Page 111 of Faking It
“Well, I have another one, in the form of a contract for you in my hands.”
My heart drops into my stomach at hearing those words. Work. Not me. That’s why he’s calling.
“You do?” I force myself to say.
“Mmm-hmm. Robert stopped by earlier today after I asked him to write one up for you to stay on with SoulM8 as its official spokesperson.” I don’t respond, can’t, as I think of how hard it would be to work with him day-in and day-out and still feel this way about him.
“Does he know that we’re not together anymore?” I ask.
Zane’s sigh fills the line and then the silence settles as I wait for him to respond. “We’ve spoken, yes.”
“Oh.” My chest constricts because that means no more need to act.
“The contract, Harlow?”
“Yes. Sure. What about it?” I ask trying to get my footing back beneath me.
“It allows you to still take other jobs while working for us and—”
“Thank you for the consideration, but I think I’ll pass.”
What are you doing? Steady work. Steady paycheck. Dream job.
But it would mean seeing him regularly. It would mean that I’d be reminded of what I can’t have, what I can’t want.
“What do you mean, you’ll pass?” His disbelieving laugh sounds exactly how I feel right now.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Zane.”
“Too bad. Our meeting is set for nine o’clock tomorrow.”
“I told you, I don’t think—you need to go through my agent.” Whew. When in doubt, always blame it on the agent.
His chuckle fills the line. “I don’t go through agents.”
“This time you’ll have to.” Anything so I don’t have to see you when all I really want to do is see you.
“You’ll show,” he says and for the briefest of seconds, I’m reminded of when he came to the house to bring the shoes. Of his offer to attend the party. Of the start of all this.
A tiny part of me latches onto this tiny sliver of something between us and wants to see if he’s giving me an opening like I think he might be.
Either that or I’ve undoubtedly gone crazy.
“No, I won’t,” I counter.
“Yes, you will.”
“Still arrogant and demanding I see.”
“Did you think I’d change?”
“Yes.” My voice is the quietest of whispers when I speak, my little nod to him that I was holding out hope.
“You’ll show, Harlow. You’ll show because of women like Molly who we met in New York.”
My fingers tighten on my cell. “You remembered her name?”
“You’ll show because it’s those women who need the hope you being the face of this company will provide.”
