Chapter 16

CHAPTER16

SCARLETT

Heat blooms on my skin the longer he stares at me with that hungry gaze. There’s something about Tate that infuriates me.

Makes me curious.

Makes me . . . hot.

A little shaky.

A lot breathless.

I can’t quite put my finger on it. Every time we’re together, we start squabbling. As if we annoy each other, yet we’re also drawn to each other?

It’s confusing. He confuses me.

My feelings for him confuse me too. I don’t know what’s going on in my head full of jumbled thoughts.

The air grows heavier the longer we stare at each other, and just when I’m about to say something that’s probably stupid, he reaches out, his fingers featherlight as they trace the edge of my jaw.

My entire being erupts into tingles. From the top of my scalp to my toes, I can feel him. Those fingers barely touching me, drifting upward, pausing at the corner of my lips.

I swallow hard, my lips closing around his fingertip with the movement, and I swear I see an inferno ignite in his gaze.

His hand drops, and disappointment crashes through me at the loss of connection. Without thought, I rest my hand on his black shirt—we match, like we’re going to a funeral—right in the center of his chest, and I can feel his heart hammer beneath my palm.

I lift my gaze to find he’s already watching me, his face deathly serious.

As if he’s attending a funeral.

Defeat engulfs me, and I want to sag to the floor.

This isn’t going to work.

There’s no warning when he slips his arm around my waist and yanks me close, my hand still on his chest. A gasp escapes me, my breasts crushed to his front, the hem of my dress riding up when he tightens his grip on my waist. Our legs tangle and our breaths mingle and slowly he smooths his hand up my back, making a cascade of goose bumps rise all over my skin.

“You can’t look at me like that, Scar,” he murmurs. I swear he’s the only one who’s ever called me Scar. No one else would dare. It sounds almost like an insult.

“Like what?” I’m breathless. All from standing too close. From having him touch me in a relatively staid manner.

So why do his hands on me feel like . . . everything?

“Like you’re scared to death of me.” He reaches out with his free hand and presses the spot right between my eyebrows. “This little wrinkle needs to relax.”

I feel my forehead ease just from his gentle touch.

“And you should smile more.”

I paste on an overly bright smile.

“Jesus, not like that.” He grimaces.

I scowl at him. He laughs.

“Only use that face when we’re arguing in public.”

“You want to argue in public?” That doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“If we make up in public too, definitely. Look what happened the last time we did,” he reminds me.

Out on the sidewalk, when he grabbed me. That kiss. That photo is still getting us a lot of attention.

“We’re young and in love,” he continues. “And we’ll need to come up with a backstory.”

“A backstory?”

“How we came together, how we fell in love.”

“Are we in love yet, though? That sounds so serious.”

“Okay, not love yet. Complete and total infatuation,” he concludes, not letting me go at all. Still running his palm up and down my back, like he’s trying to soothe me.

Well, it’s working. My muscles are relaxing and I’m leaning my weight into him, my fingers slightly curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“We already have a backstory,” I remind him. “We met at my party.”

“Right. Well, that was quick.”

“When you know, you just . . . know.” My father has said that to me before, and I used to think it was utter crap.

I still sort of do. I mean, look at us, with our fake relationship.

“I want everyone to believe I’m completely fucking obsessed with you,” he murmurs, and the tone of his voice, the look on his face . . .

I believe him, despite the fact that we’re about to sign a ton of legal documents binding us together in a fake relationship.

And that’s slightly terrifying, how convincing he is.

“You think we can get people to believe that we’re the real deal?” My breath hitches when he dips his head, his mouth now right at my ear. I can hear him breathing, the steady in and out, and when he speaks, I can feel his breath. Warm, with a hint of mint.

“We’re going to test it out on your parents first.”

Alarm sweeps through me, and I try to jerk out of his hold, but he doesn’t let me go. “That might not be a good idea.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got. You need to face them eventually, right? What better time than now?”

“Now?” My voice squeaks like I’m a little mouse.

He nods. “Text them. Ask if I can come over for dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles the side of my face, and my knees wobble. I think he did that on purpose, to throw me off kilter. “Tonight.”

I try to pull out of his embrace a little slower this time, but he still won’t let me go. “I need to get my phone. It’s in my bag.”

We both swivel our heads to where I left my heart-shaped, hot-pink Chanel bag on a nearby chair. “You should use that purse as much as possible when we’re together. The heart is a nice touch.”

I had the same thought, though it feels a little cheesy and almost sordid, hearing him say it out loud.

Maybe because I’m having some guilt over this fake-relationship thing. Rachel wasn’t wrong when she kept prodding me about what I’m getting out of it. I can’t quite tell her what that is because I don’t even know myself. And when I admit that I just want someone—anyone—paying attention to me, that sounds . . .

Pathetic.

Tate releases me, and I go to the bag, zipping it open and pulling my phone out. I can barely fit anything in that bag, which is super annoying, but it’s so freaking cute, and it was a birthday gift, so I love it.

I send a quick message to the text group that consists of me and my parents.

Me: Can I have a guest over for dinner tonight?

My father answers almost immediately.

Dad: Who? Rachel? Adore her. She’s always welcome.

Mom: Of course, darling. We love Rachel.

Me: It’s not Rachel.

Dad: Who is it then?

Mom: Oh is it Ian?

Is she going to be disappointed I’ve moved on from Ian? Maybe not. She seemed frustrated with him that night during the infamous dinner. She even told me I should see Tate to make Ian regret his decisions.

Me: I want Tate to come over for dinner.

There are no texts for a few seconds. Maybe even thirty.

“What did they say?” Tate asks, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Nothing yet.” I chew on my lower lip, nerves making my blood run a little hotter.

Or maybe that’s from the way Tate is looking at me. I can’t tell yet.

Dad: Tate Ramsey?

Mom: We’d love to have him.

Me: Are you sure?

Mom: Absolutely. We’d love to get to know him.

Dad: Maybe we should go out. Take him to our favorite restaurant.

Oh God. Dad’s favorite restaurant is also one of the busiest restaurants in our neighborhood. We go there a lot as a family, though my brothers are still at their various sports camps, so they won’t be around.

Thank God.

I lift my head, my gaze locking with Tate’s. “They said yes.”

“Perfect.” He rubs his hands together, reminding me of Roger. Or was it Simon who did that? I can’t keep track of these men trying to control our relationship. It’s intimidating and more than a little misogynistic. “We’ll try this new relationship of ours out on your parents. If they believe us, anyone will.”

A knock sounds before the double doors swing open to reveal Simon standing there in his pin-striped three-piece suit, a smile on his face, and my lawyer standing directly behind him along with a woman with a stern expression.

Thank God I went with another attorney, one that Rachel helped me find that her dad works with. The only lawyer I know is Ian’s dad, and that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

“The lawyers are ready if you two are,” Simon announces as he strides into the room, rubbing his hands together just as Tate did only moments ago. “Damn, there is nothing better than putting together a sweet deal, don’t you think?”

The amused look Tate sends my way makes me smile.

Makes me feel like we’re sharing a secret.

* * *

Once all the necessary paperwork is finished, Tate and I leave Simon’s office together. Ride down the elevator together. We even exit the building together, because where else am I going to go? He’s by my side the entire time, his tall, broad frame making me feel small. His warm, delicious scent making me want to lean into him and take a deep sniff, like he’s a drug I’m desperate to inhale.

I need to get used to this. Spending time with this man, talking to him. Looking into his deep-blue eyes and bracing myself against the intensity of his smile. It won’t be a hardship because he’s just so pleasant to look at.

Then he opens his mouth and says things, and I sort of want to sock him in it.

Maybe that’s normal? Is that what being in a relationship is actually like?

Well, that’s what we are, officially. At least according to all those legal documents we just signed.

The next six weeks of my life are completely booked. I’d planned on traveling all over Europe in the fall, but that’s now been postponed. I wasn’t planning on attending school, which is a good thing. As Simon told Tate, “Scarlett going to college would’ve really cramped your style.”

Guess Simon isn’t big on higher education. Especially when it interferes with his new star client.

“Where to now?” Tate asks once we’re standing outside on the sidewalk. It’s quieter where Simon’s office is located. Not so many people trying to push past us as we stand next to each other facing the street.

I turn toward him. “I guess I should go home and get ready for dinner.”

He frowns. “You won’t let me come with you?”

“Oh.” I’m surprised he wants to tag along with me, but . . . “Okay. If you really want to.”

“Are your parents home?”

“I don’t know. They were gone when I left the house.”

“They won’t care if we’re there alone?” A single brow lifts.

“Why should they care?”

“I think most overprotective parents would have an issue with their beautiful daughter being alone with her new boyfriend in their house,” he drawls.

I didn’t even think of that because when I look at Tate, I don’t think of him as my boyfriend.

And I really, really need to start thinking that way.

This relationship is live and ready to be put on display for all the world to see. Time for me to dig in and do the work.

“My parents trust me.” I flash him a smile. “They know I wouldn’t do anything that might put me at . . . risk.”

“They don’t know me, though. Not really.” He flashes me a villainous smile, and I can’t help but laugh. When he joins in, his deep, rich chuckle touches places deep within me that I didn’t know existed.

Yikes. Pretty sure I’m in over my head.

We climb into our family’s hired car and head back to my apartment, the both of us on our phones most of the time, so not much conversation is happening. This doesn’t make me feel bad or think that we’re acting awkward together. This is actually the most normal I’ve felt in Tate’s presence since we started this entire thing.

“You always have someone to drive you around the city? Anywhere you want to go?” he asks at one point. He sounds amazed.

“Yeah. I always have.”

“Do you have your driver’s license?”

I shake my head. “What’s the point? I have my driver’s permit, but I haven’t gotten around to taking my driver’s test yet. I always have someone to drive me around, or there’s public transit.”

“I doubt very much that a precious baby girl Lancaster would be seen on the subway.”

“Hey, I’m not a baby. And I’ve taken the subway before.” A couple of times with my parents when traffic was too heavy and we urgently needed to get to our destination. On a field trip once when I was in middle school and we went to a Broadway play. A couple of times with my cousins.

Just . . . not very often.

“I’d much rather take the private car around. This is nice. Though I think you should definitely get your license. With all the money your family has, you could own any car you want, which would be totally badass.” He glances around the interior of the car, running his hand over the soft leather seat, a chuckle escaping him. “I’ve fucked up a few limos in my day.”

“Really.”

He shifts in his seat, his gaze focused on the window as the city passes us by. “Not my most shining moments, but yeah. When I was younger, I was pretty destructive.”

“Why?”

His head jerks toward me, his brows lowered. “Why?”

“Yeah, why did you do all that? Act that way? Were you . . . high all the time? Drunk? Or just pissed off at the world?”

He appears shocked that I would actually want a reason. Has no one ever asked him that question before? “I don’t know. I can’t really explain.”

Tate goes quiet, his expression thoughtful as he resumes staring out the window. I start scrolling on my phone, trying to keep one eye on him, wishing he would give me more. He always talks about how crazy his life was when he was with Five Car Pileup, but he never gives actual reasons why he behaved so badly. It has to be more than the stereotypical “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” explanation.

I’d love it if he dug a little deeper.

“I thought I was untouchable.” His soft voice has me turning toward him, though he’s still staring out the window. “I believed I could do no wrong. My life had completely changed and everything was being handed to me, and all I had to do was smile and dance and sing. That’s it. It was easy. Until it became hard.”

I’m quiet, hoping that he’ll talk more, and my silence works.

“Drugs were part of it. Alcohol. I became arrogant. Mean. I didn’t like myself. I treated my girlfriend like shit. Jess . . .” He exhales, finally glancing over to meet my gaze. “I did her wrong. She might’ve cheated on me with Jamie, but I was cheating on her all the time. Girls would throw themselves at me, and I wouldn’t turn them down. Jamie knew it. Witnessed it all the time, and he did the same shit I would do. But eventually, he used all of my mistakes against me.”

“I bet that hurt.” His pain emanates from him, and I can tell it still bothers him, what happened back then.

That moment ruined everything. It broke up the band.

“More than I like to admit,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder if he still cares about her.

Still wants her.

“Are they together?” I ask.

Tate presses his head against the back of the seat, chuckling. “I don’t even know. Are they? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. They went pretty much off the grid after the band broke up. I know they were together a year ago.”

I’m pretty sure they are, but I don’t want to say that to him. Why make him more emotional? I’m sure that was the ultimate betrayal, his girlfriend cheating on him with one of his closest friends.

“Does that still bother you? What they did?”

“It did, for a long time. But not anymore.” He shrugs. “We got together when I was sixteen, right before I blew up and went on that reality show. She was there for it all, and she got sucked into the fame and the drugs and the bullshit too. It was . . . nice having her by my side, because I thought I could trust her. She was my one reminder of home, and that made me feel safe. Comfortable. She was the one person I believed I could count on, but we know how that turned out.”

His smile is wistful, and my heart twinges. She hurt him deeply, and I kind of hate her for it.

Okay, I really hate her for it.

“I thought I was in love with Jess, but I don’t know if I’ve ever really been in love, you know?”

“I don’t.” I offer him a smile, hoping he doesn’t think I’m pathetic. “I’ve never been in love either.”