Page 54 of A Deal with the Devil

I want to stay.

I want to stay.

I want to stay.

I kick off my shoes as I enter and text my mother. We haven’t been in contact since that angry phone call before the luncheon, and I just need to know that it made a dent.

Hey Mom, I write. We haven’t spoken in a while and I need to book my flight home.

Which means: I need to know if I’m booking a roundtrip ticket. I need to hear you say you’ve pulled it together.

And I see that’s she read it. But she doesn’t say a fucking word in response.

26

“I have a favor to ask,” he announces the next morning.

And here I was hoping he might be a little penitent after last night. How completely unrealistic of me.

“And it’s something so big you can’t even demand it of me, the way you usually would?” I ask. “I can’t give you my liver, you know. I only have one.”

He runs a hand through his hair and it flops forward. I wonder if he knows my heart pinches a little at that small sign of uncertainty. Already the answer is yes. Fine, Hayes, take my liver. Anything you need is yours.

“It’s my sister’s birthday this weekend,” he says. “I want you to come with me.”

Less invasive than losing an organ but nearly as painful. “You need an assistant for a child’s birthday party?”

“No,” he says, sighing. “I need you to act like you’re my girlfriend. I did it for you with your ex, and now I need the same.”

My eyes go wide. So wide I probably look like a comic book character, but I can’t seem to stop. “What?”

“We should run a hearing test on you at some point. I. Need. You. To—”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Yes, I heard that part. I just can’t begin to imagine why you need me when you have half the women in LA begging for your attention.”

“I can’t ask just anyone to pretend to be my girlfriend.” He toys with the lid of his coffee cup. “I need someone they’d actually believe, someone...impressive.”

This I find even more difficult to grasp. “I’m a failed writer who dropped out of grad school, can’t pay back an advance and now works for you, which is—no offense—sort of hitting rock bottom. How am I impressive?”

“You’re attractive and smart, which is a rarer combination than you might think. Though it would help if you wouldn’t describe anything involving me as ‘rock bottom’ when you meet my family.”

I hitch a shoulder, uncertain. Not that I won’t do it. It’s simply that I’m not sure he’s thought this through. He should be taking a celebrity or a surgeon, not me. “What am I supposed to tell them I do for a living? They won’t be too impressed when they learn I spend my mornings getting rid of the women you bring home.”

His eyes narrow. “That hasn’t happened once in nearly two months but you’re still bringing it up. Just tell them the truth—you’ve got a book due this fall.”

“Oh my God,” I groan. “I told you that in confidence. I hope you’re not repeating it to anyone.”

He shakes his head. “Seriously, Tali—what the hell? How many people write well enough to get a major advance based on fifty pages of a book at age twenty-three? You think that’s so shameful? Ask all the women in this city who slept with a bloated old director to get a part. I’m sure they’d gladly trade sources of shame with you.”

I mostly got the advance because I was dating Matt, but I suppose he has a point.

“Fine,” I say. “What do I wear?”

His tongue glides over his lower lip. He’s looking at me, but his mind is far away at the same time. “The beige dress,” he says, nostrils flaring a little. “Ella will fucking hate that.”

“What’s wrong with the beige dress?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Nothing. That’s why she’ll hate it. When you’re in the beige dress, there’s nothing wrong in the entire world.”