And she was … shit. Just as gorgeous as I had remembered.
Dark hair, clearly unbrushed and curling in all directions. A sundress skimming over curves that woke up parts of mybody that had been dormant for … I didn’t want to think about how long. Eyes that I knew were piercing but flickered everywhere in the room but at me. Fingers covered in silver rings that she tapped on the edge of her chair.
‘We are very well, thanks,’ said the woman sitting next to Jessy, a curious look in her dark, almost black eyes, gold eyeliner popping as she swept her box braids over her shoulder.
Derek looked at me and pointed at one of the empty chairs meaningfully.
I could storm out. Rage. Mutter curses, refuse to co-operate, and … never see Jessy again.
I sat down.
‘Now that we’re all happy with the contract –’ Derek began, but he was immediately interrupted.
‘Patrick doesn’t exactly seem like he wants to date me,’ Jessy said archly, picking up the coffee Derek had brought her and sipping at it. ‘In fact,’ she went on, fixing her gaze on me properly for the first time, ‘you look like you’d rather be anywhere else right now.’
Finally, she’d acknowledged me.
Her voice was light – almost a lilt. It was the sort of thing you noticed when you were a singer – the cadence of someone’s voice. Some people’s made me want to rip my ears off, the grating in their tone just painful – but Jessy’s voice was almost melodic.
Didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous. Her photos hadn’t lied – I’d kind of assumed she’d pushed them through a filter or five to give her that carefully freckled look with the wide eyes and rosebud mouth.
Apparently not.
‘Look, I know this hasn’t been the easiest few days foreither of you,’ interrupted Derek hastily, leaning forward across the table. ‘But this is a brilliant opportunity for you both. Patrick dating a normie is –’
‘Excuse you?’
I almost smiled at the outrage on Jessy’s face. It drew her cupid’s bow into perfect relief, and the way she leaned forward made her chest swell just –
Eyes up, Tetlow.
‘Sorry, it’s only – well,’ Derek said, regret colouring his tone. ‘We really need this to work.’
Jessy threw a hand in my direction. ‘He’s Patrick Tetlow. He dates bombshells, real hotties, models, influencers – and in between that he writes some of the best lyrics in the world.’
Do not preen. Do not smile. Do not –
‘And he’s reckless and smashes up hotel rooms and doesn’t care about the consequences. He’s so different to me it’s not even funny,’ Jessy continued, pricking the balloon of my ego with just a few words. ‘How the hell am I supposed to date him?’
‘Fake date him,’ her friend – or lawyer? – said, her curt, professional manner belied by a twinkle in her eye and the half smirk that ghosted across her lips.
‘None of this is real, Ms Donovan – you think half the celebrity pairings on the red carpet are real?’
Jessy blinked. ‘They’re – they’re not?’
‘Babe, don’t be naïve,’ muttered her friend, tapping away at her laptop with a grin.
‘We don’t need front page headlines,’ Derek continued reassuringly.
Jessy seemed placated, the worried furrow between her eyebrows smoothing out. ‘Oh. Good.’
‘Just pages two, four and maybe six in several nationals each week –’
I almost grinned as her outrage spilled out again. ‘I am not going to be – be creatingscenesall over the place just so you can get your headlines!’
Derek stepped in. ‘No, absolutely not, no creating scenes.’
Thank God.
