Page 47 of The Fake Out

“I’ve never been to prison, but my father has. Several times.”

Piper picked up a pen. “His name?”

“Do we really need to talk about him? I haven’t seen or heard from him in three years. He could be anywhere at this point.” Hopefully a Mexican prison. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“His name?” Piper repeated.

“Dale Sampson.” I turned to Chris. “I didn’t think about saying anything sooner. I understand if this is a dealbreaker.”

I wouldn’t beg. I was doing fine on my own before all this came into my life and I’d be fine after it disappeared. But for one moment it had seemed like I was going to get a break.

Without looking away from me, Chris said, “Piper?”

She clicked her pen. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good.” He picked up the forgotten contract. “Let’s get back to this.”

Slowly, I filed through this new packet. Our engagement would last approximately three months, or until my services were no longer needed. I would be required to do interviews, like on television, if the need arose. I couldn’t be seen with any other man (obviously). All transportation and other expenses would be paid. I’d get the money at the end of the three months.

I paused at one of the clauses. “I have to quit Chicky’s?”

“We’ll need you for weekends,” Piper explained. “Plus we’re going for small-town librarian, not Daisy Dukes and push-up bras.”

“But I need that income.” I rubbed my forehead with my fist. “If I’m not getting paid for three months, what am I supposed to do until then?”

“I’ll pay you upfront for the time off,” Chris said. “Will that work?”

“I guess so.”

“You don’t have to quit. You can take a break. I’ll talk to your manager. We’ll work it out.”

I frowned. “No, I’ll talk to my manager. My job, my responsibility. You aren’t here to rescue me. We’re both getting something out of this. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.”

Chris straightened in his seat. “I don’t see why putting a word in would be a bad thing.”

“No,” I said firmly.

We went back to the contract, but I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Chris didn’t get it. I had always taken care of myself. The men I’d had in my life sure hadn’t done it. First, my father. Then Peter. I wasn’t being stubborn; I didn’t need anyone else’s help.

“The PDA Clause?” My eyes darted to Piper.

Piper folded her hands and placed them on the table. “You’re engaged. You need to do engaged people things.”

My stomach dipped. “Like?”

Her gaze moved between the two of us, a patient expression held there. “Well, kids, when two people love each other, they do things like hold hands, touch here or there, kiss.”

Kissing? My brain caught on that word and started to send panicky signals everywhere. Of course, you idiot. You’re fake-engaged. Kissing is what real-engaged people do. Unless they’re part of those weird cults who save their kisses for their wedding day. I wonder if I could convince them I’m in one of those?

“How much PDA are we talking?” I asked.

Piper leaned back in her seat. “I don’t know that it’s something we can really quantify, to be honest.”

“Let’s try,” I said. “To quantify it, that is.”

“I would hope every time you’re seen in public.”

“That seems fair.” Chris nudged me with his shoulder. “Am I that repulsive? I promise I brush my teeth at least once a week and I’ll stop eating garlic cloves but if we come across any vampires, that’s on you.”