I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep it locked, thanks.”
Gabriel offers up a half-grin. “Whatever suits you. Have a good night, Spencer.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The door clicks behind him, and I do lock it, but I realize I don’t truly feel the need to. Gabriel wouldn’t actually walk in on me like that. I somehow know.
Unsettled and so tired my eyes hurt, I walk back across the suite and find the bedroom, where I kick my clothes off and collapse on the big mattress.
Thankfully, I fall asleep and stay passed out all the way until six in the morning, when my body naturally yanks me awake with a demand that I get to the gym. The trainer I work with in New York is one of the best, and away from the public at her private gym, she rewards me with a punishing workout, exactly what I need. After some quick drills and a shower, I catch a car to Alyssa’s, meeting her at home for a late breakfast instead of the office so we can have a little more discretion.
Alyssa buzzes me up through the back so I can avoid anyone in the lobby. The door to the condo is cracked open for me when I arrive to her floor, and I shut it behind me as I find her in the kitchen. “I ordered pancakes,” she hollers. “And lots of egg whites and spinach for you!”
I smile to myself as I find her there. She’s dressed for the office already in an extremely stylish yet still somehow casual power suit, light blue. Alyssa’s beautiful. Her copper skin glows, and even just opening a takeout container of pancakes, she’s poised.
She puts a fork down and walks over to me, immediately pulling me into a hug. “I’m so sorry you were outed,” she says.
I take in a deep breath as I hug her back before releasing her and puffing it out. “Thank you. I’m still reeling.”
“Any word from your dad?”
I frown. “Total silence. Although why would I expect anything different? The man has literally never been able to talk about anything that matters. Other than sports.”
Alyssa gives me a sympathetic nod. “That doesn’t make it any easier, though.”
I shake my head. “I’ll deal with him later. Right now, I have a PR disaster that I need to fix so I can get back to actually playing tennis.” I glance to her coffee machine. “Mind if I make some?”
“I’ll have another cup,” she says with a nod. “And you’ll be glad to know that we’re slowly righting the story. Gabriel’s team knows what they’re doing—he’s certainly given them plenty of experience—and we’re opening people to the idea that you aren’t secretly debauched.”
I lean back on the counter. “How long until we can break up?” I ask. “Gabriel has a set onLive & Latenext Saturday. We should already be finished by then, right?”
Alyssa blinks at me. After a second, she squints. “Are you serious?”
My face falls. “Alyssa. How long do I need to pretend that I love Gabriel?”
“My objective opinion is that, if you’d like to rehabilitate your image, six months to a year would be respectable.” She considers it a little more. “I’d plan for a year to be safe.”
I laugh. “Absolutely not. I can’t…” When I see she’s not joking, I sit at a stool and lean on the marble counter top.
“Alyssa, the season starts up soon. I’ll be in tournaments every week or two. I can’t fake a marriage with Gabriel.”
“You’ve faked a relationship before,” she points out as she plates up the food.
Alyssa and I met when she signed me as her PR client, but we quickly became friends. About two years after meeting, our careers rising together, she shared with me that she wasn’t actually single. She was a dominatrix in a relationship with a submissive couple that she saw two nights every week.
Alyssa trusted me enough to open up, and that gave me the strength to come out to her the same night, something I’d only ever done with Brandon, the guy I experimented with. Soon after, it dawned on her in all her PR wisdom that we could actually help each other by providing cover stories, and our long, happy, fake relationship was born.
“Faking a relationship with you was easy,” I tell her as I turn to get the coffee. “Ilikeyou.”
She leans forward. “What’s Gabriel like now that you’re getting to know him better?”
“Cocky.” I fill her mug. “A little bit sarcastic. Not moody or dark, exactly, but cloudy sometimes.” I drum my fingers on the table. “I don’t know. He’s a long-haired rock star who parties all night and canoodles celebrities. He’s essentially my total opposite.”
“Rachel and Ramon were obsessed with his music,” she says, recalling the couple she broke up with a couple years ago. “Ramon would always say the arrangements were quote unquotebrilliant.” She shakes her head, pushing the thought aside. “Do you trust him?” she asks seriously. “The longer you can fake things with him, the better for your image rehab. And god knows, the way people are talking about him, Gabriel has as much on the line as you do. But before you tie yourself to him with a fake marriage, do you trust that he’s going to behave appropriately and not make this worse for you?”
I look up to the ceiling, trying to think objectively. “He’s actually quite sophisticated at handling his public image,” I admit, although I’m a bit resistant to praise him. “And I don’t think he’s a bad person. He’s just…” I twist my mouth, not sure what I want to say. “Yes,” I blurt out. “I trust him, or whatever. If this is what we need to do.”
She arches her eyebrows. “You okay?”
