Page 19 of Let’s Make a Scene

Jesus, this whole thing would be a lot easier if he didn’t look like he was about to pose for the cover of GQ. When I walked through the door into this hotel room, his handsomeness was like an attack, a swift one-two punch to any defenses I thought I had built up. For a moment my mind went blank, like the world turning white after a devastating explosion. After that cleared, my first impulse was to imagine peeling the crisp white shirt he’s wearing from his big, muscular body.

Which is… not ideal.

Last time I saw him I was twenty and basically just a walking bag of hormones, so being a horny little demon around the man, despite my low, low opinion of him, was somewhat understandable, but now I’m a mature, independent, adult woman. At least I am when I’m not drinking ice cream and living in my pajamas. I’m certainly old enough, and wise enough, to know that Jack Turner-Jones is a terrible idea dressed up in a nicely fitted pair of trousers.

Still, my entire body is having some sort of episode. I watched him drink water like it was happening in slow motion and being soundtracked by Barry White. His collar is unbuttoned and there’s a small triangle of golden skin on display. If I pressed my thumb there, to that divot, I’d feel his pulse beating.

I remind myself that I hate this man, that we are mortal enemies.

“I’d want some sort of paperwork,” I say, trying to sound firm. “An NDA. Something to make sure that this arrangement stays… private.”

“We didn’t do anything like that last time.”

“Things are different now,” I reply. “It’s not like the last time.”

The air thickens again. Our history hangs between us, a swirling, Technicolor mess of emotions that I can’t even begin to pick through. I hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming it would be, past and present colliding like this. It’s been thirteen years since the last time we were in a room together, but in some ways it feels as though no time has passed at all.

“I’m not disagreeing with you.” Jack holds up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “But it wouldn’t do either of us any good if the details of this plan were made public.”

“Mutually assured destruction?” I lift my brows. “Hardly a promising basis for a relationship, even a fake one.”

“And an NDA is?” Jack counters.

I only shrug. How could I explain to him—even if I wanted to—just how royally screwed I’ve been by someone I trusted? Gayle and Hannah might have come up with a plan to salvage my career, but it involves me putting my faith in someone who has never made a secret of how little he thinks of me. I reach for my bottle of water, willing my expression to remain neutral, not wanting to show a flicker of the fear and anxiety that are a constant presence in my life right now.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “Look,” he says, and his voice is gruff, “all I meant was that I’m not going to do anything to fuck you over. You might not believe that”—his fingers run impatiently through his hair, pushing it into an artful disarray that only makes him look more appealing—“but it’s the truth. If an NDA will make you feel safer, then I have no problem with it. Tell Gayle to have the lawyers draw up whatever she likes and I’ll sign it.”

I press my lips together and nod. I don’t know why his words make me feel tearful, I mean, apart from the fact that absolutely everything makes me feel tearful at the moment. When the news about me and Shawn first broke, I was numb; I barely felt anything for weeks. Now, it’s as if all those feelings are catching up with me. I’m stuck inside a snow globe that someone has shaken up and there are sparkly little emotions flying everywhere.

Jack clears his throat. “You’re right that this isn’t like last time,” he says. “We can do it differently. You can be in charge here, Cynthie. No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to do,” he finishes softly.

Oh, no. I absolutely cannot cope with Jack Turner-Jones being kind to me. If he’s behaving like a half-decent person, I must be a truly pitiful creature.

I straighten my spine, flip my hair back over my shoulder. “Which is exactly why I suggested the rules.” I make my voice crisp, all-business.

“Right.” He nods. “So apart from the paperwork, what did you have in mind?”

I blink. I hadn’t really got past the paperwork part. Honestly, the whole idea seems so demented that I’m not sure where to start.

“We keep the circle tight,” I say finally. “Only the people close to us know that this isn’t real. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, we’re together.”

“Sure.” Jack nods. “That makes sense.”

“So no…”—I hesitate, and he frowns—“no seeing other people,” I finish on a rush. It would be beyond disastrous if the next big news story became about Jack cheating on me.

“That’s fine with me,” he says, then it’s his turn to pause. “Is there anyone else you’re…” He trails off.

“No!” I exclaim, vehemently. “It would just be you. Only you.”

Something flares in his eyes at that, but he looks down at his hands, hiding whatever emotion he feels.

“No seeing other people.” He clears his throat. “Any other rules?”

“None that I can think of right now.”

“I think we should have one about touching,” Jack says matter-of-factly, and my mouth dries.

“Touching?”