Chapter 14

CHAPTER14

SCARLETT

“Thank God you’re here. I need your help,” I say to my best friend the moment I open the door.

Rachel’s expression is serious as she pushes past me and enters the foyer. “You call, I’ll always show up. You know this.”

I appreciate her loyalty, and that’s why it’s so hard to keep such a big secret from her. Because this one is big.

Major.

And I can’t ever tell her the truth.

Or . . . can I? After all, I haven’t signed the NDA yet. We’re meeting with the lawyers tomorrow afternoon and signing all the paperwork. I’ve already looked over the rough draft that the lawyer I hired sent to me earlier, and while most of it is a bunch of legal terms that I don’t understand at all, I get the gist of it.

One of the things that stood out was that I’ll need to post regularly about my relationship with Tate, and all the posts must be, of course, positive. They even came up with a schedule and topic ideas.

Here’s the deal—I don’t want to be told what to do or how to do it. Guidance is okay, but I’ve been on social media for quite a while now. I know how to do this, probably just as well as or even better than anyone on their publicity and marketing team. My only concern is navigating this so-called relationship and making sure my posts and my portrayal of the two of us appear real instead of fake.

It blows my mind how my social media follower count is still growing like crazy. Our very public relationship is totally working. Tate informed me he’s already signed a contract just for “Red” and Irresistible is releasing it as an official single by the end of the week. Everyone loves it, and even I have to admit it’s a great song.

Even if he does sing about me giving him head. Something I’ve never done before in my life.

I’m sheltered, what can I say?

Being seen in public with Tate, kissing Tate. Photos from our conversation out on the city sidewalk started circulating on the web before I even made it back home. Tate sent me a text with the best photo out of all of them, accompanied by a simple, one-sentence message.

Tate: We look good together.

After staring at the photo for so long, I couldn’t help but agree with him.

I didn’t mention the photos to my parents, but I know they knew. The suspicious looks Mom has been sending my way ever since they came out tell me she’s dying to say something, but for whatever reason, she’s keeping quiet. So is my father.

Very unusual for the both of them.

Thankfully, both of my parents went out earlier, leaving me all alone. The moment they were gone, I was texting Rachel and basically begging her to come over. And like the good best friend that she is, she immediately showed up, her hair still damp from a shower and with no makeup on her pretty face.

If you know Rachel at all, you understand this is an unusual circumstance. She pretty much dropped everything and came right over.

“Is everything okay?” she asks as we head toward my bedroom.

“Yes,” I assure her, noting the sympathetic look she sends my way. I’m guessing from the urgency of my message and how quick she arrived, she probably thought I was devastated over this entire situation. My normal behavior is probably reassuring.

Deep down, I know I’m going to confess all to Rachel. I need to get this off my chest, and she’s been able to stay quiet. Sharing it with her will ease some of this tension bubbling up inside of me. It’s eating me up, and I’ve only held on to this secret for less than twenty-four hours.

I would never make a good poker player. Or liar. It’s just too hard.

“I’ll tell you everything when we get to my bedroom,” I suggest, and she increases her pace, which almost makes me laugh. I know she’s eager to hear what I have to say.

By the time we’re in my room and I have the door shut behind me, she’s practically hopping in place where she stands, she’s so amped up.

“Tell me what’s going on now,” she demands.

I clear my throat. “Give me a minute. I need to lead up to it first.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t send me a cryptic text and expect me to ask you how the weather is first.”

“It’s hot,” I say, trying to get under her skin. Also trying to extend this moment as I scramble to come up with the proper way to make my announcement. “Might have to skip going to the Hamptons in August, though.”

That last part is true, after I sign that agreement.

“Ugh. You’re so annoying when you have a secret.” She collapses on the edge of my bed, contemplating me with a scowl. “Just tell me already. Oh, wait, let me guess. That’s way more fun, because I can come up with some pretty wild theories. Did you finally have sex with Ian?”

“Absolutely not.” God, Ian. I should probably tell him that Tate and I are official, especially before it’s announced.

But how is that going to work? When will I ever get a chance? He hasn’t answered my texts lately. Meaning he’s probably avoiding me after that mini tantrum I had at dinner with his family, which is totally stupid on his part. No one could blame me for acting like that, thanks to his bitch of a mother.

He never even blinked an eyelash over her behavior. Never came to my defense once. Maybe Tate is right.

Ian Baldwin is a complete idiot.

“Okay, fine, so you had sex with Tate Ramsey then.” I’m about to shout out a resounding no, but her eyes narrow and her mouth keeps moving. “You’re lucky you reached out to me now. I saw the latest photo of the two of you kissing on the sidewalk, and my immediate thought was, ‘That bitch didn’t even tell me she was going to meet up with him!’ You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I didn’t know we were going to meet up,” I offer weakly. “It just sort of . . . happened.”

“Yet you didn’t think to call and tell me about it?”

“I did. I texted you this morning, right after my parents left,” I stress.

Rachel taps her finger against her pursed lips, contemplating me. “You never denied having sex with Tate. Which is making me hope you actually did, and if that really happened, I need details, like, right now.”

“Hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t have sex with Tate.” I look her straight in the eyes, my gaze never wavering, because I need her to know I didn’t have sex with him. Not even close.

Like I would just give it up to him that easily. I barely know the guy. Not even that sure if I actually like him. He’s tolerable.

I suppose.

Attractive. Can’t deny that.

Kissing him isn’t a hardship, and despite everyone raving over our latest photos, I have to admit I didn’t really feel that much when our lips connected. Not like I did the first time. Maybe that was because it had been such a spontaneous move on my part, but the second one out on the street, when I was irritated with him?

Meh. Not impressive.

“God, I’m so disappointed, but then again, not surprised either. You’re not that type of person,” Rachel says just before she actually yawns.

I’m kind of offended.

And a little hurt.

“What, I’m boring?”

“You’re definitely not boring,” she rushes to say, reaching out to grab hold of both my hands. Like she needs to reassure me. “I’ve never thought you were boring. You’re my best friend. Why would I want to spend time with you if you bored me?”

Valid question, but . . .

“The yawn threw me off,” I admit, my voice small. “That and you having zero expectations that I would do something so wild, like, I don’t know—have sex with a celebrity.” I shrug, feeling stupid I just admitted all of that. “Ignore me. I’m feeling insecure.”

An exasperated noise escapes her. “Only you would feel insecure when you have a hot man seemingly chasing you every chance he gets. A hot, sexy man who women are screaming over while he wrote a song about you. Like, Scarlett, get the fuck out of here with your insecurities. That man is into you, and you act like it’s no big deal.”

“But—”

“Every single time I go online—which is often, we both know this—there’s another post about the two of you. A video. Twenty videos. New photos. More mentions of the song. The lyrics—which are all about you—though I’m guessing some of them are a lie, like the blow job mention. Did your parents ask you about that yet?”

I shake my head, miserable. I didn’t even think about what they might say after hearing those lyrics. “It’s not like I’ve ever done much.”

“With Tate? Or in general?”

“You already know the answer to that.” I send her a meaningful look. I keep nothing from Rachel.

Not really.

“Listen, he kissed you again out in public, on the freaking street. If that isn’t a declaration of ‘Hey, I like you—wanna go back to my place and do it?’ then I don’t know what is,” Rachel stresses.

I burst out laughing. Only Rachel would put it like that.

“What?” She shrugs, her smile telling me she’s pleased by my reaction. “It’s true.”

“Well, what if I told you that I’m actually dating Tate Ramsey?”

“I’d say you’re full of shit.” She’s still smiling.

“What if I said I wasn’t lying?”

Her smile fades, her eyes growing wider by the second. “Don’t fuck with me, Scarlett. I won’t take this joke well.”

“I’m not messing with you. It’s not a joke.” I shake my head. “I’m telling you the truth. Tate and I . . . we’re kind of together.”

The look on her face is straight out of a cartoon. I wouldn’t be surprised if her eyeballs fell out of her head, attached by springs that bounced up and down. “What did you just say?”

“Ever since the night of my party, I’ve been talking to Tate Ramsey.” This is sort of the truth.

“You two are actually a couple?” she squeaks.

I nod, wringing my hands together, desperate to blurt out the truth. “I’m totally into him.”

Rachel is quiet for a moment, as if she needs the time to absorb what I’m saying. “What does Ian think about this?”

“Who cares what Ian thinks?”

“You do. You always do. He’s at the front of your mind at all times.”

“Not anymore.” I proceed to tell her about the dinner with Ian’s family. By the time I finish, Rachel is fired up, ready to slay the dragon lady, direct quote.

“Fuck that bitch!” Rachel’s face is red, she’s so angry. “Why was she so mean to you? Has she always treated you that way?”

“Not to my face, though now that I think about it, she did always treat me like I was invisible.” I never got much acknowledgment from his mother, and at the time, I didn’t take that as a bad sign.

But now the outward hostility is telling me she’s not a fan.

The sly smile on Rachel’s face makes me forget all about mean mothers and their weak sons. “My God, this is just . . . crazy. Tate? Ramsey? Tate freaking Ramsey! I absolutely love it. You deserve all the public make-out sessions and private sex lessons that he gives you. Seriously! What a story to tell your grandchildren someday! That you had a relationship with one of the most popular members of a successful boy band!”

When she puts it like that, I don’t know if it sounds that great. “Like I’d tell my grandchildren my sexual escapades from when I was a teen.”

“God, you’re no fun! But you did say ‘sexual escapades,’ so you’re giving me hope.” Rachel laughs, and I can’t help it.

I laugh too.

“Tell me how all of this came about.” When I frown at her, Rachel continues, “You and Tate. Actually ending up together. Like I said, I need every detail. Don’t spare a single one.”

“It just sort of . . . happened. You know? After the kiss?”

I leap off my bed and start pacing around my room, picking up a bottle of perfume my mother gave me for my birthday before I set it back down. I haven’t even opened it yet. I have no idea what it smells like. I’ve been slowly losing my mind since the night of that stupid party, and I hate how stressed I feel. Restless and confused, the weight of the world pressing down on me, like I’m doing a very, very bad thing and I’m going to get caught.

And once I get caught, I’ll have to deal with the consequences.

“Like, did he text you constantly, and were you guys sneaking around the last few days in costumes so no one recognized you? Or really him. Truly the both of you. You guys are everywhere.”

“No costumes,” I murmur with a slight shake of my head.

“He came over here, then, and hung out. That’s how you two got to know each other.”

Tate came over once. And I promptly kicked him out.

But I probably shouldn’t mention that.

I remain quiet for so long that Rachel eventually lets out a big sigh, her gaze shrewd when it lands on me.

“No offense, Scarlett, and you are my very best friend in the whole world, but I’m finding all of this hard to believe—the two of you together. That you’re totally into Tate Ramsey and want to be with him.”

“You said I should be into him. That he’s sexy and irresistible and I should have a total fling with him,” I point out.

“Right, but I know you. And despite my telling you that Ian is a big ol’ loser who doesn’t deserve you, you’ve still given him chance after chance. You always told me you were in love with him, and now, boom, you’re with some other guy you don’t even really know? Come on, be real with me for a second. This isn’t like you. You were complaining about Tate the night of your party, and now you two are a couple? It’s more believable that I hooked up with him versus you.” Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Rachel, please.” I lift my chin, trying to keep it from trembling. I’m on the verge of tears. Like I could collapse and confess my sins at any moment. “Are you calling me a . . . liar?”

“No, of course not! I just—you have to admit this is kind of wild.”

“Well, believe it. There is proof everywhere. All of those photos and social media posts. They talk about us on Good Morning America, for God’s sake.” I grab my phone and bring up a gossip site that features the photo of Tate and me kissing on the sidewalk right on the front page. I hold the phone out to her so she can look at it. “See? We’re together.”

Rachel snatches the phone from me and brings it close to her face, her eyes narrowing the longer she studies the photo. Finally she glances up at me, her gaze locked on me, her voice serious when she says, “Tell me the truth, Scarlett. Is this for real?”

I plop onto the bed next to her, flopping onto my back so I can stare up at the ceiling. “Of course it’s real.”

Even I can hear how false my voice sounds. Almost like I’m trying to convince myself?

Yeah, I’m definitely trying to convince myself, and Rachel.

Pretty sure I’m failing miserably.

We’re both quiet for a moment, the air becoming downright stifling the longer we’re silent, and just when I’m about to break, she speaks.

“I still don’t believe you.”

Sitting up, I nudge my shoulder against hers. “Why not?”

“Because the last time we talked, you were still fuming over Tate being a show-off and yearning for Prince Ian to finally notice you. You were downright pissed that those photos of you together at the party were spreading everywhere, despite it bringing you all sorts of attention, which is exactly what you’ve been wanting for what feels like forever.” Rachel rolls her eyes. “You don’t switch your feelings that quick, Scarlett. You’re loyal to a fault.”

I put on a brave face, my smile tremulous, my eyes most likely giving me away. “I can change my mind. Look at Tate. You told me that you thought Tate was a gorgeous human being.”

“He is. He’s so freaking gorgeous.” She sits up straighter and starts twisting a lock of blond hair around her finger. “I’m jealous of the fact that you got to him first. Do you think he’s a homie hopper? Would he be interested in me?”

I can’t stop blinking at her, trying to compute the words that she just said. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Aha!” She thrusts her index finger into my face. “If you cared about this guy at all, if you were really into him, you would’ve immediately told me to back off.”

My shoulders sag. There’s no use in pretending any longer. Deep down, I knew I’d give in and tell her anyway. “Fine. You’re right. I’m not interested in Tate. Not like . . . that.” I wrinkle my nose. “But I’ve agreed to be his fake girlfriend for the next six weeks.”

Now it’s her turn to blink at me, her lips parting as if she’s trying to find the words to speak yet can’t quite come up with them. “Wait a minute. That just took a serious turn.”

I nod. “We’re meeting to sign the paperwork tomorrow.”

“Paperwork?” Rachel asks, her voice weak. “What, like an NDA?”

“Definitely an NDA. And whatever other legal paperwork they’re requiring to make this agreement airtight,” I tell her. “So I guess I’m not breaking it yet since I haven’t signed anything, right?”

“Right.” Rachel leaps to her feet and starts pacing around the room, her expression nothing short of puzzled. “Why in the world would you agree to this, Scarlett? You don’t like this guy. Or at least, that was the vibe I was picking up off you during your party.”

She’s right. I didn’t particularly care for him that night. At first. But when we ended up getting caught by the photographer, he seemed so . . . vulnerable. Like everything was riding on that performance and he just wanted one more chance for someone—lots of someones—to see him.

I understand where he’s coming from. I feel it in the very depths of my soul. I just want to be seen, so I guess we have that in common.

“Sometimes I think I sort of feel . . . sorry for him.” I shrug, at a loss for words.

“For big shot Tate Ramsey?”

“Don’t forget he hasn’t been a big shot for years. He trashed his career. Flat-out ruined it thanks to his drug problem,” I remind her.

“And that ex-girlfriend who fucked Jamie.” Rachel’s referring to the other Five Car Pileup band member who got caught with Tate’s girlfriend. “Has he talked to you about that?”

“Of course not. I barely know him.”

“But you know him well enough to agree to be his fake girlfriend for—how long did you say? Six weeks?”

I nod, hating how I have to defend my choices.

But I get it. She’s worried about me. I’m worried about me.

“How do your parents feel about this? I’m sure Fitzy isn’t down, since it’s fake.” Rachel grins. “He’d definitely want it to be real.”

A sigh leaves me. “They don’t know it’s fake.”

Rachel comes to a stop in the middle of my spacious bedroom, her hands resting on her hips. “He doesn’t know? Are you going to tell them the truth?”

I shake my head, wincing when a yelp escapes her. “My father has a hard time keeping things to himself. I’m afraid he’d slip and tell someone the truth by accident.”

“Even with an NDA?”

I nod.

“And your mom?”

“She can’t keep a secret from Dad. She hates secrets. He’d definitely know eventually, and then watch out.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Everyone would find out the truth, and I’d be the laughingstock of the world.”

“I don’t know. I think your dad would keep his mouth shut if it protected your reputation,” Rachel points out. “You’re his little girl. His only girl. He’s rather protective of you.”

“You’re right. He is.” A sigh leaves me. “Part of me doesn’t want to say anything because I’m worried about their reaction. What if I disappoint them when I admit I’m getting involved in a fake relationship as a publicity stunt?”

“True.”

“They could tell me they won’t let me do it.”

“You’re eighteen. They can’t tell you shit.” Rachel rebels against her parents all the time. She’s the one I’m supposed to go on the European trip with, though we haven’t really planned anything yet.

“I would hate to go against their wishes,” I say.

“You never like to disappoint, so I get it. Well, I love a good secret. And I know how to keep my mouth shut,” Rachel retorts as she resumes her pacing. “You need to put a plan into action.”

“They already have a plan.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” She makes air quotes with her fingers.

“Tate’s team. His business manager, the rep from the record label. The label’s marketing and promotion teams. The lawyers. I’ve reviewed the contract. Looked over the schedule. It’s pretty intense.”

“They sent you a schedule?”

I nod. “It also includes a social media schedule.”

Her mouth drops open for a second before she snaps her lips shut. “Of course they did. Look, all of this protects him. The precious Tate Ramsey. I’m sure he’s getting, what? A record deal out of this?”

How did she know? “I guess his old label is interested and they’re eager to sign him. They already did for the single.”

“Tate already has a record deal for ‘Red’?”

I nod.

“This is all because of his performance at your party? And the kiss seen ’round the world?”

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

“He owes you then.” Rachel taps her chin with her index finger, contemplative.

“I also think part of the reason they want to sign him is because of . . . me.”

It sounds ridiculous. I know it does. But I’m pretty sure our supposed relationship is what caused the heightened interest in him in the first place. Well, that and he sang pretty spectacularly at my party.

“You?” Rachel’s delicate brows shoot up. “That wouldn’t surprise me. I mean, look at you. Only daughter of a Lancaster scion. Gorgeous, sweet, great personality. You’re so relatable in real life, and it translates on social media.”

I’ve worked hard to be relatable. It’s hard to get past the “rich girl with no problems” vibe people like to attach to me, but I think I’m almost there. I can’t help it if I was born into this life, and I do my best to help others. Give where I can.

And I also try to keep it real. If I’m having a bad hair day or a giant zit is on the tip of my nose, I share that online. No matter how embarrassing it is. Mom says that keeps me grounded so I won’t get a big head, but it also helped me create content that viewers could find common ground with.

So my embarrassments have earned me a few followers. And now the man I’m supposedly dating is earning me even more followers.

Life is so weird.

“You need to post about this,” Rachel declares.

My gaze jerks to her. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You’re the relatable queen, right?”

“Me dating Tate Ramsey is the most unrelatable thing I’ve ever done—besides being born into a wealthy family.” I actually laugh at my own words, because it’s true. What’s happening to me is totally unrelatable.

More like it’s the stuff of dreams.

Rachel ignores my laughter. “This is straight out of a fantasy, I have to agree, but come on. This is also where you can play up the ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’ part. Because let’s not forget, once upon a time, you had a Five Car Pileup poster on your wall and a major crush on Tate Ramsey.”

“We were like . . . fourteen. Thirteen. Whatever. And you had a crush on him too.”

“I always had more of a secret thing for Aaron. He was so broody.”

The dark-haired, dark-eyed mystery man of the group. The oldest one, though I think he was only a year or two older than the rest, tops. He was too moody for my liking, but it doesn’t surprise me he was Rachel’s secret favorite.

“Anyway, who I liked doesn’t matter. We need to find that picture of the poster on your wall. And you need to post on your socials a video of you talking about your birthday party and how you found unexpected love while you were there.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head, my insides quaking at the thought of it. “Not yet.”

“You can,” Rachel counters. “And you’re going to. I’m going to help you.”

“Rachel . . .”

“Don’t ‘Rachel’ me.” She marches over to my walk-in closet and flicks on the light before entering it, immediately going through my clothes. “We’re going to find you a fabulous outfit, and I’m going to do your makeup and hair. And then you’re going on camera and talking about how much you adore Tate Ramsey and you can’t believe he feels the same way. It’s like your every early-teenage dream coming to life. Oh shit, we should find that one song by Katy Perry and play it. It fits perfectly.”

I loved that song back in the day. Before I was even a teenager.

“What about the NDA? The schedule? The topics they want me to talk about?”

Rachel pokes her head out of the closet, holding up a super-cute dress my mom found for me the last time she was in Paris. “Fuck the schedule and the topics. You haven’t signed shit yet. And you’re not exposing anyone or telling the truth. You’re playing up your new love story for views, and they’re going to love it.”

She’s right. What’s the harm in this?

Forty minutes later I’m wearing my new dress, and my hair is curled. Rachel set up my phone with the ring light, and I’m sitting at my desk, where I have the best light in my room, ready to talk.

Fighting off the nerves, I sit up straighter, sending her a quick pleading look, but she shakes her head, her expression firm.

I’m doing this. Rachel won’t let me give up. Besides . . .

I don’t want to.

Here goes nothing.