only is the text vague, but those choppy sentences end in periods.
Everyone knows a period is bad news.
Shaking my head, I stand and pace my room in frustration. There’s a chance family stuff really did come up. There’s also a chance Nathan read the article and is freaking out and doesn’t want me around.
