CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hendrix
“U gh.”
It’s my first and only thought when I see the caller ID on my phone say “Mom” on the incoming call.
If I pick up, then I’m already lying to her.
But nothing has broken yet and so it might be the last time I actually talk to her without the burden of guilt that’s fast approaching.
Wedding pictures will “leak” by Friday, at least that’s the plan, and so with that knowledge, I opt to answer and have a much easier conversation.
“Mom. Hi. How are you doing?”
“Honey? Are you okay? I called the bakery and the message said you were closed for a few days. Is something wrong?”
Shit . “I’m fine. Good. That was from a few days ago. I’ve been there. I just forgot to change the message.”
“But you were closed? Why? What’s wrong? You haven’t taken a day off since you opened. Do I need to come out and take care of Fucktard for you?”
I chuckle. “No, Mom. This has nothing to do with Paul. I have a big order coming up and needed a few days’ break before I start on it.”
She makes a noncommittal sound that says she doubts me. “Okay, but how are you going to pay bills if you aren’t open?”
She doesn’t know that Paul drained our accounts. That would have resulted in a lecture about how I put my future in the hands of a man. She’d then want to come and save the day when she doesn’t have the money to save the day with in the first place.
And she doesn’t know I’m being paid to now be Mrs. Jase Gizmodo. That would open a whole other round of questions about what services I’m being paid for exactly and... now, I comprehend why Nathaniel required that no one else know.
It makes it easier and harder at the same time.
“I’m good. I promise. This order is huge and I inflated the prices so I covered the days off.”
“You sure about that or are you just giving me lip service?”
“I am. I promise.”
“And here I was all worked up because Nosy Natalia—you know my friend who lives across the street and obsesses over her gossip sites all day—swears there was a picture of you in one of them.”
My heart jumps in my chest.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I said the same thing, but honey, she showed me the pictures and I can see why she thought that. They were taken at a distance but I’m telling you, that girl is your doppelg?nger.”
If my mom thinks it... someone must have taken a picture from our night out in Vegas. Truth be told, I’m surprised one hasn’t been posted or bought by tabloids sooner.
“Right down to the bikini she was wearing,” she continues as I pause mid-motion. “It was almost identical to the one you wore on our girls’ trip a few years back. Such a unique pattern it was. I knew it wasn’t you though. What in the world would you be doing in the backyard of a mansion in Los Angeles?”
Each sentence of this conversation is getting ostensibly worse.
Bikini? Backyard of a mansion?
My hands begin to tremble, but she speaks and answers the question before I can even put words to it. “Some musician’s house no less. You don’t even like tattoos and you could see he had plenty of them as he bent over and kissed her.”
My body flushes with a heat I’ve never experienced before.
It’s happening. I knew this was coming, that people would know, but... in my bikini? In my most vulnerable state?
“Mom, I have to go,” I say, trying to keep my voice as even as possible.
“I’m all for letting loose and frolicking and the like, but Natalia was saying how it looked a lot like those pictures from the Playboy Mansion way back when.”
“It wasn’t there,” I say without thinking, not realizing I just gave her a nugget to bite on.
“It was . . . you?” Confusion peppers her voice.
Welcome to the club, Mom.
“I’ll explain later. In the coming days, just remember what I told you the last time we talked.”
“That you’re okay?”
“Exactly.”
“This isn’t sitting well with me.”
“You’re talking to me. You hear that I’m fine. It’s a picture in a bikini in a friend’s backyard. That’s all.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs.
“Now I do have to go as I have a potential client coming in and need to get ready.”
We end the call on my lie, but I’m so overwhelmed as I scramble to social media, search Gizmo, and see picture after grainy picture of Jase and me in his backyard.
The bottom I was worried about dropping out, does just that.
I can’t look away.
There are pictures of me standing and picking my swimsuit out of my ass. There’s another of Jase sitting beside me. One where he’s turned toward the pool with a huge grin on his face as if I said something funny. The last one is of him kissing me as my hands dive into his hair.
Oh. My.
The same types of pictures I’ve scrolled through and judged before.
“Jase?” I ask as I move through the house, grateful his house staff is gone for the day. “Jase?” This time my pitch escalates and I pick up my pace, almost feeling desperate to find him.
“Hendrix? What’s wrong?” he asks as he steps down the hall where his recording studio is and moves toward me. His brows are knit and tone is laced with concern.
“They know. The public knows.”
“Calm down.” He sounds like the voice of reason. “What are we talking about?”
I shove my phone at him and jab my finger from my free hand at its screen. “There. Right there.”
He purses his lips as he studies them before his lips crawl into a slow smile. “Perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“Yeah. I tried to position us so they’d get a good angle with it.”
It takes a second for his words to sink in, but the minute they do, I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. “What do you mean that you tried to position us for a good angle?”
“My publicist set it up. The tip to a photographer that I had a woman at my house. Where to go to catch a good photo.” He shrugs. “And they did their job.”
“Of me in a bathing suit? You set it all up, planned a paparazzi shoot, and didn’t think to tell me?” I screech.
He shrugs again. “What’s the big deal? If I’d told you, then you would have looked their way and made it obvious that we set up a PR stunt. It’s not like they know who you are or anything. You still have your privacy for a few more hours yet.”
“Lucky me.”
“God, can we cut that crap?”
“You tricked me.” With a kiss that left me reeling .
Who is this man?
Tears burn in my eyes.
After all the kind words of affirmation he threw at me, it would be reasonable to believe he kissed me because he wanted to.
It’s a business arrangement, Hendrix. You forgot that, didn’t you?
“Better get used to the exposure, Hendrix. This is what you signed up for.”
Clearly the honeymoon is over. I thought I was getting to know the true Jase.
“Isn’t it?” he asks.
“I didn’t sign up to be lied to. Not once did you think about—”
“What’s the big fucking deal?” he shouts. “In two days, everyone is going to know we’re married. At least this way it doesn’t look like you were some wannabe groupie I picked up in Vegas.”
“Wow. Just feed into my fears, why don’t you.”
He pulls down on the back of his neck and groans. “You didn’t have to say yes to this.”
And like any person fighting with someone for the first time, you don’t know where lines can and can’t be drawn or just how dirty your opponent is willing to fight.
“And you didn’t have to bring me in to help solve your problems.” My tone is even despite the racing of my heart.
He groans and moves about the space like a caged animal who’s at war with himself.
“Look.” His sigh is heavy as he lifts his hands and drops them. There’s regret in his eyes but only a hint of it in his words when he speaks. “I did what I had to do. It’s not that big of a deal so quit making it one.”
I stare at him, hating the tears welling in my eyes. I’m hurt, when I really shouldn’t be. But he blindsided me today, and I hate feeling like I’m on the back foot. Humiliated.
It’s a business arrangement, and you’ve learned something about your fake husband today. He won’t always include you, despite the bullshit he fed you about ensuring you know where he is.
“I’m not making it anything, Jase.” It’s a partial lie. He kissed me by the pool and for the smallest, tiniest sliver of time, I believed in the tenderness. I won’t again .
You don’t kiss when you don’t want to— just because . Well, Jase Gizmodo does. So, keep your guard up.
“I have shit to do,” I mutter.
“Hendrix—”
“Don’t.” I hold a hand up. “Like you said, it’s not a big deal.” My tone says differently. And with those words, I turn and head back down the hallway to my bedroom without looking back. Jase calls after me, frustration in his voice, but he doesn’t chase after me.
I don’t want him to, either.