Hello Fake Boyfriend
Chapter One
Mara
Confession: I’m a romance writer, but I don’t believe in love.
I woke up to snoring. Not my own. The bed wasn’t mine either.
Hayden’s arm rested over my middle, and I gently peeled it off of me, not disturbing his snoring even for a moment.
I rolled out of the bed, landing on my knees, and peeked at him, the better half of his body covered in his mismatched bachelor sheets and blankets. He was good-looking, with his muscles visible even in his relaxed state. And when I tell you he had a package that made up for the snoring...
My phone vibrated from under my clothing, and I lifted up my dress from the night before to see a group call from my best friends, Birdie and Henrietta. “Hello?” I whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” Birdie asked. “Do you have someone over?”
“No, I’m leaving Hayden’s.”
“Now?” Hen asked, stunned. “You have to get ready!”
I pulled the phone back, glancing at the time. “I have plenty of time. My girl at Sephora said she’d do my hair and makeup for the show.”
“Nice,” Birdie said. “I take it Hayden won’t be coming along to support you.”
I slipped my dress over my head. “Ha ha.” I snagged my heels and tiptoed out of his room. As the snoring continued, I slipped on the heels and walked out the front door, locking the handle behind me.
“So how are you feeling?” Henrietta asked. “Nervous?”
“Not really.” Warm summer wind wrapped around my body, lifting my hair and the edges of my dress. The sun was bright, and the whole world felt full of my energy. “It feels like my whole life has been leading up to this moment.”
I could hear a smile in Henrietta’s voice. “I love your confidence. I’m not so sure I’d be that brave on stage.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so brave working with a bunch of high schoolers or managing a bunch of crazy renters. We all have our talents.”
They laughed and Birdie said, “True.”
“I wish I could be there,” Henrietta said. “You’re going to be amazing.”
“No big deal. You can always catch the replay online. They said they’re streaming it live.” I reached my pickup and opened the door to get in. The car salesman I bought it from had tried to sell me on something smaller and sleeker. Perhaps something to fit car seats in later, he’d said. All I’d done was laugh. I loved sitting behind the wheel of my single cab truck, feeling like I owned the road. Plus, between the bed and the long seat, I had plenty of room to do whatever and whomever I wanted.
It easily fired up, and I asked Birdie, “How did Cohen feel about cutting the honeymoon short so you could make it back in time? You didn’t have to do that, by the way.”
“Girl, please, we’re going to be married forever. We’ll have plenty of chances to take all-inclusive vacations in Cancun. My best friend only goes live on television to talk about her first movie deal once.”
“True,” I admitted, driving down the now familiar roads of Brentwood, California, toward my favorite Sephora. I’d been so lucky to get this deal, and even luckier that the studio was already in talks for a sequel. “I know it’s crazy to say for someone who doesn’t even have a GED, but I feel like I was made for this.” I wanted every girl who grew up like I did, being told she was too sexy or promiscuous or too much in general, to know that she deserves to live life the way she wants. “It’s like my life’s purpose is finally coming true, even if it took me thirty years to get here.”
“Some people never find that,” Birdie said. “We’re so lucky.”
I grinned. “I’m lucky to have you both.” I pulled into the Sephora parking lot and stopped the truck. “I’ve got to get beautified, but I’ll see you at the studio, Birdie?”
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
Henrietta added, “We can all celebrate how great it went tonight.”
We hung up, and I went inside, ready for the transformation of a lifetime. Kell, the girl who’d managed to sell me hundreds of dollars of just-right products greeted me with a hug and a kiss and a “tsk tsk tsk.” Okay, so maybe staying up late with Hayden hadn’t done my under-eye any favors.
She got to work, barely pausing to talk as she cleaned my face and washed my hair and balanced my skin tone and curled away until I looked as good as I ever had in my life.
“Oh my gosh.” I gently fluffed the waves in my hair. “It looks amazing.”
Kell smirked. “Better than that topknot.”
“Hey.” I pointed at her. “No knocking the topknot. It’s a vital part of my uniform.”
“You work from home.”
“Exactly.” I grinned. “My boss is such a hard-ass.”
She shook her head at me, laughing. “Good luck today. The girls and I are going to watch it on my phone. It’s the first time one of us has styled someone for TV.”
“You did amazing,” I said, giving her a hug. I was still wearing my dress from the night before, so I hurried home, changed, and started the drive to the television studio on the outskirts of LA. It was about a forty-five-minute drive, which gave me plenty of time to go over the talking points in my head.
My publicist, Charlotte Cado, had written them for me in case I got nervous. At this point, they were just as ingrained as how to give a good hand job.
• Swipe Right is a sexy romance showing the good, bad, and ugly of online dating in your thirties.
•
• Swiping right makes it seem so easy! But that’s when the real work begins.
•
• Have you ever texted with a man? It makes you wonder about the last time they took a spelling class!
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• When you find the one, you always have to be careful! If it’s too good to be true, it probably smells like catfish in real life!
•
My GPS guided me toward the studio entrance, blockaded by a red and white security gate. Once I told the guard who I was, he lifted the gate, telling me where to park.
As I followed his directions to the back parking lot, I couldn’t help but think the outside of the building wasn’t glamorous at all—dirty and smelly, just like any other part of LA.
But there were three shining spots there in that parking lot. Birdie, my agent, Jenny Nash, and my publicist, Charlotte Cado.
Birdie was already out of her car, leaning on the tailgate, looking fabulously tan and blissfully happy. Jenny stood next to her in a sleek black suit that was all business. They couldn’t have been more opposite. Charlotte, on the other hand, was still in her Range Rover, the windows so tinted no one could even hope to see inside...
(Mental note: Get window tinting for pickup. Immediately.)
As soon as I got out of the pickup, Birdie rushed me, giving me a big hug. Jenny followed her, saying hello, and Charlotte got out of her vehicle, placing expensive sunglasses atop her head.
Charlotte looked absolutely horrified. “What are you wearing?”
I glanced down at my green dress. What was she talking about? This thing had been tailored to the hilt to keep the girls in, not to mention it would have cost an entire month’s rent at my first apartment in LA. “Do I have a spot somewhere?”
“It’s green!” she cried. “Didn’t I send you a dressing guide?”
“You said jewel tones,” I replied. “Last I knew, emerald is a jewel.”
She covered her face with her hands. “You’re going to be in front of a green screen. You’ll just disappear!”
Shit. “My first debut on television cannot be as a floating head!” I cried. “I don’t have time to go back home!”
Charlotte paced back and forth, somehow staying steady on the asphalt in her little kitten heels. “We don’t have time to change.” Then she stopped, looking between Birdie and me. “Are you the same size?”
“I’m a twenty-two,” I said. “That’s four sizes bigger than her.”
Birdie glanced down at her bright yellow dress. It looked like an oversized Hawaiian shirt, which was adorable on her, but for me?
“You have to,” Charlotte said. “I’d give you the clothes off my back but...”
“They won’t fit,” I finished, clenching my teeth. “Let us in your car.”
Charlotte popped the trunk, and Birdie and I climbed in the pristine back. As soon as it closed behind us, I muttered, “Not my favorite reason to get undressed in the back seat.”
Birdie giggled. “This has to go in a book.”
“You know it will,” I said, handing over my dress. “You know, once enough time has passed that it’s actually funny and not devastating.”
“I know my clothes aren’t your style. I wish I would have thought to wear something cooler, but I got it on vacation and I—”
“Zip it,” I said, turning my back to her so she could zip up the back of her dress I was now wearing. “You are beautiful, and I love your style, and I’m just glad you didn’t wear green too. We were always accidentally matching when we were roommates.”
“Oh my gosh, I remember that.” She adjusted the collar of my dress. “Let’s get inside?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a grin. We walked toward the entrance and Charlotte said, “We’ll see if they can focus the cameras on your face.”
That was code for yellow is not your color. Noted.
The second we got through the doors and Charlotte told the receptionist who we were, everything seemed to speed up. Or at least that’s how I saw it with all the stars in my eyes. Before I even knew it, I was standing on the wings in my friend’s gaudy yellow dress and trying to take deep breaths.
Birdie rubbed my shoulders. “You’re going to do amazing.”
Jenny nodded. “Your books are going to fly off the shelves.”
Charlotte was all business. “Just stick to the talking points we went over, and you’ll do fine.”
A producer wired up in a way that couldn’t be fun outside of the bedroom approached us and said, “You’re on in sixty.”
My pulse quickened. It all felt so real, standing here in the wings, waiting to be interviewed, to announce a movie being made about my books. Something I’d created in my own mind. The premiere was only six months away, and it still didn’t feel real. My dad used to tell me I was worthless. That I’d never amount to anything.
“You’re on,” the producer said.
My dad was wrong.
The studio audience cheered for me as I walked toward the open seat across from Mia Parker, television host and my ticket to the daytime spotlight.
“Hi, Mia!” I said, going to give her a hug.
She wrapped her slender arms around me, then stepped back and took me in. “I love the dress! Are we the last stop before the beach?”
“Nothing like drinking mai tais in the sand, right?”
She laughed. “Count me in.” Gesturing toward the open chair, she said, “Sit, let’s chat!”
I did as she asked, carefully crossing my legs so nothing would be videoed through the slit in the oversized Hawaiian shirt.
Mia leaned toward the audience like I might lean in toward Birdie and Henrietta at Wednesday morning breakfasts. “We have the fabulous Mara Taylor here today to talk about her book, Swipe Right, which is being turned into a movie!”
The audience applauded me, and I soaked it all in. The spotlight felt like a hot stone massage on my skin. Never had I ever felt so glamourous in my life, and that included the girls’ trip Birdie and I took to Tulum after my first five-figure month as an author, where we had spa days and sat on the beach getting margaritas delivered every hour on the hour.
“Tell us about the book, Mara,” Mia said.
I grinned into the camera, spouting a talking point I’d practiced on the way. “Swipe Right is a sexy romance showing the good, bad, and ugly of online dating in your thirties.”
“Lord help us,” Mia said, doing the sign of the cross over her chest. “Dating in your thirties is like a minefield, isn’t it?”
I laughed. “I haven’t been thirty long, but so far, there’s been plenty to enjoy, if you know what I mean.”
Mia rocked back, clapping her hands together. “So that’s what we can expect from your stories? Good sex and a happily ever after?”
“And a few laughs in between,” I added with a smile.
“How much of your fiction is inspired by your life?” Mia asked.
This was so fun, like talking to a friend. So I shared maybe a little more than I should have. “The good sex part? Very similar. The happily ever afters? Not a chance.”
Mia’s eyebrows rose. “What? A romance writer who hasn’t had her own happily ever after?”
“My version of an HEA is walking out of a store with a pair of Jimmy Choos paid in full.”
The audience laughed, but Mia narrowed in. “Now, Mara, how are we supposed to read about romance from a woman who doesn’t believe in love?”
I didn’t like that insinuation, that my fiction was somehow less valid because of my personal life. “The book’s fiction, Mia, it’s not a memoir.”
“But you must believe in love. I know you’re single now, but hasn’t there ever been anyone you could see yourself spending forever with?”
“What I believe in, really believe in, is a woman’s right to unapologetically chase after whatever she wants, whether it’s sexual pleasure or a career or lifelong friendship. Love is a nice concept to think about and dream of, but the reality is it doesn’t happen for everyone.”
Mia rocked back, then clapped her hands together and faced the audience. “There you have it, folks, a romance author who doesn’t believe in love, cashing in on women’s dreams. I’ll see you after this commercial break.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but it was already too late. Mia was getting off her chair, walking off the stage. “What was that, Mia?” I demanded, following her.
She turned toward me, disappointment in her eyes. “I’ve been reading your books for the last five years... Finding out that you don’t believe in what you wrote... it’s like finding out Santa isn’t real all over again.”
It wasn’t my fault she was holding on to false promises sold to her by greeting card companies. “So you admit, believing in love is like believing in Santa Claus.”
She shook her head slowly and walked away.
I watched her go until Charlotte grabbed my shoulder and said, “Mara, we have a problem.”
“What?” I asked, dread filling every pore of my body.
“The studio canned talks for a second movie.”
