She took a sip of the wine, but I barely touched my own. The reminder of Derek, the bullshit contract and the fact that Jessy was only here for the clout all soured my mood further.
Was every woman in my life determined to hurt me?
‘God, it’s so nice not to be working in the middle of the day,’ Jessy said brightly. ‘I mean, you’d think working infinance would be all fancy lunches and day-drinking, but it turns out not.’
‘You wanted to talk,’ I said woodenly, my patience for small talk low.
Jessy nodded as she took another sip. ‘Yeah, I just – after our first date, I thought –’
‘It wasn’t a date,’ I pointed out. ‘Not really.’
Was it rude? Perhaps. Was it unnecessary? For sure. But I needed the reminder. Any desire I felt, any connection that seemed real here, was anything but. This was a woman who was only out for what she could get.
Cassie. Celine. Jessy. They were all the same.
‘Yeah, I know that, obviously,’ Jessy continued without pause. ‘It’s just – this fake dating.’ She lowered her voice, and I resisted the urge to lean closer to hear her. The pub wasn’t that loud, but her perfume was intoxicating. Or maybe that was just her. ‘I think we need to work on it. Don’t you?’
Work on it?
I blinked. What the hell was she talking about?
Confusion must have been painted on my face, because she flushed – and it travelled from her cheeks down to her shoulders. How had I not noticed that before?
‘It’s just, well, if we’re going to convince people that this –’ Jessy gestured between the two of us, the three silver rings on her right hand glinting – ‘is real, we need to start acting like we actually like each other.’
Her gaze was steady, her point reasonable, and I wanted to stride away and punch Derek in the gut.
‘Do you see what I mean?’ Jessy prompted, sipping her wine and smiling at me a little nervously. ‘I mean, you saw Derek’s email.’
I blinked. Derek’s email?
‘Or not …’ Her smile was a little too knowing. ‘Look, here.’
Jessy pulled out her phone and tapped on it before she handed it over. The screen was open at a long, desperate email from my publicist.
Well, great. The two of you are a disaster – you didn’t see the photographer outside that restaurant, did you? No, I guess not. The pair of you look miserable, you’re not even holding hands. Do you understand what fake dating is? Heck, do you even understand what dating is? Because it doesn’t seem like it from here.
The label isn’t happy. I’m not happy. You two are clearly unhappy – but that’s your own fault.
Get better at this. Hold hands. Smile as though you mean it. Get coffee together, wear Patrick’s jacket – something, for God’s sake.
Here’s a list of the ways this needs to go.
I stopped reading at that point. ‘He doesn’t seem happy.’
‘No, he’s not.’ Jessy’s voice was wry as she held out her hand for her phone. ‘So we’ve got to be … well, better at this.’
I leaned back, drink still untouched. ‘So you’re saying that I need to be a better boyfriend?’
There it was again. That flush. Only now it was reaching her chest and –
‘I’m just saying, Derek seems pretty insistent we –’
‘Because I don’t remember being particularly wowed by your dating skills,’ I lied, forcing my gaze back up to her face.
Jessy’s smile vanished. ‘Me? What did I do?’
‘You weren’t charm itself. Your conversational skills –’
