Page 136 of Pretend To Be Mine

“You must be starving,” he said. “I know I am.”

“I just want to go home.”

“And stew alone? No. You need pancakes.”

I did need pancakes. With thick syrup and an unhealthy amount of butter.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to feel like a zoo animal.”

“Nobody will bother you there. There’s no tourists, and New Yorkers don’t give a shit who anyone is.”

The diner was a hole in the wall in Queens, the kind of place that still had vinyl booths and laminated menus. Chris was right. Nobody looked twice at us. I was just another exhausted woman in oversized sunglasses, and Chris was just another guy getting breakfast.

I ordered pancakes. Then more pancakes. Then a side of bacon and hash browns because why not? My life was already a disaster. Might as well add carbs to the list.

“So,” Chris said carefully, watching me drown my third pancake in syrup. “I have a general idea what’s happening. But maybe you should explain. In your own words.”

I pulled out my phone, found Clara’s interview, and slid it across the table. Hit play.

Chris watched, his expression shifting from curious to confused to something I couldn’t quite read.

“Wait,” he said when it finished. “Why is Claire talking about you on the news?”

“Claire?” I peered over to make sure he had watched the right video.

He pointed at the screen. “Claire. That’s Claire.”

“That’s not Claire. That’s Clara Moreau.” I took my phone back. “International supermodel and thundercunt extraordinaire. You don’t know her.”

“Know her?” Chris’s face went pale. “I slept with her.”

I choked on my orange juice. “What?”

“Yeah. Like two days ago. She was at a party I went to with Carl. He invited me at the last minute. She was there and we hit it off.” He looked dazed. “I knew I was punching above my weight but a supermodel? That’s definitely going in my diary.”

Ice flooded my veins. “Chris, are you sure this is the same woman?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll never forget her.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Did you tell her anything about me?”

“Of course not.” He paused. “Well, I mean, I mentioned you had this great job lined up at Blackwell. You know, because you’re engaged to Adrian and everything.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me? You were the one who leaked it to her?”

“I didn’t leak anything! We were just talking. Post-sex talking, you know how it is.” He stopped talking and looked at me, clearly just realizing I was furious. “Elizabeth, I swear, I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“That’s the problem. You didn’t think.” My voice was rising, other diners starting to glance over. “You didn’t stop to think for one second why a supermodel would be interested in you?”

“Hey, I’m not exactly a two. I’m not a ten, but shit, can we save some of my ego?”

“Not after what you did.”

He deflated. “Okay, yeah, I did wonder. She was gorgeous and all the guys were looking at her. I didn’t realize she was famous. She didn’t look like that.” He pointed at my phone. “She barely had makeup on and was dressed in chill clothes.”

I continued to glare at him.

“Fine, I did think it was a little odd. Thought maybe she’d try to steal my kidneys or something. But sometimes in life you have to take risks for beautiful women.”