It’s Not All Fake

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

LIAM

V oices approach from down the hallway.

The computer screen in front of me displays a long string of code. Next week, my investment firm will launch a new website and it will mean a huge boost in revenue—if we can nail it.

Every minute counts, and I can’t afford to be distracted, so when Mom barges into my home office without even knocking, I’m frustrated.

“Hi Liam,” Mom announces brightly as she breezes toward my desk.

My irritation grows when I notice she has a companion in tow. I’m not one to grouch, but I’m on a time crunch here.

A stunning brunette enters the room behind my mother. Her long wavy hair cascades past her shoulders. Bold green eyes take in the large home office that boasts views of the Hollywood Hills.

I don’t recognize her.

“Mom.” I stand, trying to figure out why this woman is with my mother. I wonder if Mom is playing matchmaker again. I have no interest in the dating game. However, I’m not opposed to a more… transactional encounter.

The brunette’s eyes lock on mine, and I swear I see a blush spread across her cheeks. She is breathtaking. Probably too young for me, though. I admit that.

“Liam, this is Chloe Middleton. I wanted to introduce her.” Mom stands back as the woman approaches, hand extended.

Oh, shit .

I realize what is happening now and my heart sinks.

My mother has told me about “Chloe” on an almost daily basis. But I imagined Chloe—Mom’s “life coach”—as a gray-haired, wise old woman.

Not the inextricably hot woman in front of me. She’s wearing a modest but stylish pencil skirt and low heels. She looks more like a chic corporate employee than some hippy happiness coach.

“Um...” I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Middleton.”

I remember now Mom saying her life coach was going to come to the house today. Mom typically likes to get out of the house and commute to Chloe’s office, but she occasionally requests a house call when her arthritis flairs up.

But I never expected to actually meet her mysterious Yoda.

For a life coach, Chloe seems way too young. I bet she’s in her early to mid-twenties. She probably still gets carded at the bar.

She smiles at me. A radiant, intoxicating mixture of intelligence, charm, and exquisite beauty.

She reaches out to take my extended hand. Her hand is tiny in mine, but her handshake is firm, confident.

“The pleasure is mine,” she assures me, and I notice she has one dimple in her right cheek. I can’t help feeling utterly disappointed by her reasons for making my acquaintance today. I know what’s about to come.

“Liam…” Mom starts tentatively, “I’ve spoken with Chloe about the possibility that she could help you with… Well, that you could benefit from her services.”

Suddenly, I feel like a science project, some specimen to be analyzed and altered. Mom has pushed this issue with me several times, much to my chagrin. I’ve told her a million times that the answer is no. I’m fine. I don’t need a coach or a shrink, or any other help.

“Yes, Liam. May I call you that?” Chloe’s voice is soft, caring. Her “therapy voice,” I guess.

I’m immediately guarded, but I nod at Chloe, and she continues.

“Liam, your mother has made amazing progress. I’m certain we can get you moving in the right direction too.” Her emerald gaze invades me, searching for something she won’t find.

I sit, humored by her sudden arrogance. She thinks she knows me because my mother told her a few tidbits about my life. She knows nothing about my needs.

“I’ve spoken with him a number of times,” Mom says quietly, as if I cannot hear. “He always has the same response. He doesn’t need a life coach.” Mom purses her lips.

“This is true. I don’t need a life coach.” My fingers drum across my desk. “I already have what I want in life.”

Chloe gives me a soft, patient smile. “Clients often don’t realize the fullness of their needs until they begin the process,” she attempts to educate me. “Liam, I can help you take steps toward a better you. In fact, I’m willing to stake my career on it.”

My skin prickles at her overconfident ego. I look at Mom to avoid allowing my distaste for Chloe’s proposal to color my expression.

Mom’s pleading look tugs at my heartstrings, which I wish I did not possess in this moment. From boyhood, she has been the one thing I cherish most.

“Liam, you work so much.” Mom presses her palms together as if begging me. “Your friendships are nothing more than golf or racquetball partners that talk shop. You have no time for a social life, and every woman who has piqued your interest in the past five years you’ve sent away for the most ridiculous reasons.” Mom raises her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side. It’s a motherly look that always puts me in my place.

I try not to give in.

“Is working hard such a bad quality?” My computer dings, on cue, as an email pops into my inbox and catches my attention for a moment. Mom frowns.

“You see?” she pleads to Chloe. “Work is all he thinks of.”

As if Chloe could be my savior, she placates my mother, patting her hand. Though both are thin, my mother appears frail, while Chloe is fit and strong. I see the muscles in her bronze, toned legs and assume she must be a runner. At the very least, she hits the gym regularly.

When I catch my gaze lingering a little too long on her bare legs, I clear my throat and refocus on Chloe’s narrowed green eyes.

“I see what you mean, Olivia.” Chloe may as well cluck her tongue at me like my mother. They are two peas in a pod. “Can I just…” Her eyebrows raise as if asking my mother to provide her blessing on some secret matter I know nothing about. Mom nods and Chloe looks my way.

“Liam, you may not understand your mother’s concern. But I guarantee that I can help you enhance your life. I tend to know what people need before they know it themselves.”

I choke back a laugh. “You what?”

“Oh, Liam,” Mom says, crossing her arms. “I worry about you so much. I don’t know how I’ve failed so badly at being your mother that you think the only relationship you need is with your money.”

I straighten in my seat, then stand. This exchange has gone on long enough. I have every intention of politely ending this conversation and seeing this life coach out of my office. “You did not fail as a mother, okay?”

Mom wrings her hands together as I round my desk and approach her with a smile.

Most people find me intimidating—I overshadow with my height and my reputation—but Chloe doesn’t even flinch as I draw near to scoop up my mother’s hand.

“You did an amazing job raising me. I’ve done well enough so you can live in retirement comfortably.” I kiss her hand and smile. “I’m doing just fine.”

I purchased my Hollywood mansion last year and insisted that my mother live in the attached suite. With her health challenges, the arrangement allows me to keep a close eye on her.

“Your mother is not concerned about your business, Liam,” Chloe clarifies. “I’d like to help you with your relationships—to fine-tune areas of concern so you can find Mrs. Right.” Chloe’s annoying wink aimed in my mother’s direction grates on my last nerve. It takes everything in me not to snap at her.

“For me, Liam,” my mother pleads. “Consider it. It’s nothing more than listening to some advice.”

I want to scowl. To put my foot down in frustration and tell her I won’t be working with Ms. Chloe Middleton.

But I can’t upset Mom. When I look at her face, all I see are the dark circles beneath her eyes, proof of the worry and stress she’s under.

“This is really what you want?” I’ll give anything to fill those sad eyes with happiness and joy again.

“Yes, Liam. It is.” Her frail seventy-three-year-old fingers squeeze mine with a strength I didn’t know she had in her. “It really is.”

I sigh internally, but I can’t show her how frustrated I am by this choice. Even the players in the World Series of Poker wouldn’t be able to detect the poker face I flash Mom and Chloe. If this is truly what she wants, then I will do it.

“Alright, I’ll give it a shot. But only for a few weeks to see how it goes.” It takes a great deal of humility to submit to my mother’s wishes knowing I am nearly forty years old and very capable of living my own life.

And knowing that Chloe is probably giddy with power, thinking she is right—that I need to be “fixed”—makes my blood boil.

But honoring my mother and making her happy is the most important thing. Far more important than me being right or in charge.

“Thank you, Liam.” My mother beams.

I nod and let go of her hand.

“Liam, I will be in touch to set up our first session.” Chloe looks thoroughly satisfied. “Olivia, I will see you next Tuesday.”

As Chloe walks out, her heels click on the travertine. She’s a dainty thing, and clearly smart as a whip for figuring out how to make hundreds of dollars an hour with no actual credentials. I wish we had met under different circumstances.

Mother smiles at me, a proud smile that stretches to meet her eyes. I know I’ve done well by her, even if it means my temporary suffering.

“I’m going to take a nap, Liam.” She smiles knowingly at me and retreats, leaving me to sulk over the minor defeat.

I said I’ll meet with Chloe, not that I will actually participate. And as far as I know, things that happen within these sessions are confidential, the way a lawyer or doctor does business. Which means Chloe cannot tell my mother that I’m not “taking steps towards a better me,” or she’ll be breaking her own code.

Now I just need to get through the next few weeks without losing my mind enough to need real therapy.