I used to have a poster of this guy on my bedroom wall when I was a teenager. His face was briefly my phone’s home screen wallpaper. I once asked Mum if I could have a birthday cake with Jett’s face on it; and, okay, she just ignored me and got me a Teletubbies cake instead — and I was 17 at the time. But even so. The intent was there. Which means that in my late teens, when Jett’s first movie came out, I would have literallyeaten him upon a cakeif I possibly could have.
And now I’m being offered money todatehim?
“Well, topretendto date me. It wouldn’tactuallybe a date, obviously.”
Jett’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and at first I think he must have somehow read my mind before I remember the question I asked him.
“Okay, so I’d get paid, and you’d get to have a shot at this movie you’re into,” I say, licking my dry lips. “And that’s it? That’s the deal? What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Jett replies wearily. “Other than the fact that it’s completely fucking ridiculous, obviously.”
I stand up and walk over to the glass wall opposite, and stand there looking out at the city, my mind whirring.
Getting into a fake relationship would, as Jett says, be “completely fucking ridiculous”. That is, indeed, a catch. It’s not, however, theonlycatch in this bizarre plan. There is another one: and it’s currently sitting on the sofa behind me, looking like it would rather be anywhere else but here.
The catch is Jett Carter — and the fact that, if I go ahead with this, there’s a very strong chance of me falling in love with him. Not in his present state, obviously. I’m safe enough from himnow. But I know what he looks like under that beard. I know what he looks like on the red carpet, in a tuxedo and a bow tie. I know what he looked like inWolf, when he played a sexy werewolf, and the critics all said his career was over, but the fans went absolutelywild.
I should probably try not to think about that right now. Or, you know,ever.
I’m worried I’d fall in love with him. That pretending to be his girlfriend would feel real to me, even though it would be fake. Pretend. Not real. Not true. It’d be like that time Emerald Taylor from my hometown pretended to be someone else so she could date the local Laird (Sorry, long story…), only not really, because Emerald actuallydidend up dating the local Laird. And I will definitelynotend up dating Jett Carter. I’ll just pretend to: an idea so alien to me that I can’t even begin to get my head around it.
“Is there anything else you want to ask me?” Jett asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I turn and look at him speculatively.
“Yeah,” I say at last. “There is.”
He raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“Do you have one of those really huge walk-in pantries?” I ask in a rush. “Like Khloe Kardashians? And can I see it, if you do?”
Chapter 10
“And, yeah, that’s a shelf for cereal. I guess. I don’t really come in here much, to be honest.”
Jett and I are standing inside the pantry of my dreams, and it’s even better than I imagined it would be. Every kind of pasta under the sun, all neatly arranged in labeled glass jars. A full section just for condiments. So many different types of candy it’s like an old-fashioned sweet shop — or the Cracker Barrel Old Country Store.
Iloveit.
“You’re seriously interested in this?” Jett asks, scratching his head. “A pantry?”
“Oh God, yes,” I breathe, running my hand along one of the shelves. (This one contains a selection of teas and coffees. I want to inhale it.) “I grew up in chaos, basically. Organization is like therapy to me.”
Jett looks at me curiously, but before he can comment on this, the pantry door swings open, and Grace’s surprised face peeks around it.
“Oh, there you are,” she says, trying not to look surprised to find us surrounded by pasta. “Asher asked me to come and find you. He’s waiting in the other room.”
My stomach somersaults, like it’s doing a trick.
“You ready to face the music, Lady M?” Jett asks quietly, as we follow Grace back down the gleaming marble hallway to where Asher’s waiting for us. “You worked out what you want to do?”
I shake my head, wishing I hadn’t taken Jett’s offer to help myself to the candy in the jars back there quite so literally.
“Nope,” I say, shrugging. “Got any suggestions for me?”
Jett shakes his head firmly.
“Uh-uh,” he says, as we reach the doors to the living room. “The ball’s in your court, Alexandra. It’s totally up to you.”
