3. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 3

T he thing about cake is, it makes pretty much everything better.

Even shamefully extravagant parties for snobby, aging socialites who hated the idea of me dating their son.

I managed to keep a smile pasted on my face for the rest of the party, including while singing “Happy Birthday” to Mrs. Malone. Her cake—a surprisingly delicious, towering confection comprised of flourless Calamondin orange layers topped with cream cheese glaze and sugared edible flowers—went a long way toward improving my mood, which lasted all the way through the goodbyes at the end of the evening.

Finally, though, Ford escorted me out of the ballroom. Down we went to the car he’d ordered to take us home to our separate apartments, me snuggling my head against his shoulder with his jacket draped over me, trying to squeeze every last drop I could out of the fantasy. But the second the driver shut the car door behind us, I let my smile drop.

I couldn’t pretend anymore.

It was time to have The Discussion. Just because I rolled with the whole faux-dating routine for the duration of the party didn’t mean that I planned to continue letting him walk all over me. I had to stay strong, stick to my earlier vow to change the basic tenets of our friendship.

To be fair, I knew it was as much my fault as his. We had a certain power dynamic between us, had been playing this game since our high school days. Ever since he saved me from the prep school bullies who called me a whore and a slut, who would literally corner me while I was changing for gym so they could talk shit and mock my early-bloomer body.

Even now, years later, I had no idea how the rumors got started. Sure, I was the only ninth grader wearing a C-cup, but ever since I’d hit puberty around the age of twelve, I’d done everything I could to downplay my chest. Still, it was the only reason I could think of that someone had decided to target me —basically an antisocial virgin who barely left the house—and tell the entire school that I was meeting up with random men from the internet, blowing guys under the bleachers for cash, and screwing the entire football team at their post-game keg parties.

It didn’t matter to anyone at my school that there was zero evidence, that all of it was a complete lie. Everyone believed the rumors. Everyone thought I was trash. People would throw crumpled one-dollar bills and heckle me whenever they could get away with it. It was horrible.

The worst was when someone—or maybe multiple someones—filled my locker with condoms. I opened it in the middle of the day, when the hallways were full of people, so practically the whole school saw a mountain of condoms avalanche onto the floor onto my shoes. I’d slammed my locker and fled, but the sound of laughter had followed me, echoing in my ears.

In sum, my freshman year had been a nightmare. Until two things happened.

First, my older brother Stefan had taken me to his senior prom as his “date.” Before that, I’d been nothing but an outcast freshman who the mean girls loved to torture. After prom, though, people actually knew who I was. Namely, the younger sister of Stefan (and Luka) Zoric. But even though Luka and I grew close after Stefan left for college that summer, Luka definitely didn’t protect me at school. He barely showed up for classes to begin with, and when he did? He was more interested in chasing girls than looking out for his vaguely goth loner of a little sister.

So, secondly, and I suppose even more importantly (since Stefan was gone, leaving me to battle my way through another agonizing three years of high school without him making me seem cool by proxy), Ford Malone started hanging out with me. Sticking up for me. Shutting down the trolls and bullies one by one like he was my own personal bodyguard. Hence the hero thing. Hence my undying devotion. Hence this hideous, unkillable crush.

I returned the favor by writing an English term paper for him our sophomore year, and ever since then, we’d become the person who did the other’s dirty work. Even so, the scars from the bullying never really faded. It was part of the reason I didn’t like to be the center of attention.

“That party wasn’t half bad,” Ford mused, looking out the window as the streets of Chicago—so beautiful, the way they were lit up at night—sped by.

“Yeah,” I said, still lost in my head and trying to figure out where to start.

“You made a lot of contacts. Lots of money heading your way for See Yourself.”

I nodded and felt a little twinge of guilt about what I was about to say. Because he was right; I had gotten a lot accomplished in terms of networking and fundraising. It was going to make a huge difference to the organization as we moved forward. And I was grateful for that.

But.

“We need to talk, Ford,” I said, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

He had leaned his head back against the seat, eyes now closed.

“Mmm,” he murmured.

It was clear he was about to fall asleep. I couldn’t really blame him. I was exhausted too. A little drunk, socially overexerted, and my feet hurt. Truth be told, I would rather finish this ride in silence, get home, and slide into a hot bath with a glass of water and two Advil.

However, this conversation had waited long enough.

“Ford,” I said more firmly, giving him a nudge.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “What?”

“What did you do that for tonight?” I asked.

“Do what for?”

“The lie,” I clarified. “About us dating.”

That lazy grin stretched across his face as he said, “It was the obvious solution, no?”

I let out a sigh. “The obvious solution would have been to change the subject with your mom. Not to lie to her about us being a couple.”

Ford shifted in his seat, turning to face me. He’d loosened his tie at some point, leaving his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. That flash of bare skin drew my eyes like a magnet.

“Are you pissed at me?” he asked point-blank.

“It’s not that,” I told him. “But now you’re going to have to admit to her that you lied, which is going to be awkward for everyone. Not to mention how pissy she’ll be with me for going along with this little scheme of yours—and on her birthday no less.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Your mom already hates me, so this isn’t going to help things.”

“First of all, my mom doesn’t like anyone,” Ford said.

“She likes Claudia,” I reminded him. “She loves Claudia.”

Ford winced, but then visibly brightened.

“That’s exactly why this is so genius,” he said. “Don’t you see?”

“I see that your mom is going to be furious,” I said.

“No, no, no. Wait a second,” Ford said, excitement lighting his eyes. He always got like this when he was coming up with schemes. “Dude, it’s the perfect plan.”

I would bet my life on it that he’d never called Claudia, “dude.” She probably would have slapped him if he tried.

“What is?” I asked, knowing full well that I was already halfway to saying yes.

“You can just pretend to actually be my girlfriend for a little while. Think about it! It’ll be completely believable, and rebounds never last anyway—it’ll just be a few weeks so I can get a break from all my mom’s nagging.”

“Your rebound,” I echoed hollowly.

Ford slid closer to me, clasping his hands in mock prayer. “Please, Emzee. I’m begging you. I need a breather! You don’t know how bad it’s been.”

“I mean, I have an idea…” I told him.

He shook his head. “Before the breakup she was trying to give me my great-grandmother’s engagement ring to propose to Claudia with. She’d even picked out baby names for her future grandchildren! Farrah Edith and Bentley Sedgwick.”

“Sounds awful,” I said dryly.

“It really is.” Ford scrubbed his face, a desperate air coming over him. “Look, I just need to convince her that the Claudia ship has definitely sailed.”

“I think it’s a bad idea.” And I wasn’t much for lies. Just look how they’d destroyed my family, the fabric of untruths my father had woven around us. My brothers and I were still repairing the damage he had done. I knew exactly how toxic lying could be.

Ford went on as if I hadn’t even spoken. “You and I can go back to dating other people in a few weeks. A month or two, tops. Say yes.”

Dammit. The second he’d said, “dating other people,” it had set off a chain reaction in my head—and my stupid, na?ve heart.

It wasn’t like I thought the breakup with Claudia meant that he was suddenly seeing me in a new light…but at the same time, I really didn’t like the idea of him swiping right on other girls, and maybe finding that new light in a stranger instead. Because it was obvious Ford was shooting for a rebound either way. It could be me, or it could be some rando.

I looked out the window of the car. The streets were quiet, the brownstones looking cozy with golden light glowing from inside, Chicago’s iconic skyline silhouetted in the distance. The whole world seemed kind of magical. Like it was just me and Ford, flying through the city.

“I need you, Em,” he whispered.

My heart skipped a beat. Dammit. Reluctantly, I said, “I’ll think about it. Just give me a few days.”

“Yes!” Ford crowed.

As if I had ever told him no before.

As if this time would be any different.

Deep down, I knew I’d already made my decision.

“A month?” I repeated.

Nodding, he said, “Two max. You’ll be back on the market in no time, I promise.”

“Well that’s a relief,” I said sarcastically.

The car pulled to a stop outside my building. As the driver got out to come around and open the door, Ford pulled me into a tight hug.

“You’re the best,” he said, his breath warm against my hair. “I’ll call you.”

A part of me wondered if he was still drunk—if this whole thing was just a whim or some impulse he’d forget all about by tomorrow morning. Only time would tell.

Stepping into my loft, I realized I still had Ford’s jacket over my shoulders. So I did what I’d wanted to do in the car, pulling it closer and taking a deep breath. It smelled like him, of course, a woodsy vetiver scent, mixed with a faint hint of the bourbon he’d been drinking.

Hearing the click-clack of tiny toenails on hardwood, I looked up to find my dog Munchkin trotting toward me, a silly grin stretched across his face.

“Hi, you little mush!” I greeted him, setting his stubby tail a-wagging.

After sweeping his little bulldozer body up into my arms, I burrowed my face into his soft black fur. It was hard to believe he and his littermates had been rescued, half frozen to death, from a downtown dumpster in the middle of winter. Not for the first time, I thought about how lucky we were to have found each other.

“What do you think about me pretend-dating Ford for a month?” I asked.

Munchkin, of course, had no verbal response, but he did let out a huff.

“It’s going to be fine,” I whispered, even though I knew, deep down, it wouldn’t be.

Because I knew that Ford Malone was going to break my heart.