Page 41 of The Fake Out

I huffed a laugh. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s a great idea. I need your help and you could use mine.”

“What exactly do I need help with?”

One dark eyebrow rose. “You need money.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re working seven days a week. Your mother has a lot of medical bills. Ali told me about the situation with the library, and how you’re worried about your sister and paying for college.” He sat back, a satisfied smile smeared on his face.

I wanted to wipe that smile off his face even if he was correct about everything he’d listed.

“Ali has a big mouth,” I snapped.

“Think about it. Please.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. I really am.” Those honey-colored eyes of his gazed into mine with so much dang sincerity.

“I can’t believe I’m even giving this space in my head. I don’t have time for this. And who in the world would believe you would propose to me, of all people?” I wagged a finger in his direction. “So many things could go wrong. You’re fixing a lie with another lie. What would your mother think?”

That was a shot in the dark. I had no idea what his mother would think but I felt certain if there was a Mama Sterns somewhere, he would care what she thought.

He winced. A-ha. Bull’s-eye. “I’m a little worried about that myself but if we do it right, my mother will never need to know it was all for show.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

“I know this is a lot to take. Think about it. Please. But I need an answer soon. By Monday.”

I shook my head. “I can already tell you my answer. It’s a no. A big, fat no. Very loud with lots of exclamation points.”

He sighed. “I understand.”

“Good.” I hopped down from the truck. “I should get going.”

I was halfway to my car when his voice stopped me. “Mae, one more thing. It pays a hundred thousand dollars.”

SIXTEEN

Do they have a fire extinguisher around here? ’Cause you’re smokin’.

—JOCELYN S.

I couldn’t sleep.

Not my normal, run-of-the-mill, anxiety-fueled insomnia either. Although that was present and accounted for. This tossing and turning led straight back to that conversation with Chris.

A fake engagement? That stuff only happened in romance novels for a reason. Not in real life and not to people like me.

No. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t spend the time and energy convincing people I was happily engaged to anyone. To freaking Chris Sterns, football god.

But also… $100,000.

Of course, I should probably be offended he thought I could be bought off. Then again, I wasn’t in a position to be offended. That kind of money was life-changing.

I sat up and flipped on the lamp on my nightstand. From the drawer, I withdrew a notepad and pencil I kept there. Sometimes, when the anxiety got too bad, I’d make a list of good things in my life to help me get through it. Every now and then, it worked.