But the place isn’t sterile like so many luxury caves on Instagram. Somehow, he’s made the place feel homey.
Expensive, yes, but homey, nonetheless. The overstuffed furniture doesn’t hurt to sit on, and the tasteful wall art with abstract nature scenes and Japanese-inspired calm don’t make my brain panic, trying to decipher what it is.
My mind is racing for another reason: I have no clue what I’m doing here.
Except deep down, I do, because my dumb ass just signed a contract. My willingness to lie to total strangers—that’s why I’m standing in this man’s elegant condo, listening to his assistant talk.
Hisassistant.
Luis looks like he’s around Brady’s age, handsome and relatable, like he knows how to have a good time and when to get down to business. No accent, but I hear him curse in Spanish under his breath a few times.
I know the feeling.
Pretty sure he wants to be here for scheming up illusions about as much as I do.
At least he doesn’t have as much riding on it.
“Camera ready?” Brady asks once Luis fills me in on the assignment, which is pretty simple today.
A basic introduction.
Smile, act like we’re in love, and he’ll take a video to document it in 4K that will probably show every blemish I’ve had since I was fifteen. Then Brady will make an official post announcing our engagement.
Official.
God.
Again, not a shocker. I literally signed up for this.
My stomach still dives like a hawk with a broken wing.
Engagement. As in, we’re going to be engaged.
Obviously, we know it’s fake, but nobody else does, and we’d better keep it that way.
It’s like having a wish I never made granted. This fast track into the kind of fame I’ve happily avoided until now.
That little taste of notoriety I had with Harry Jay was more than enough to leave me queasy.
Not that this will be like that. That’s what I keep telling myself.
My arrangement with Brady isn’tsleezy. No one’s being duped or tricked into anything against their will.
“All set. Lighting might be better outside,” Luis announces after checking the camera. He waves us out to the balcony.
Of course, Brady has a balcony bigger than some Seattle apartments, spacious seating area and fire pit included.
Pinch me. I need to stop gawking.
As we step through the double doors, the wind slaps my cheek, stirring my hair. But the sun feels lovely on my skin. This is one of those dreamy summer days that makes up for months of slate grey skies and constant rain.
Oh, and the view.
No wonder Luis wanted us outside. I actually recognize the scenery from looking at a few old Insta posts on Brady’s account, but seeing it in person is something else.
Behind us, the whole bay churns with ships, cargo and ferries mingling with sailboats under the gentle watch of the distant mountains.
“We’ll keep it simple, Sass. Straight to the point,” Brady assures me with a gentle hand on the small of my back.
