Page 39 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

And, there was Ananya Mehta. The meeting was already scheduled for next week for a lead role. I knew it in my bones that it’d be career-defining for me.

I thought about Ananya Mehta’s last film. The way she had coaxed something devastating and raw from her actors. This is the job I’ve spent my career trying to get.

My phone had twelve unread messages from Diya. Eight from my mother and fifty-seven from my several aunts asking if the ring was genuine gold.

I hadn’t answered any of them, and the guilt sat in my chest like a stone, but I kept it there and let Blake keep talking.

Then something touched my leg.

I looked up.

Liam was watching Xavier explain the social media protocol, expression politely attentive, but there was a small, dangerous curl at the corner of his lip.

Jerk.

But a handsome jerk, nonetheless.

He looked unfairly, infuriatingly good-looking, and I would rather die than voice it out.

So, I nudged his leg back.

His eyes cut to mine, and they were sharp and amused.

Game on.

The nudging game started small and with discreet play. A gentle pressure of shin against shin while Xavier talked about ‘authenticated couple moments’ and Blake nodded along, taking notes.

Then it escalated.

My foot against his ankle. His knee against mine. My heel accidentally came down on his foot. His leg pushing mine sideways. Both of us stared straight ahead with expressions of complete innocence while the entire table trembled slightly, water glasses rippling as if we were in a low-budget earthquake scene.

It wasn’t until we heard the silence in the room that I looked at them.

Blake and Xavier had stopped talking, and both publicists looked at us with the unified expression of adults staring at children who had just drawn on the walls with permanent marker.

“Are you both quite finished?” Blake asked. “Or should we leave the room to give you both time to finish your game of footsies?”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Sorry,” Liam said.

We were not sorry.

“We’ll have the formal contract ready within forty-eight hours,” Xavier announced, closing his laptop. “Three months, standard morality clauses, social media schedule⁠—”

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine,” Liam said.

I sighed, reaching for my bag.

“One more thing,” Xavier said. “We need a photo. Right now, today. Something natural.”

“Nothing about this is natural,” I said, moving my hands in the air. We were in a luxurious cafe with so much lighting that I could count the pores on Liam’s face (unfortunately, I could barely see any) and planning a fake-dating agreement to better our careers.

“Something natural-looking, then. The story needs fuel.” He gestured between us. “Something simple like… hands on the table.”

I looked at Blake, and she gave me the look that meant, don’t argue, just do it.