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“A noteworthy accomplishment,” he continues, serious, calm, “given that less than twenty-four hours ago you weren’t even working on one.”
I exhale deeply. “Listen, it’s not what you—”
“Will you be leaving your post at the library, or are you planning on a dual career? I’d be worried for your schedule, but I hear that theoretical physics often consists of staring into the void and jotting down the occasional mathematical symbol—”
“I—no. That’snotwhat theoretical physics is about and—” Iscrew my eyes shut. Calm down. Be reasonable. This can be fixed with a simple conversation. “Jack, I’m not a librarian.”
His eyes widen in playacted surprise. “No way.”
“I am a physicist. I got my Ph.D. about a year ago.”
His expression hardens. He steps closer, and I feel like a garden gnome. “And I assume Greg has no idea.”
“He does. I—” Wait. No. I never told Greg about my Ph.D.—because it was irrelevant. “Well, okay. Hedoesn’tknow, but that’s only because—”
“You’ve been lying to him.”
I’m taken aback. “Lying?”
“You’re playing a twisted game with my brother, pretending to be someone you’re not. I don’t know why, but if you think I’m going to let you continue—”
“What? No. This isn’t...” I can’t believe that the conclusion he’s come to is that I’m catfishing Greg.As if.“Icareabout Greg.”
“Is that why you hide things from him?”
“I don’t!”
“What about when you passed out in my arms and begged me not to tell him?”
I wince. “It was notinyour arms, justnearyour arms, and that was—I didn’t want to bother him!”
“What about the fact that you didn’t know he was about to go on a trip.” Jack is icily, uncompromisingly furious at the idea of me mistreating his brother. “You don’t seem to care what his job entails. What his problems are. What hislifeis.”
“Neither does the rest of your family!”
“True.” He scowls. “But irrelevant.”
I almost run a hand down my face before remembering Cece’sRuin your makeup and I’ll skewer you like a shish kebab. God, I’mgoing to have to explain to Jack the concept of fake dating. He won’t believe it’s a real thing—men with nice baritones and hints of tattoos and perfectly scruffy five-o’clock shadows are justnotthe target demographic of Faux. Jack probably has legions of women standing in line for the opportunity to partner-stretch hamstrings with him—let alonerealdate. And what are the chances he won’t use my side gig against me during the interview? Subzero kelvin. “Listen, I know itlookslike I’m lying to Greg, but I’m not. I can explain.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I’m a—” My brain stutters, then freezes as something occurs to me: if I told Jack about the fake dating, I’d be outing not just myself, but also Greg.
Yes, Jack and Greg are close. No, Greg did not tell Jack about Faux, and it’s not my place to do so. I could avoid sayingwhyGreg has decided to hire me, but would that matter? Jack would know that Greg is hiding something. That there’s something to prod, to investigate, and...
“It’s just—I don’t know how my family would take it.” Greg rubs his palm in his eye, looking like he could use a deep-tissue massage and forty hours of sleep. “They might be complete assholes about it or be great or try to be nice and instead end up being massively invasive and... I’d rather not tell them, for now. I’d rather they not know that there’s something to tell.”
I can hear Greg’s words as I glance up. Jack’s dark eyes are stern. Expectant. Inflexible.
I’d rather lick the urinals than tell this guy any of my secrets. “Actually, Ican’texplain, but—”
Two voices—male laughter, loafer steps right outside the bathroom. We both wheel around to the entrance.
“Someone’s coming,” I say unnecessarily. Shit. What if it’s someone from our party? I shoot Jack a panicked look, fully expecting tofind him gloating. Instead his face takes on an urgent, calculating look, and things I donotexpect happen.
His huge hand lifts. Splays across the small of my back. Pushes me toward the closest stall. He wants tohideme?
“What are you—”
