15. Mckenna
FIFTEEN
MCKENNA
“And here.” Aiden taps the next page.
While I started signing the contract with hesitation, I’ve now read through many pages and multiple clauses that I’m scrawling my name with abandon. The nerves that bundled in the pit of my stomach when I entered the law firm have diffused. Instead, time has taken on a more surreal hue, as if I’m watching myself agree to this contract. It’s an out-of-body experience.
I lean over the table and sign my name with a flourish.
“One more initial,” Aiden advises. I scrawl out my initials. “And you’re done.” Aiden straightens. He grasps the papers and taps them against the table until they form a neat stack.
“Thanks, Aiden.” I lean back in my chair and glance around the small conference room at his law firm. I let out a shaky exhale as my shoulders drop. Signing papers here feels more official, instead of at the brownstone.
It weighs on me heavily, like a massive mistake.
Now that the pen is no longer in my hand, instead resting on the gleaming tabletop, those nerves rush back full force. They surge through my body as my stomach reties itself in knots.
Did I make the right decision for my future? Or sign a deal with the devil?
“Mav’s decent,” Aiden tosses out as if sensing my growing alarm.
I gesture toward the folder he tucked under his right arm. It contains the agreement I signed. The contract formally establishes my fake relationship with Maverick Tate in exchange for room, board, tuition, and other incidentals.
Bile coats the back of my throat. “I just agreed to become a kept woman.”
Aiden clucks his tongue. “Hardly. You made a solid business decision to help you finish law school.”
I arch an eyebrow. “And if I was your sister?”
Aiden sighs, his mouth thinning. He takes the seat next to mine. “This is a phase in your life, Mckenna. This isn’t going to define you. You’ll finish law school, get a job you love, and blaze forward. This handful of months with Maverick Tate andThe Burnt Cloverswill one day be a funny story in your rearview.”
“Doesn’t feel very funny,” I choke out. The backs of my eyelids burn at Aiden’s kindness. The fact that someone—anyone—acknowledges what I’m conceding eases my mounting panic.
Jess called the arrangement “too good to be true.”Sitting in the silent conference room, nothing about it feels good.
Allegra thinks it’s a great idea. The guys in the band feel the arrangement is fair.
Mav is indifferent, cool, and aloof.He’s not flipping me his usual snark, but this version is even worse—it’s as if he could be my friend. He could care. We could be partners in crime.
And then, where would that leave me when the contract is void and our fake relationship is over?
Alone.
Other than the small cluster of people who think this is a fine idea, I can’t confide in anyone else. That would break the terms of the contract. I close my eyes and pull in a cleansing inhale. Exhale. Try to relax my shoulders.
Aiden reaches over and wraps an arm around my back. One hand rests on my shoulder, and he squeezes gently. “You’re going to be okay, Kenny. It’s just a few months. It’s a great opportunity for you to focus on your classes, on job applications and the interviewing process, and have financial security.”
“Right,” I agree, pulling in a deep breath and dragging my hand across my eyes.
Aiden pulls me a bit closer. We sit in silence, the folder with all the papers bearing my signature, my acceptance, on the table between us. It taunts me.
You sold out.
You agreed to become Maverick Tate’s plaything to pay for classes.
How will you successfully advise others on their lives and decision-making while making a mess of your own?
You’re going to be a shitty lawyer.
Another inhale. A shaky exhale.
Aiden flexes his fingers and draws small, soothing circles along my shoulder. He gifts me his understanding silence.
It’s comforting to know that someone understands my position. Acknowledges that while this decision may make financial sense, it contains an emotional cost.
My pride.
I don’t know how long we sit in silence, but most of the tension has seeped from my limbs when the door to the conference room bangs open.
I jump, and Aiden’s head swivels.
Mav enters the small space, his mouth twisted, his gaze sharp. He glares at me before his eyes swing to Aiden and narrow further.
“All done?” he bites out.
Aiden slides his hand from my shoulder and stands, swiping the folder up. “All signed.”
A muscle ticks in Mav’s jaw. He nods briskly. “Let’s go.” He directs this toward me, but his eyes are still on Aiden.
Aiden snorts and helps pull back my chair. “Take care, Kenny.”
“Thanks, Aid,” I murmur, slipping from the conference room.
My boyfriend follows me out. Tension tugs between us as we walk down the hallway toward the elevator bay. I press the button. Mav rocks back and forth on his heels and toes, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
The background noise of Aiden’s office—clacking keyboards, the shrill ring of phones, hearty laughter, and clicking heels on marble floors—continues. Uninterrupted.
As if my life didn’t implode. As if I didn’t just sign it away.
Mav huffs, irritated.
I roll my lips together and glance at the toes of my scuffed boots.
I just gave the next six months, maybe more, of my life to the charismatically cryptic, confounding charmer beside me.
The elevator dings, and the doors open. Mav and I step inside in unison, a leap of faith over the threshold.
Casually crossing the Rubicon, even though my mind races, and I want to vomit.
The doors close. Mav’s energy expands, heightening my anxiety.
This is a mistake.
I need to erase my signature.
I need to dissolve the contract.
Mav and I are ? —
“You into him?” Mav bites out.
“What?” I look up. Look around. Who are we talking about?
A derisive snort. “Aiden. The fancy lawyer with the corner office.”
I squint at Mav. Is he serious right now?
A flush of anger rolls down my spine. Anger is an emotion I understand. After all, I’m a Byrne, and bitterness is a large part of our genetic makeup. I scoff at Mav as fury vibrates in my veins.
He traps his lips in between his teeth and lifts his eyebrows. Waiting. Does he want me to confirm his suspicions or shoot them down?
The elevator dings, and the door opens.
I’m not playing this game. If I don’t set a boundary now, I’ll be lost in the dangerous territory we’re navigating.
Just because we had one nice dinner doesn’t mean we’re not different people.
Mav’s still…Mav.
The other night at the restaurant was a fluke. A moment. Mav and I came to a shaky understanding, but anything more than that is a mistake I can’t afford.
I step out first and toss over my shoulder, “Yeah. Aiden’s exactly my type. Responsible and serious. It’s good that you know that now.” I don’t look back as I leave the downtown office building. I stride toward the waiting Escalade and slip inside.
Alfred gives me a reassuring smile before closing the door. Mav slides into the front seat, ignoring me altogether.
But he wears his emotions on his sleeve. Right now, he’s furious.
I cross my arms over my chest. So am I.
Alfred, sensing our stand-off, turns up the volume and hums along as he drives back toward the brownstone.
I gaze out the window, wishing I was anywhere but inside this SUV, trapped with him . Six months of smiling at his annoying face. Of sharing appetizers at trendy restaurants, giggling when our fingers brush. Of accompanying him to events and galas, hanging off his arm like some trophy wife.
My phone rings in my purse, and I pull it out.
Mom flashes on the screen. Now she calls? Now that I’ve signed my fucking life away?
She must be back from Cabo, correctly assuming I’m right where she left me. Except now, it feels different.
Entering into this arrangement with Mav has flipped my world upside down and it’s only day one.
I laugh, ignoring the call, but my chortle is more of a choke, the sound harsh and jarring.
Alfred glances at me in the rearview mirror. Mav turns slightly as if to check on me. Or watch me croak.
But I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. Not right now. Not when I’m clinging to my animosity. Mom leaves a voicemail that I’ll check later. I slip my phone back into my purse and return my gaze to the window.
I frown when I realize we passed the brownstone. Instead, Alfred pulls into a shopping center.
“Where are we going?” I ask. I just want to go home, throw myself in a hot shower, and cry where no one can hear me. Or judge me.
“Whole Foods,” Mav replies. He turns to look at me, his expression bathed in sarcasm. “I know how much you love Kombucha and cashew butter, babe.”
Fuck my life.
Alfred glides right up to the entrance and slips from the front seat to open my door.
“Thanks, Alfred,” I mutter.
The older man smiles, his eyes ringed with compassion. “Good luck, Kenny.”
I tip my head. His use of my nickname gives me the strength to put one foot in front of the other and round the SUV to a waiting Mav. He has a shopping cart ready with a handful of reusable bags in the carriage.
A flash goes off. “Hey, Mav! Let me get one of you and your girl!” a paparazzo calls out.
My toes scrunch, and my stomach sinks. I am about to graduate from law school, and this just became my life.
Posing for photo-ops outside of Whole Foods on my way to churn cashew butter.
Mav lifts a hand good-naturedly, appearing confident and at ease. “Nah, man. We’re just trying to grab some essentials.”
“What are you eating for dinner?” the guy calls out, still snapping photos.
Mav chuckles. “I’m making this sick kale salad and some salmon tonight.”
I try not to roll my eyes. I’ve never seen Mav cook anything other than burnt toast.
I reach his side, and he drops an arm around my waist, pinching my skin.
At his not-so-subtle reminder, I smile. I tilt my head toward the doors. “Shall we?”
“After you, love,” Mav breathes, a bite to his words.
Heaving out a sigh, I grip the shopping cart handle and push.
“Take care, Tate,” the guy hollers.
“You too, brother,” Mav replies.
“You nice to all the paparazzi?” I ask.
Mav smirks. “Only the ones I pay to show up.”
Of course. My face burns at the reminder that this is part of the show. The lie we’re selling. The lie I’m complicit in.
“You could sell it a little,” Mav advises. “You know, smile and laugh at my jokes.”
“You’re not funny.”
Mav mock gasps. “That’s not true, Mckenna. We all know I can be funny.” He lowers his voice. “And I can be your friend. If you’ll let me…” He arches an eyebrow, letting that sentence trail off.
I wince. I know he can be my friend. But then what?
We stare at each other for a beat, the shopping cart between us.
“Hey! You’re the rockstar that banged the senator’s wife!” a man with a reusable green bin announces. Since Mav’s poor judgement call, his sexcapade with the senator’s wife has been all over the news as well as trending on socials. Although the senator’s and the band’s PR teams have been working nonstop to mitigate the scandal, it’s certainly out there.
Case in point—this dude hardly looks like he’d keep up with celebrity gossip. And yet, he’s grinning at Mav, oblivious to how callous and insensitive his observation is. His eyes dart to me and he blushes. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize you had a new girl already.” The man falters as realization dawns in his eyes. “Oh, shit. Wait, is this for real?” he gestures between us. “Or is this some PR stunt to?—”
Gah! Now, he’s calling us out? Too close to home!
Luckily, Mav interjects. Pointing at his green bin, he says, “The bags are better for the environment. Cotton bags, not those polypropylene bags that tear.” He holds up the cotton, reusable bags. “Take it easy, mate.” Mav continues, placing a hand on the center of my back and steering me, and the cart, away from the stranger.
The man watches us with a confused and embarrassed expression.
At that, I laugh and let out a long exhale.
Mav glances at me.
Tilting my head, I concede. “All right, you can be funny.”
He grins. “And we can be friends, Mckenna.”
“Maybe.” I begin to add random groceries to our cart, my mind processing the last few minutes.
That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s what I can’t trust. Because when Mav and I are done acting out our little ruse, will he even bother with me? Or will it be like I don’t exist?
Forgotten, as always.