Chapter 15

CHAPTER15

TATE

I’m standing at the window in Simon’s office, staring at the city spread out before me, while Simon talks on the phone in low murmurs and draggy vowels accompanied by the occasional growl of laughter. I don’t know who he’s speaking to, but I do my best to tune him out.

Like I can focus on what that asshole is saying. Yes, my former—current (still mind blowing to me that he’s taken me back on)—business manager is an asshole. That isn’t an insult, considering he’d most likely agree with me. But he’s my asshole, and I want him on my side through this dream/nightmare called my career resurgence.

It’s been exhilarating and exciting and terrifying all at once. I forgot how exhausting the constant attention is. Though right now, I’m terrified for a completely different reason. Like the fact that my so-called new girlfriend is almost ten minutes late to our meeting.

Ten minutes isn’t much to sweat, but considering every little thing sets me on edge lately, I can’t help it.

The moment I hear Simon end the call, he starts talking loudly. To me.

“I’ve got a deal in the works for you, and it’s a good one.” He sounds smug.

I whirl around to face him. “For what?”

“High-end fashion line. Up-and-coming designer. You haven’t heard of them yet, but I promise you will. They’re on the verge of breaking out.”

It takes everything I’ve got to not roll my eyes and call bullshit, but if they pay well and don’t cause any online scandal, I’m game. “Sounds great.”

“It will be. You’re going sky high, buddy. Rising straight to the top. Just wait until they see you in action.”

They’ve seen me in action. That’s why I’m having the resurgence. But now I’m starting to doubt it’ll last. Everything hinges on one thing happening, and if she doesn’t come through . . .

I’m screwed.

“No one is going to see me in action if she doesn’t show up,” I finally say, frustration in every clipped word that drops.

Simon frowns and checks the fat Rolex on his wrist. “Where is your girlfriend anyway?”

“Where’s the lawyer?” I counter, slipping my hand into my pocket, my fingers curling around my phone.

I should text Scarlett. Ask her where the hell she is, but I feel like I can’t come on too strong or make any demands. She’d probably bail.

I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“She’s in her office. The team is in house, bud. It’s the real deal here.”

“The lawyer is a woman?” I’m shocked. Not because I’m a misogynistic asshole—or maybe I am; I’m not sure—but a woman lawyer handling this fake-ass deal surprises me.

Though I shouldn’t let anything surprise me. Every day lately there’s been a new revelation.

“I surround myself with women, Tate. Haven’t you noticed this by now?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

There’s a knock on the door, and it swings open before Simon can speak, Roger barging in, thrusting his phone out in front of him.

“Did you guys see the latest?” Roger waves the phone in front of Simon’s face, then mine.

I catch a glimpse of Scarlett looking fucking gorgeous on his screen. Reaching out, I swipe the phone from his hand. “What is this?”

“Your girlfriend creating marketing gold, that’s what. I know we gave her topics and a schedule, but she went completely off script.” Roger tips his head in my direction. “Watch it. It’s fucking great. You two are magical.”

I play the video, and Scarlett’s sweet voice fills the room.

“I know it’s completely unbelievable, right? I’m still pinching myself.” She lifts her arm and pinches her wrist with a slight grimace. “But it’s actually happening, and can I just say that Tate Ramsey is like my every dream come true? Am I allowed to say that? I’m probably gushing too much, but I think you’d feel the same way if the guy you used to crush on when you were in middle school was now your boyfriend. Right?”

She looks at the camera, a knowing smile on her face, her eyebrows raised. I realize her face is mostly bare and she’s got a makeup brush clutched between her fingers. I glance down at the caption of the video, which says, GRWM to go c my new bf!

“What does GRWM mean?” Simon asks, glancing over my shoulder.

“Get ready with me,” I murmur, my gaze never straying from Scarlett’s face as she goes through the motions of applying her makeup, the subtle cuts in the video accelerating her process as she keeps up a steady stream of one-sided yet somehow inclusive conversation. About me.

About us.

“The girl is a genius,” Roger says.

“Hand that over,” Simon demands, wagging his fingers at me.

I give him the phone, blown away by Scarlett’s video. That she would actually make something about us, claiming that we’re together, before she even signed the damn paperwork.

I’m impressed.

“She posted this almost two hours ago,” Simon says, his gaze glued to Roger’s phone screen. “This is good.”

“Fucking great is what it is. This girl is a PR department’s every wet dream.” Roger is beaming from ear to ear. “Where is she? We need to celebrate. I brought champagne.”

He holds up a bottle of very expensive champagne.

“She’s late,” I say, hating how the nerves chew at my gut.

“She’ll be here any second,” Simon adds, sending me a look I can’t read while handing the phone over to Roger. “She made a goddamn video about getting ready to see you, Tate. Stop worrying.”

“Worrying? I have nothing to worry about. Scarlett is my girlfriend.” I grin at Simon, who grins at Roger.

The grin fades from Roger’s face, and he makes his way over so he’s standing directly in front of me, his gaze assessing. “You better not fuck this up, kid. I know you two are coming together under a binding agreement, and while I can tell she’s fully on board and ready to execute her duties, I need to know that you’re on board too.”

This is ironic, isn’t it? I practically had to beg and plead with Scarlett to get her to even agree to this in the first place, and she makes one fucking video that makes me look bad in front of Roger. I’m not pissed at her. I just find it interesting that I’m always the bad guy in this scenario.

There’s another knock on the door, and this time, there’s a pause before Steffi, Simon’s assistant/girlfriend, is peeking her head around it, a serene smile on her face. “Scarlett Lancaster and her lawyer are here.”

“Send them in.” Simon waves a hand at her, and she shuts the door with a loud slam. “Why didn’t she just call me?” This last bit he mutters under his breath.

Nerves jump in my stomach, making it hard to fucking breathe, but I put on a bright smile and stand taller at my spot in front of the window. The double doors swing back open, and in walks Scarlett wearing a black dress that looks more like an oversize men’s blazer, followed by an uptight middle-aged guy in a three-piece navy suit.

The lawyer.

“Scarlett.” Simon rises to his feet and rounds his desk, making his way straight for my fake girl. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Her voice washes over me, making me feel itchy and hot, and I tug at the collar of my black shirt, unsure how to approach her or what I should say.

This girl—woman—I wish I knew what made her tick. What exactly is going on in that head of hers? I don’t have a clue, but I’d love to figure her out.

Maybe spending time with her for the next six weeks will help.

“Please, call me Simon.” He hugs her. Wraps her up in his thick arms and gives her a squeeze, and I swear to God, I sort of want to pop his head off his body, which is weird because I’m not the jealous type.

Then I remember how I reacted to Jess cheating on me in the past and retract that statement from my thoughts fairly quickly.

“And of course, you remember Tate.” The amusement in Simon’s voice as he introduces my girlfriend to me like we’re strangers makes me want to sock him in the face.

Then I remember that violence gets you nowhere but an assault charge and possible jail time, and I retract that feeling as well.

“Definitely.” Scarlett smiles at me, and that’s when I see it. The nervousness flashing in her gaze. It matches mine. “How are you?”

I say nothing in greeting. Just reach for her hand and pull her into me, sliding my arms around her waist and giving her a quick hug, breathing in her delectable scent, noting how soft she is. She hugs me in return, and I swear to God, I can feel her trembling.

“Scarlett Lancaster, you are a mastermind,” Roger announces as he approaches us from behind.

Extracting herself from me, she whips her head in his direction, her brows drawing together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Roger Hammersmith, Irresistible Records.” He shoves his hand out toward her, and she has no other choice but to shake it. “You, my darling, are a perfect fit with the Irresistible team.”

Her gaze cuts to mine, a shaky smile on her lips. “I thought I was on the Tate Ramsey team.”

Roger chuckles, letting go of her hand so he can point at her. “That right there? Absolute gold. You will win over anyone with that kind of attitude.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, Rog,” Simon warns him.

I move so I’m standing to Scarlett’s right, slinging my arm around her shoulders. “We are definitely a team.”

She stiffens beneath my arm, her entire body seemingly frozen, and I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, trying to get her to relax. “Yes, we are.”

“Should you two have a ship name?” Roger’s gaze bounces back and forth between Scarlett and me. “Is that still done? I came up with one—Tartlet. Tate plus Scarlett equals Tartlet. Don’t you love it?”

I fucking hate it. Scarlett is frowning.

“That’s bloody awful, Roger.” Simon shakes his head. “Shall we sit down and get the process started? Hope you brought your signing hand, Scarlett. There are lots of pages where we need your initials and signature.”

“I’m ready.” She walks away from me, my arm falling to my side, and I watch her go, my gaze latching onto her long, shiny legs.

She seriously has great ones.

“The video you posted earlier was nothing short of brilliant,” Roger gushes as we all settle at the table, Scarlett’s lawyer sitting directly to her right while I sit across from her. “I fucking loved it.”

“Thank you. I filmed it yesterday. Thought I may as well embrace the situation, right?” She casts her gaze around the table, the worry on her face obvious. “I hope that was okay.”

“It’s more than okay. It’s fucking amazing. You got so many views.” Roger checks his phone, his expression one of pure concentration as he taps away at it. “Over seven hundred thousand views already.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Don’t act so shocked. You know what you’re doing.” Roger slaps the edge of the table. “This shit is so good! I’m excited. Aren’t you all excited?”

“Definitely excited,” I agree, scooting my chair closer to the table.

“Then act like it! You’re all so somber. Especially you.” Roger points at Scarlett’s attorney. “This isn’t a funeral.”

The lawyer sits up straighter, annoyance in his gaze. “I’m here to make sure you’re not taking advantage of my client.”

“She’s being well taken care of. Don’t worry,” Roger says breezily.

“Your client went a little off script, but nothing damaging,” Simon says. “If she keeps that up, it might be a problem.”

“A problem? I made that video in support of Tate, and you consider it a problem?” Scarlett’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and I know Simon just pissed her off. “I thought you would appreciate the video.”

“We do,” Simon adds hastily.

“We definitely do,” Roger says, his voice smooth as he speaks right over Simon. “We just need to make sure we’re all in agreement with everything that’s said publicly. This is a publicity machine, you see. And every move we’re about to make is carefully calculated. You need to do your part, Miss Lancaster, and then it should work without a hitch.”

“Hey.” Everyone glances over at me, even Scarlett’s attorney. “Could we have a minute? Alone? Just the two of us?”

“Of course.” Simon doesn’t even hesitate as he jumps to his feet, sending a meaningful look at Roger, who also reluctantly stands.

“I don’t think that’s nec—” starts Scarlett’s lawyer, but she rests her hand on his arm, and he immediately goes quiet.

“It’s okay. Give us a few minutes,” she murmurs.

Within seconds Simon’s got his hand around Scarlett’s lawyer’s elbow and is steering him out of the office, the door falling shut behind all of them.

When they’re gone, I rise to my feet and make my way around the table so I’m standing closer to where she sits. “They shouldn’t have done that.”

Confusion swirls in her dark eyes. “Done what?”

“Come at you for your video. What you made was good. Great,” I correct when I see her little frown. “I appreciate you doing that.”

“It was my best friend’s idea,” she admits, her teeth sinking gently into her lower lip.

I tear my gaze away from her sexy mouth, not needing the distraction. “Your best friend? You didn’t tell her what’s really going on, did you?”

Scarlett stands and bumps into me, she’s so close. “Of course not. I would never.” Panic flares in her velvety brown eyes, and I lose myself in them for a bit. I don’t remember them being that big. Or that dark. “It was difficult, though. I’m not good at faking stuff like that, especially around Rachel. She knows me better than anyone else.”

“I bet.” I catch her scent again on an inhale, an intoxicating floral that smells expensive. “You’re still good with this, right?”

She offers the tiniest nod, tilting her chin up.

“And you’re okay with all the faking stuff?”

“What do you mean, faking stuff?”

“You read the contract, right?”

Another nod.

“Well, we’re going to have to pretend that we’re together in public. Often. Which means there’s going to be a lot of physical contact. Touching.” I pause. “Kissing.”

“Right.” She releases a shaky breath. “Kissing.”

“You had no problem kissing me the other times we’ve been together,” I remind her.

“I know. And I won’t have a problem for the next six weeks either. It’s not so bad.” She shrugs.

I’m actually insulted. “It’s not so bad? Are you referring to kissing me?”

“Well, yeah.” The way she says it, I fully expect her to add a duh to the end of that sentence. “How bad can it be? You holding my hand. Your arm around my shoulder. Our arms around each other. The occasional peck here and there.”

The occasional peck. This girl . . .

Has no idea what she’s getting herself into.

“What do your parents think?”

“About you and me? They don’t seem to mind.” A tiny laugh escapes her, and it’s the prettiest sound. “They kind of encourage it.”

“Really.” My voice is flat. Now I’m the one full of doubt.

“Oh yeah. My dad lives for this sort of thing. He’s constantly asking me about you. He keeps up with the gossip sites more than my mom does. Pretty sure he’s seen all of the photos and posts talking about us.”

“And what does he think about it?”

“I’m almost positive he’s enjoying every minute of it, but he’s trying to play it cool. I think he’s waiting for me to bring you around so they can officially meet you as, like, my boyfriend or whatever.” She rolls her eyes, trying to play it off. “I probably should tell him we’re not that serious. Besides, I’m sure you have no interest in hanging out with my parents.”

Huh. I didn’t even think about the parents, though they’re the driving force she wants to rise above. My own parents live just outside the city, and they keep mostly to themselves. They’re not big on celebrity, especially mine, and when I hit rock bottom, Mom eventually came and helped me get cleaned up by forcing me into rehab.

We’re not that close, but our relationship is getting better with time. Pretty sure they still view me as a major disappointment.

“Your dad is into gossip?”

“If he can find a mention about him in a gossip column, his day is made.” Scarlett’s tone is vaguely bitter, and I realize she’s not too thrilled with her dad possibly chasing fame.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Fitzy again.” I stroke my chin, remembering with fondness how easy that guy is to talk to.

Well, until he was slinging a few thinly veiled threats my way, that is.

“Are you sure?” She sounds incredulous, and I have a realization.

I flash her a quick smile. “It makes sense, right? Getting in good with my girlfriend’s parents.”

“Sure.” She nods.

“Do they think we’re the real deal?”

“I didn’t tell them what’s really going on,” she admits, her voice low. “I’m afraid if they knew, they might slip and reveal the truth. And that would ruin everything.”

“Yeah, it would,” I agree with a slight shake of my head. “Can I ask you one more question?”

She lifts her chin, haughty and beautiful. “Of course.”

“Is there anything you’re . . . worried about? With this agreement?”

Her gaze finds mine, and she stares at me for a moment, her lush lips parted, those long eyelashes fluttering as she blinks. “If I tell you what I’m worried about, you might laugh.”

“I would never,” I promise. “We’re in this together. You and me.”

Scarlett blinks again, her jaw working. “I’m afraid the deeper we go, the more lost I’ll feel.”

I frown. “Lost?”

“No one will care about me.” She shrugs, averting her gaze. “It’ll all be about you.” A small laugh escapes her. “I know that sounds really selfish, and you probably think I’m a total bitch, but it’s never been about me. It’s always about my family. My charming father. My beautiful mother.”

I remember her complaining about this already.

“I won’t let anyone lose sight of who you are, including yourself. You need me to talk you up to the press? I can do it.” I nod firmly.

She’s quiet for a moment, as if she needs to absorb my words.

“What exactly would you say about me?” she finally asks.

“Whatever you want. All of it positive, of course.”

“Of course,” she adds drolly.

“That’s not part of the written agreement, but we can make our own agreement, you know? Just between the two of us.” I slip my hands into my pockets, the epitome of nonchalance.

I bet she has no idea my internal system is going haywire. I need this girl more than she needs me. She’s loaded and completely insulated in her wealthy world, and while I just got paid a million bucks—more like six hundred thousand thanks to taxes—that money won’t last forever. I’m only twenty-one. I have a lot of years left in me, and wouldn’t it be great to make a go of this singing career again? On my own?

Yes. Yes, it so fucking would.

“I’d expect the same in return,” I say when she still hasn’t responded. “We need to lift each other up, not tear each other down.”

“I’m not the type to tear a person down, so don’t worry. Didn’t you watch the video I made earlier?”

“I did, and I appreciate everything you said about me—about us. Roger and Simon loved it too, especially Roger.”

“He sort of went on about it a little too much, huh?” Scarlett wrinkles her nose.

“He tends to do that—gets a little excited. And that was tame behavior on his part.” Unable to stop myself, I reach out and touch her, tugging on a strand of long dark hair and curling it around my finger. She doesn’t move. I swear she doesn’t so much as breathe, she’s so still. “Thank you for making that video. You made me sound like a freaking hero.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, breathless.

“It was unexpected.”

“Like I said, it was my friend’s idea.”

“I think I like your friend.”

Scarlett smiles. “She already loves you. Especially back when you were in Five Car Pileup. Though Aaron was her personal favorite.”

“Right.” I wince, knowing that no matter what, I will never be able to rid myself of the boy band label.

“I really like the idea of us having this personal . . . agreement. It makes me feel better about this. You and me.” She straightens her shoulders, standing taller. “Are you ready to sign all of the paperwork?”

“Before we call them all back in here, I need to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Her delicate brows draw together, her lips forming the slightest pout. She has a sexy mouth. Memories assail me of the moments I kissed her, and how pleasant those moments were. Nothing earth shattering but . . .

It could be. Earth shattering. Between us.

Or maybe not. She’s really not my type at all.

“I thought we already were.”

“Just confirming.”

“What exactly do you want to confirm?”

“First, when we make public appearances, we need to look fully invested.” I pause. “In each other.”

“I already said I can do that.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, which makes her skirt ride up, offering me a glimpse of her slender thighs.

I rub my chin, contemplating her. My fake girlfriend is a total smoke show. “Sometimes, you can come off pretty . . . rigid.”

“I am not.”

“Prove it then.” Jesus. Why am I picking on her?

“Prove it how?”

Oh, she looks so confused, my sweet little girlfriend. How sheltered has her life been? Can she really manage to act like the sort of confident yet mysterious woman who can snag me?

I mean, I sound like a complete asshole in my own thoughts. But considering I’m currently in demand and I was named in People’s “Most Beautiful People” edition at the age of only seventeen—which grossed out a lot of people, but we won’t get into that right now—I am, as Simon describes me, a hot commodity.

And she’s just an heiress who was born into money.

Shit. I am a complete asshole, aren’t I.

“Show me that you can pretend to be totally into me.”

“Can you do the same for me?” she challenges.

I let my gaze roam over her slowly, starting at her black-heel-covered feet, coasting up those impossibly long legs, lingering on her chest, until I finally meet her wide-eyed gaze.

“I think I can manage it,” I drawl.

A soft huff of breath leaves her, and she shifts closer to me, until we’re practically touching. She tilts her head back, her long, wavy hair falling down her back, her dark eyes glittering with challenge.

“Then show me.”