8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Paige: It’s official! I have a book deal, a lot more money in my bank account, and a fake boyfriend! The last is just collateral damage.
Alice: Excuse me?! What?!
Gigi: Margaritas, my house! Tonight!!!
Alice: We need DETAILS!!
Paige: Yappy hour, for SURE! Anyone know how to cut up a fresh pineapple??
Gigi: I do!
Paige: Amaze-balls!! I knew you would! I’ve got a new margarita recipe!
Paige, Alice, and Gigi lived within a four-block radius of each other, which Paige absolutely loved. Bad day? Need to spill the latest gossip? Craving a pajama party? A ten-minute walk stood between her and her best friends—her lifelines, her family by choice.
If she had it her way, they’d be next-door neighbors, popping over with wine and snacks at a moment’s notice.
Maybe one day, when they were old and gray, they’d retire in a tiny house community together.
That was Paige’s dream. A future built on friendship, not heartbreak.
Because, romantic love? That was messy. Unpredictable. And, for her, never quite enough.
“So, they just added an extra zero to a check and handed it over?” Gigi asked, slicing the leafy top off the pineapple. All three women stood around the kitchen island, at Gigi and Harris’s brownstone.
“Yep,” Paige replied, grinning as she poured a generous dose of tequila into the blender. “Once Marsha got involved, I knew I had them. She’s an absolute shark. The moment those pictures of me and Ethan went viral, Marsha saw dollar signs. And I wanted a few of the dollar signs for myself.”
“Good for you!” Alice squeezed Paige with a side hug. Paige leaned into it. “Windy City Press needed a wake-up call. A reminder of how valuable you are. Shame on them for even doubting your writing and not giving you the support you need. You’re a gem and deserve to be treated as such.”
Paige set her head on Alice’s shoulder for a brief second, taking in the praise.
It came so easily from her friends, and it had taken Paige a long time to warm up to that.
Praise had never come easily from her parents.
It was foreign to her, and she generally brushed it off.
But a decade of friendship with Alice and Gigi had chipped away at her defenses.
“Yeah, screw those guys,” Gigi added, as she sliced down the center of the prickly pineapple. “Get every cent you can out of them.”
“Thanks, guys,” Paige replied, her smile soft.
When Alice moved to the cupboard to grab margarita glasses, Paige unscrewed the bottle of triple sec.
Its orange scent tickled her nose as she poured a splash into the blender.
“But now I have to pretend Ethan Cole is the greatest thing since sliced bread, which might be hard for this face to accomplish.” She swiped a hand over her face, and her friends laughed, knowing that Paige’s expression always conveyed exactly what was in her head.
“Come on now,” Alice said, dipping one glass into a bowl filled with chili-lime salt. “He can’t be that bad in real life. What’s wrong with him? Give us the tea.”
Paige squeezed a cut lime into the blender, thinking, analyzing her time so far with Ethan.
“Well, he’s kind of full of himself,” Paige said, then frowned.
Was that true? Sure, he was sarcastic and even cocky.
But also . . . funny. His dry humor caught her off guard, and she liked that.
And the way he talked about his grandparents, about finding the necklace for his grandma? It was sweet. Even endearing?
“He should be full of himself,” Alice argued, analyzing the salt rim she’d made on the first glass. “He’s gorgeous. The Adonis of reality TV. A young Tom Cruise, Top Gun era, single-handedly making bomber jackets sexy again. He’s—”
“Got it,” Paige huffed a laugh. “He’s good-looking.”
Alice smirked, setting down the glass and picking up another. “So, enjoy the view. Maybe fake dating turns into real dating, and next thing you know, this is the love story you tell your grandkids.”
“That’s not happening,” Paige declared, adding agave syrup to the mix. “This is a business transaction. We have a contract. I’m getting paid to write a story with Ethan and make-believe we’re dating. That’s it. Nothing else.”
“Didn’t I have the same hunch about Gigi and Harris?” Alice lifted a knowing eyebrow.
Their gazes flicked to Gigi, who was expertly peeling the pineapple.
“She’s not wrong.” Gigi shrugged. “She kept saying that my boss was going to sweep me off my feet. And, well, look at me now.” She smiled, like she was thinking of her boyfriend. “Harris did, in fact, sweep me off my feet.”
Alice sighed. “See? I have an eye for this stuff. I’ve watched like a million and one rom-com movies and know a meet-cute when I see one.”
Paige rolled her eyes. Alice lived for love stories, always seeing the silver lining. Paige? She was a skeptic, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But Gigi was happy. A literal rom-com movie come to life.
Somewhere between decorating gingerbread houses, singing Christmas karaoke, and taking horse-drawn carriage rides, Harris and Gigi fell for each other.
Now, six months later, they lived together in this gorgeous brownstone—with their kitten, Rudy, who was currently darting through the kitchen like a furry bullet.
“That’s great for Gigi,” Paige said, walking to the fridge to fill a bowl with ice. “But I’m not looking for a love story.” She announced the words as if the world needed to hear it. But was she even convincing herself?
It wasn’t that Paige didn’t want her own love story. She just didn’t think she was lucky enough to find it.
“You’re just not open to love yet,” Gigi said, cubing the pineapple on the cutting board. “I mean, how many of those GambleOnLove dates have you actually gone on?”
Paige groaned. “Oh, I don’t know.” Her friends stared her down until she gave in. “Fine. About fifty.”
“Fifty?!” Gigi and Alice yelped.
It was actually sixty-eight. Paige had rounded down.
“Over a six-month period,” Paige added, not sure why she hadn’t connected with any of them. Was she too picky? Or was there something wrong with her? “That’s like two-and-a-half dates a week.”
“And you didn’t go on a second date with any of them?” Alice was holding a salted-rimmed glass up like a torch, stunned.
“I haven’t found my match yet,” Paige said, feigning nonchalance.
She had, however, found endless inspiration for future novels—which was the whole reason she’d started using the dating app in the first place.
She usually knew within five minutes whether a date had potential.
If not, she shifted into research mode, treating the night as a character study.
Her favorite question? In your line of work, what’s a creative way someone might be murdered?
It usually caught her date off guard . . . but the answers were gold.
“Besides, you guys know,” Paige continued. “I always tell you about my dates at yappy hour.”
“And you fully entertain us with your stories,” Alice said. “You always make them sound so funny.”
Paige shrugged. “Maybe my guy lives on another continent. Or another planet.”
“You’ll find your person when you’re ready.” Gigi scooped a handful of pineapple into the blender.
“In the meantime, I have a career to focus on. That’s my priority.” Paige turned on the blender, letting the loud whir drown out any more discussion of her love life.
When the whirring stopped, Alice slid the salt-rimmed glasses close to the blender. “That’s fair.”
“You know we only want the best for you, right?” Gigi added, and Paige nodded. She knew that.
“And if writing matters most right now . . .” Alice tapped her chin as Paige filled the glasses. “Then why not use your fake-dating time with Mr. Leather Jacket as . . . research? To sharpen your love scenes.”
Paige paused mid-pour. “What?”
“When’s the last time you kissed a guy?” Alice grinned. “Like really kissed .”
Paige blinked. She hadn’t locked lips, cuddled, or held hands with anyone since her ex. Falling into Ethan’s arms the other night was the closest she’d been to a man in a long time.
“It’s been a while,” Paige admitted.
Alice leaned in. “Don’t you always say you need to experience things to write them well? Like when you took those karate classes, just to nail that fight scene?”
Paige scrunched her brow. Was Alice brilliant or diabolical? An evil genius?
“Maybe you just need to reframe how you’re looking at this fake dating thing. It could give you a great opportunity for some research .” Alice waggled her eyebrows.
“Now, that sounds like fun research,” Gigi added with a giggle.
Filling their glasses, Paige rolled her eyes, even as a spark of intrigue flickered in her chest. Could she really use this ridiculous arrangement to fill her creative well? To inspire her writing?
She laughed despite herself and set down the blender. She took hold of her margarita and raised the glass. “To research?” She looked at Alice and Gigi, like she’d just given the weirdest toast ever.
They grabbed their glasses and clinked them against hers. “Cheers!”
Harmless research. That’s all it would be. A little pretending . . . for the writing, of course.
Ethan wasn’t interested in her. He wanted his family heirloom, not a girlfriend. And she needed a stellar story, something to win back her fans. Pretending to date was simply a means to an end, for both of them.
And yet . . .
As she took a sip of her sweetly sour margarita, an image flashed through her mind—Ethan’s lips on hers. Warm, insistent. The weight of his hand on her waist. His deep voice whispering in her ear.
A tiny, traitorous thrill curled low in her stomach. She immediately pushed it away.
The line between fiction and reality could never blur.
Absolutely not.
. . . Right?