Chapter 12
ELIZABETH
Ilooked around my apartment and couldn’t help but dream of a brighter future.
I had been looking at one-bedroom places.
Nothing fancy but an actual bedroom. Maybe two.
I would love a sewing room. A place that I could work and not worry about leaving the mess.
I could just close the door and not have to stare at the unfinished sketches and fabric scraps all over the place.
But all of that hinged on me getting a decent job. And I wasn’t sure I could take the job at Blackwell.
I needed help. I called my brother for advice. He would tell me what to do.
“Hey, Lizzie. What’s up?”
I could hear pots and pans clanging, which told me he was working.
“Are you busy? I can call back.”
“No, no, I’ve got a few minutes. Just prepping for tomorrow’s gig. Corporate lunch thing, nothing exciting.” The noise quieted as he presumably moved to a different room. “How’s it going? We haven’t really talked since all this craziness started.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. Honesty? Fake it? Tell him it’s been overwhelming? Terrifying? The best and worst week of my life? “It’s been a lot.”
“I saw the press conference. You looked great. Super convincing.”
“I looked scared out of my mind.”
“You looked nervous, which made it seem real. That’s good, right?” He paused. “Lizzie, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice.”
I stared out my window that looked directly at the brick wall of the building next to mine. “Would you be upset if I backed out?”
The line went quiet for a moment. “Of course not. Lizzie, if you’re not comfortable, you should absolutely back out. I’d never be upset about that.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re my sister. Your happiness is more important than any job or any favor I asked for. This whole thing is just to help you out, so if it’s not working for you, absolutely call it off.”
I almost started crying with relief. “Okay,” I murmured.
“What’s wrong? Did Adrian do something? Because if he hurt you—”
“No! No, Adrian’s been a real gentleman. Nothing but gracious and welcoming. Honestly, he’s been amazing, considering I can barely function around him.” I laughed, but it came out watery. “That’s kind of the problem, actually.”
“I’m not following.”
I stood up and started pacing, needing to move. “I just don’t think I’m good at this. All the interviews, the photoshoots, and the public appearances are too much. It’s so much faking. And I’m not a fake person, Chris. I don’t know how to lie to thousands of people and act like it’s normal.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” Chris’s voice was much calmer than I expected. He had gone out on a limb to ask Adrian for a favor. I hated that I was making him look bad. “You’ve always been honest to a fault. That’s what makes you you.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “Are you saying I’m blunt?”
He laughed. “Honest. Truthful. You’re a good person, Lizzie.
A sincere person. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
” He paused, and I heard him moving around again.
“But can I ask you something? Is it really the lying that’s bothering you, or is it something else?
I know Adrian. Are you sure he didn’t do something that made you uncomfortable? ”
I stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you signed up for this knowing it was fake. You knew there would be public appearances and interviews. So what changed between Thursday when you agreed and now?”
I sank back onto the couch, pressing my free hand against my forehead. “I realized how hard it is. Much harder than I thought it would be.”
“Hard how?”
I was not going to tell my brother that being around Adrian was like drinking from a fountain of aphrodisiacs. “Because I’m supposed to be pretending to be in love with him, but I am just not comfortable around him.”
“Why?”
The question was direct, and I could hear that overprotective tone.
“Not like that,” I said. “It’s just… you know he’s like my idol.
Not him, but that whole world. He’s a big deal in the fashion world.
It just feels so weird. How is he ever going to take my work seriously when he knows how well I can fake things?
And how am I supposed to trust any compliments he makes about my work when I know how well he can fake it? ”
Chris sighed. “I guess that makes sense.”
It was all bullshit, but I was glad he was buying it.
“So what are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’m going to tell him I can’t do it. That I’m sorry, but I’m not the right person for this.” Even as I said it, I felt horrible for leaving him in the lurch.
“Okay,” Chris said. “If that’s what you think is best, then I support you one hundred percent. But Lizzie? Can I give you some advice?”
“Always.”
“Do whatever your heart tells you to.”
I closed my eyes, trying to listen to what my heart was saying. But all I could hear was the drumbeat of Adrian’s name, over and over.
“Thanks, Chris.”
“Anytime. Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
I hung up and stood in the middle of my apartment, looking at the mess that was my life.
I needed to tell Adrian. I had to end this before it got any more complicated. I wasn’t sure what it meant for the contract we signed, but I would have to take the hit.
I knew I was effectively killing my career before it ever got started. Screwing over the Blackwell family would be a sure way to get blackballed in the industry. But if I completely bombed the fake engagement thing, I was going to take them down with me.
It was better to cut our losses.
I grabbed my laptop from the coffee table and sat down, opening a new email. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I started typing.
Dear Adrian,
I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can continue with our arrangement.
You’ve been nothing but kind and professional, and I’m grateful for the opportunity.
But I’m not the right person for this role.
I’m not comfortable with the level of deception required, and I don’t think I can give you the performance you need.
I’m prepared to forfeit the payment and the job offer. I understand if this causes problems for your PR plans. I apologize for any inconvenience.
Best regards,
Elizabeth
I read it over once. It was short, professional, and clear. Everything it needed to be. There really was no point in giving him an essay. I doubted he would read it anyway.
My finger hovered over the send button.
Thoughts of getting to work at the company flitted through my mind. A little white lie wasn’t so bad, was it? It wasn’t hurting anyone, and it would get me my dream job.
A knock at the door made me jump, nearly dropping the laptop.
I set it aside carefully and went to the door, looking through the peephole. My breath caught.
Adrian Blackwell was standing in my dingy apartment building hallway, looking completely out of place in his expensive clothes surrounded by peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lights.
What was he doing here?
I looked down at myself—ratty sweatpants, an old band T-shirt with a hole in the collar. My hair was in a messy bun. I looked like I’d given up on life. It was Sunday after all. Did anyone look their best on a lazy Sunday.
Yes, yes they did. Adrian did.
Another knock. “Elizabeth? I know you’re home. I can hear you overthinking things in there.”
Damn it.
I unlocked the door and opened it, trying to look normal. “Adrian. Hi. What are you doing here?”
He held up a large fancy bag. “Can I come in? I brought supplies.”
“Supplies for what?”
“For getting to know each other.” He gave me a small smile, and something about it seemed almost nervous. It wasn’t the smile he used in front of the cameras. “May I?”
I stepped back, letting him in, acutely aware of how tiny and shabby my apartment was. I watched his eyes take in the bed, the pile of dishes, the fabric chaos and the general disaster zone that was my living space.
“Sorry about the mess,” I said automatically. “It’s the maid’s week off.”
He smiled and set the bag on my coffee table, right next to my laptop, which was still displaying the unsent email. I quickly closed it before he could see my resignation letter.
“So, uh, what are you doing here? And how do you know where I live?”
“It’s on the contract you signed. And I’m here because…” He pulled items out of the bag as he spoke. “I brought wine. Good wine, not the cheap stuff. A charcuterie board from this amazing place in SoHo. And this.”
He held up a leather-bound photo album, worn at the edges.
“What is that?”
“Photos of me as a kid. My mom keeps albums of all of us, and I borrowed one.” He looked at me with what almost looked like a vulnerable expression. But that couldn’t be right because why would Adrian ever be vulnerable?
“Sebastian mentioned you get starstruck around me. He said I make you nervous just by existing.”
My face flamed. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t. He was right to tell me.” Adrian set the album down next to the wine. “Elizabeth, I’ve been approaching this all wrong. I’ve been treating you like an employee. Like someone who needs to perform up to a certain standard. But that’s not fair to you. And it’s not working.”
I sighed. “No, it’s really not.”
“So I thought maybe we should start over. Not as CEO and employee, not as fake fiancé and fake fiancée. Just two people getting to know each other.” He pulled out the wine bottle and held it up.
“I figured you’d be less uncomfortable around me if you see me as a person instead of Adrian Blackwell, Fashion Icon.
What do you say? Can I pour you a drink? ”
I looked at him and tried to remember if I had gone to bed. Maybe it was all a really detailed dream. I casually pinched my arm, and yep, I felt it.
He looked like he wasn’t quite sure he’d be welcome. This wasn’t the commanding CEO. This was just Adrian. A man who’d shown up at my door with wine and a piece of his childhood.
My laptop was right there, email unsent, escape route still available. But looking at Adrian, standing in my tiny apartment with a photo album and a hopeful expression, I couldn’t make myself take the easy way out.
“Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. And yes, please pour me some of that wine. A lot of wine.”
He grinned, and damn, he looked like a teenage boy that just got a yes after a Homecoming proposal.
Maybe there was more to him than I’d thought.