2. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 2

A t first, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.

Me? And Ford? Together ?

No, I must have misheard. I’d allowed my fantasies to overload my reality. I was imagining things in my drunken state. Foolishly hoping for something I’d never actually have, but wanted desperately.

Then I clocked the expression on Mrs. Malone’s face, which was truly a thing of beauty. To say that she looked shocked was a vast understatement. And I felt as stunned as she looked.

“Come on, dearest,” Ford said, his arm still tight around my waist.

“You can’t be serious,” Mrs. Ford said, her voice dropping to a hiss.

She reached out and grabbed my arm, her diamond encrusted talons digging into my skin.

“Ouch,” I said.

“Mother,” Ford warned her, his tone steely. “Let go of Emzee.”

She immediately released me, shooting eye-daggers in my direction.

“This won’t stand,” she sputtered as Ford’s relatives began to close in, seeming to intuit that something untoward was going on.

The thought of them surrounding us, all their eyes on me, made me want to curl up in a ball or throw up or both. Thankfully, Ford pulled us out of the shrinking circle of people and out of the ballroom.

It wasn’t until we were outside, with Ford’s strong arms steering me around the pool and toward the bar, that I realized I still had the same fake, frozen smile stuck to my face.

“Ummm, Ford?” I somehow managed, speaking out of the corner of my mouth. “What the hell just happened?”

He laughed, as if this was all one big joke to him.

Yup, that was Ford in a nutshell—nothing fazed him. Everything was a good ol’ time just waiting to happen.

“Just roll with it for now,” he said, still holding me close. “It’d be a real solid. Besides, did you see her face?”

I couldn’t help giggling aloud at the memory. “I wonder if it will stick like that.”

Ford threw back his head and let out that infectious laugh of his.

“Serves her right,” he said. “I hate the way she’s always trying to meddle.”

He pulled us over to the bar and ordered a Pappy Van Winkle, his favorite bourbon.

“Thanks again, Em,” he said, releasing me to take a drink. “I really owe you one.”

I deflated a little at that. I was supposed to be done doing solids for Ford, dammit. For anyone, really, but especially him.

Yet I couldn’t deny that it felt good to be laughing together and sharing a secret. It was always these moments that kept me coming back, even when he’d ditch me for Claudia or get careless about returning my calls. Or forget my birthday. Ford would always make it up to me later, layering on an extra helping of charm to smooth things over.

This, though—our banter and our shared history—was real.

So for now, I’d be the good friend. I’d roll with the punches. If doing him a favor meant pretending to be his girlfriend, well, maybe it wasn’t too much of a hardship after all.

“Come on,” Ford said, finishing his bourbon with one long swallow.

I tried not to stare at him while he did, but it was hard not to admire how good he looked tonight. His hair was looking a little more tousled than before…he’d probably been running his hands through it. The thought made me want to run my hands through it, but before I could accidentally reach out, Ford grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the throng.

People were eager to talk to him and we wove through the crowd, carefully avoiding his mother and other family members who seemed to always be appearing and disappearing out of the corner of my eye.

“Who shall I introduce you to next, dearest?” Ford asked. “I’m going to make sure you get the complete girlfriend experience.”

Did it make me pathetic that I got butterflies every time he called me dearest? Even knowing full well it was for show?

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Lies,” he said with a grin, shaking his head. “I know you came here at least partly to raise some funds for your charity.”

I was a little touched that he remembered.

“I came here for you ,” I said. “Because you asked.”

“I know,” he said. “But I also know you’re relentless when it comes to your causes. So who can we squeeze some money out of?”

He looked positively gleeful at the thought and I couldn’t help but laugh. Whenever Ford was like this—a little drunk and a lot eager—fun and crazy things usually happened. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that he was the one behind the epic Connect Four game last year. He always managed to stir up trouble wherever he went.

“You pick the target,” I said. “I’ll just play along.”

“Aww, come on,” he coaxed. “I know you. I’d bet anything you have your eye on someone already.”

I laughed, feeling my cheeks go warm. He did know me.

“Okay,” I confessed. “I might have been checking out Jessie Flores.”

Ford scrunched up his nose. “Who?”

I gave him a look. “You’d recognize her. She’s a huge influencer.”

The look of confusion didn’t fade from his handsome face.

“She’s all over social media,” I tried again. “Takes pictures of herself doing, like, yoga poses in a bikini at national parks or in front of beautiful monuments.”

Recognition sparked in Ford’s eyes. “BikiniBliss? I love her pictures.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s her pictures that you’re admiring when you double tap,” I said.

He held up his hands. “What do you expect?” he said. “I have eyes.”

“You think you can keep it in your pants long enough to spark up some friendly conversation, or am I better off flying solo?” I asked.

“We got this. Where is she?” Ford asked, craning his neck as he looked across the ballroom for her.

“Gah, stop being so obvious!” I grabbed his arm. “She’s over there, by the ice sculpture.”

“The swan again? That thing’s been a magnet for all the who’s-who tonight.”

“No, the other one. I think it’s an eagle or something,” I said.

“I don’t get my mother’s obsession with birds,” he said, still looking. “It’s downright creepy.”

I giggled.

“There she is,” Ford said.

“Your mother?”

“No, your influencer. And it’s not an eagle, it’s my mother’s spirit animal. A vulture.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as Ford dragged me across the room toward Jessie.

“Ford, wait,” I hissed. “I don’t know her. I can’t just walk up to her and ask for money.”

“If you can’t, I will,” Ford said. “And besides, it looks like she’s got a sugar daddy boyfriend, so if she isn’t into it, maybe I can squeeze a few bucks out of him.”

That’s when I noticed that Jessie was standing with an older man—who could have easily passed as her father if not for the possessive hand he had resting on her ass.

“Well that’s something you don’t see on her Instagram,” I said dryly.

Ford shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. Maybe he’s a yogi, too. He definitely looks like he’s got the whole zen thing down.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Very few things bothered Ford. A May-December romance between a semi-famous influencer and some old rich dude was barely a blip in his world.

“Off we go,” he said and took my hand.

That was nice. The hand-holding. Even if it was all for show.

Confident as ever, Ford strolled right up and introduced himself.

“You’re Jessie Flores, right?” he asked. “I love your IG account. You’ve really found a way to elevate yoga, open more eyes to the art and soul of it all.”

Trying not to gag, I nodded along with his smarmy compliments.

Jessie blushed, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “I hope so,” she said.

“Beautiful stuff,” Ford added. “This is my girlfriend, Emzee, by the way.”

She nodded at me, her smile dimming just a little, but mine bloomed. I hated that I got such a thrill out of this dumb, pretend game that Ford and I were playing.

“Emzee’s also a huge fan of your work,” Ford said.

“That is so flattering,” Jessie said.

“I’m a professional photographer as well,” I told her. “You have such a wonderful eye for color and form.”

Her smile ramped back up again. “Thank you,” she said. “This is my boyfriend, Jonathan.”

The older man reached out and shook Ford’s hand.

“Jonathan Albright?” Ford asked. “Of the Albright Foundation?”

My eyes nearly bugged out of my skull. The Albright Foundation was involved with nearly every worthwhile charity in Chicago. I’d been dying to get them interested in mine.

“Indeed,” Jonathan said, looking around the room appreciatively. “Your mother certainly knows how to throw a party.”

“That she does,” Ford said. “But enough about my mother.”

Everyone laughed, and Ford put his arm around me.

“Emzee runs an amazing charity that works with women transitioning into new careers in photography; perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s called See Yourself.”

Jessie looked interested. “Wait, I’ve heard of them. That’s your organization?”

I nodded, grateful for Ford for teeing me up as well as he had.

“We’re always looking for talented photographers like yourself to volunteer,” I said. “We offer classes, one- and two-day workshops, and longer-term mentorship programs, and if you’re interested, I think you’d really be able to make a difference with our mentees.”

I knew I was laying it on a bit thick, but I also knew that people like Jessie reacted well to excessive praise. The growing smile on her face confirmed that I’d utilized the right tactic.

“Omigosh, that sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’d love to teach a workshop!”

“Brilliant. Let me give you my card,” I said, pulling one out of my Chanel bag.

Ford gave me a little nudge as I handed it over.

“And you’re currently looking for additional benefactors, isn’t that right?” he said.

I nodded.

“We are.” I turned my attention to Jonathan. “Your organization is so highly regarded, I think we could join forces and help even more people.”

“Oh Jonathan, you have to!” Jessie cooed.

Minutes later, I had Jessie’s workshop availability in my calendar and the promise of a fat donation check from Jonathan. Walking away, I felt like I was on the top of the world.

“Thank you,” I said to Ford, still hardly believing it. “Thank you so much.”

He shrugged. “I just made the introductions. You did the rest.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said, beaming.

“You’re very welcome, then. Now come on,” he said, looping his arm around my waist. “Let’s see if we can’t get you a few more donors.”

It was different, doing this as a team, being on Ford’s arm.

The crowd parted as we walked through it, people whispering about us, vying for our attention. So many pairs of eyes were on me, but I didn’t mind it as much as I would have thought. Because people actually seemed to see me when they thought I was his. I loved it.

And I hated that I loved it.

All of this was a sweet sort of pain. I knew it was just an act—that, to him, it was just a way to keep his mother from harassing him about Claudia. A way to annoy her and his family.

Even so, I couldn’t help being affected by his touch. The way he would stroke my arm as we chatted with the guests, the way he kept resting his hand on my hip. At one point in the evening, he’d even dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of my head.

It was heaven, yes, but knowing that it was all fun and games for Ford meant that there would be emotional hell for me to pay later.

I tried to convince myself it was worth it.