Chapter 5 #2
“Didn’t you just say that bad publicity is actively ruining your contract negotiations?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Touché.” He laughs, not even trying to defend it. “But nobody’s going to think less of you for dating me. If anything, it makes you more interesting. Local girl tames bad boy F1 driver? People eat that up.”
“Tames?” I deadpan. “What am I, a lion tamer?”
“You know what I mean. The narrative changes for both of us. I’m not the party guy anymore, I’m the guy who fell for the talented local musician. You’re not just another aspiring artist, you’re dating a famous driver.”
“So I’m reputation rehab?” I say, trying to look skeptical even though my brain is already frantically calculating how many Instagram followers I could potentially gain from just one post on his account.
“And I’m massive exposure. Fair trade.” His eyes are dancing. He knows he’s reeling me in.
I think about Brandon’s face when Jack’s arm went around me. About Maya’s email saying they need to see I can bring an audience. About ten million potential fans.
“My sponsors want ‘stability and maturity,’” he explains, making air quotes. “A talented girlfriend from my hometown who has actual goals? Doesn’t do drugs? You’re perfect, nice and wholesome. And you get access to my entire following.”
“Oh my god, I’m actually considering this.” I press my palms to my cheeks. “This is what rock bottom feels like, isn’t it? Standing in an empty bar, seriously contemplating a fake relationship with Jack Midnight purely for Instagram followers. My therapist is going to need her own therapist.”
He laughs, loud and genuine, then says, “It’s not rock bottom at all, Lark. It’s strategic thinking. Like a business merger.”
“A business merger?” I laugh. “You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, don’t you?”
He grins, clearly pleased I haven’t completely shut down the idea yet. “Think of the perks. Instagram exposure, Brandon’s face whenever he sees us, and you get to hang out with me all summer. Win-win-win situation.”
“Your ego is truly something to behold, Midnight.”
“It’s one of my best features,” he replies with a self-satisfied smirk.
I roll my eyes hard. “Okay, but there’s a giant hole in your logic.
I’m not even that wholesome. I spent more than a few nights in my youth dancing on bar tops during girls’ nights out.
I literally work at a bar serving alcohol, for crying out loud.
” I drop my voice to an exaggerated stage whisper.
“And last week I said ‘fuck’ in front of Pastor Miller’s seven-year-old daughter during trivia night, and she then went and repeated it word-for-word during Sunday school. I’m basically going straight to hell.”
“That’s cute, but some dancing and occasional swearing hardly counts as wild behavior,” he says with an amused look.
“Those are very different kinds of parties than what my sponsors are worried about. Plus this isn’t exactly some sketchy dive bar situation.
There’s a Connect Four grid in the corner and you serve mocktails. ”
I follow his gaze to the stack of board games Maren keeps specifically for family trivia nights.
The Black Lantern really is practically a postcard for small-town charm—string lights year-round, locally sourced menu, dogs and kids welcome.
Half the town brings their children here for weekend lunch and trivia nights. Dammit, he has a valid point.
“I can’t believe I’m negotiating terms.” I tap my nails against the bar top anxiously. “If—and I mean IF—we actually did this ridiculous thing, what would we even tell people?”
“The truth, modified.” He leans back. “We reconnected at the wedding, sparks flew. The Brandon thing happened, I asked you out. It writes itself.”
“Nobody would believe I’d date you,” I point out. “I’ve called you a fuckboy to your face, and behind your back more than once.”
His grin widens. “That’s exactly what makes it believable. Everyone loves a reformed bad boy story.”
“You’re not reformed though,” I point out dryly.
“They don’t know that.” He winks, and I hate that it’s actually charming.
“How long would we even do this?” I can’t believe I’m really asking.
“Two months minimum. Through September.” His expression shifts to something more calculated. “My contract stuff should be sorted by then, and that gives you solid exposure.”
“And then what happens?” I find myself leaning forward despite my better judgment.
“Mutual, amicable breakup. Distance got too hard with me back in Europe. We tried to make it work but it wasn’t meant to be. Still friends, no drama whatsoever.”
I chew my lip. “If we did this… I’d have to tell Maren. She’s my best friend.”
“No way.” He shakes his head firmly. “She’d tell Calvin, who’d tell my other brothers. And Alex is a horrible secret keeper. Too many people would know. Too easy for it to get out.”
“But she’ll know something’s off,” I say, fidgeting with a coaster. “She can read me like a book.”
“Look,” he leans forward. “The fewer people who know, the better. Either Maren has to lie to her husband about his own brother, or Calvin finds out and lectures me about responsibility. Neither option is great.”
Dammit, he’s right. Asking Maren to lie to Calvin isn’t fair at all. Putting Maren in that position, making her choose between me and her husband? That’s not something I can do to my best friend.
I sigh, already feeling guilty. “Fine. But if she figures it out and gets mad, I’m blaming you entirely.”
“Deal. I’ll take full responsibility for corrupting you.” He places a hand over his heart solemnly.
“Okay, if we’re doing this, we need ground rules.” I try to think practically. “First rule: no kissing.”
“What?” he asks, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m not saying we need to make out constantly, but people who are dating generally kiss sometimes.”
I cross my arms defensively. “Not necessarily. Some people aren’t into PDA at all. For all anyone knows, I’m one of those people.”
“Okay, then hand holding at absolute minimum,” he counters.
“Obviously,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not a prude. Hand holding is fine. And hand on waist is acceptable when we’re in public together, I guess. For believability purposes.”
“I can work with those parameters.” He drums his fingers on the bar, thinking. “You’ll need to come to any racing events I have scheduled this summer though. There are a few sponsorship things. Including one in Miami.”
I gulp. Miami. The only times I’ve traveled are to visit extended family in Mexico or my parents in Southern California. This is racing world Miami with Jack Midnight. “Okay… sure. And you share me on your social media and mention my music? But naturally, not an obvious promotion?”
“Of course.” He flashes that dimpled grin. “Professional and subtle. And we need to be seen around town together regularly too. Coffee shops, restaurants. Full visibility in Dark River.”
This is suddenly feeling overwhelming. I’m going to be lying to the entire town. Great. “Alright. And absolutely no drama when we eventually fake break up. I mean it. No messy ending that makes me look like the girl who got dumped by the famous racing driver.”
“Scout’s honor.” He holds up three fingers in what I assume is supposed to be a scout salute.
“Were you even a Scout?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “For like three days when I was nine. Got kicked out for hot-wiring the scoutmaster’s car and taking it for a joyride around the campground.”
I stare at him. “You stole a car when you were nine?”
“Borrowed,” he corrects primly. “I brought it back. Even parked it in the exact same spot. But apparently that’s ‘dangerous’ and ‘illegal’ and ‘not appropriate Scout behavior.’” He does air quotes, looking entirely unrepentant.
I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’ve been an absolute menace since birth, haven’t you?”
“Pretty much. My brothers have stories that would horrify you.” He smirks.
“I’m going to ignore that. OK, most importantly,” I say, forcing myself to get serious again, “we both need to remember this is purely a business deal. Nothing more. No getting confused about what’s real and what’s fake.”
“Hey, I’m the one who suggested it,” he points out. “If anything, you should be the one promising not to fall for me.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re going to fake break up before we even fake start at this rate.”
“Nah. We’re going to be great at this. Best fake couple Dark River has ever seen.” He leans back, completely at ease with this bizarre scenario.
“We’re really doing this?” I ask one final time, giving us both one last out.
“We’re really doing this.” He holds out his hand across the bar. “Shake on it?”
I stare at his outstretched hand for a long moment. This is it. The moment where I either come to my senses or commit to the wildest idea I’ve ever agreed to.
I reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm and warm and real, and I wonder again what the hell I’m getting myself into.
“Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?” I say, resigned.
“Because you kind of did. But a very helpful devil who’s going to make you Instagram famous.” He stands up, already pulling out his phone. “Actually, there’s a Callahan Spirits event in Seattle next weekend. Black tie, industry people, lots of photographers. Perfect for our public debut.”
“Next weekend?” My internal panic meter shoots to eleven.
“You’re right, that’s pretty far away.” He frowns, clearly thinking the opposite of what I meant. “We’ll need to soft launch way before then. Start the rumors, get people talking.” He’s already typing something. “Coffee date tomorrow morning? Very public, very visible.”
“Um, OK,” I manage. “Sure. Late morning though? I’m going on a run early and have errands.”
“Perfect. Give me your number. I’ll text you the details later tonight.”
I recite it and watch him save it in his contacts. My phone buzzes immediately with a text: Your new fake boyfriend
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” I say.
“Believe it.” He pauses at the door, turning back with that grin. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning about coffee. See you soon.” And then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?