Chapter 11
AUSTIN
The restaurant I’d chosen was one of my favorites, upscale but not stuffy, with food good enough to make you forget you were paying eighty bucks for a steak. Private enough for conversation but public enough that we’d be seen.
Because that was part of the plan, wasn’t it? Be seen. Make it public. Make it real.
I arrived and waited in the foyer for Melody. I thought it was cute she didn’t want me picking her up. It was smart, but considering I dropped her off last night, it was just a little pointless.
The door opened and she walked in. She looked fucking incredible, wearing another dress that fit her perfectly. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her lips were painted a deep rose color that made me think very unprofessional thoughts.
“Damn,” I breathed, then cleared my throat. “You look amazing.”
A blush crept across her cheeks. “Thank you. I like your look, too.”
I glanced down at my dark jeans and button-down. “These old things?”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
“Our table is ready.” With a gentle hand on her back, I guided her to our table. I caught the scent of vanilla, and I was suddenly very hungry.
For her.
Get it together, Bancroft.
I held Melody’s chair for her, inhaling that sweet scent once again, then settled into my own seat across from her. The lighting was warm and intimate, casting a golden glow across her face.
“This is a nice place,” she murmured.
“Ever been here?”
“No.”
“Everything is good here,” I said. “But the ribeye is exceptional. And the lobster risotto.”
“I’m sensing a theme with you and food recommendations.”
“What theme?”
“You like to feed people.”
“I like to feed people well. There’s a difference.” I flagged down our waiter. “Trust me?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
I ordered for both of us—appetizers to share, the ribeye for me, the sea bass for her because I noticed her eyeing it, and a bottle of wine that would complement the meal.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said once the waiter left.
“Do what?”
“Order for me. I can handle a menu.”
“I know you can. But you looked overwhelmed, and I know what’s good here.” I leaned back in my chair. “If you hate what I picked, we’ll send it back and get you something else.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Just fine? I’m wounded.” I pressed a hand to my chest in mock offense. “I put thought into that order.”
“Two whole seconds of thought.”
“The most agonizing two seconds of my life.”
She laughed and shook her head. This was good. This was working. She was relaxed and smiling. Now I just had to figure out how to pitch my insane proposal without scaring her off.
The wine arrived, and I poured for both of us. Melody took a sip, her eyes widening slightly.
“Good?” I asked.
“Really good. What is this?”
“French. I forget the year.”
“So, tell me why you got canceled,” I said.
She groaned. “You don’t want to hear the story.”
“I do.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“On your part or theirs?”
She grinned. “You looked me up.”
I shrugged. “You know all about my sordid past. I figured it was fair.”
Our appetizers were delivered. She gave me an abbreviated version of what happened, but I already knew most of it.
While we were enjoying our appetizers, I heard a woman’s voice from a nearby table, not quite whispered enough. “I can’t believe she has the nerve to show her face in public after what she did.”
Melody’s expression fell immediately. Her shoulders tensed, her smile dropping.
I turned to see who said it. Two tables over, a group of four women in their thirties, dressed in designer everything, were very obviously talking about Melody while looking directly at her.
My blood started to simmer.
“She probably thinks dating a Bancroft will fix her reputation.”
“Desperate if you ask me,” another said.
“Austin,” Melody said quietly, her hand reaching across the table to touch mine. “Don’t.”
“They’re talking about you.”
“I know. Just ignore them.”
“Like hell.” I started to stand, but her grip on my hand tightened.
“Please.” Her eyes were pleading. “If you make a scene, it’ll just make everything worse.
They’ll post about it. Say I’m difficult.
That I can’t handle criticism. There will be rumors I had my rich boyfriend throw them out of a restaurant.
It’s part of the package deal when you put yourself on the internet.
It’s not always going to be sunshine and roses. ”
Every muscle in my body wanted to march over there and tell those women exactly what I thought of them. But Melody was right. Anything I did would just make this worse for her. I knew what it was like to be the one people talked about.
So I did something else instead. I caught our waiter’s attention and gestured him over.
“See that table? The four women?” I pulled out my wallet and handed him my black card. “Whatever they order tonight is on me. Dinner, drinks, dessert. Everything. Don’t tell them until they ask for the check.”
The waiter’s eyes widened. “Sir, are you sure?”
“Positive.” I smiled but it wasn’t pleasant. “And bring them a bottle of your best champagne. Tell them it’s compliments of Austin Bancroft.”
“Right away, sir.”
Melody stared at me. “What are you doing?”
“Killing them with kindness. They want to talk shit about you? Fine. But they can do it while drinking champagne I paid for. Takes away some of the satisfaction, doesn’t it?”
“Austin—”
“Plus, when they inevitably post about this—because trust me, they will—the narrative becomes Austin Bancroft is such a gentleman, instead of talking shit about you.”
I watched the realization dawn on her face. Watched her see the chess move for what it was.
“That’s actually brilliant,” she said.
“I have my moments.” I squeezed her hand, which I realized I was still holding. “No one gets to make you feel like shit on my watch. Especially not when you haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You barely know me. Why do you care so much?”
Because watching someone hurt you makes me want to burn the world down. Because in less than twenty-four hours you’ve gotten under my skin in a way I can’t explain.
But I couldn’t say that. That wasn’t part of the plan.
“Because you deserve better than this. And because I’m about to ask you for a favor, and I need you to know I’m serious about helping you.”
She pulled her hand back slowly. “What kind of favor?”
The waiter delivered the champagne to the women’s table with a flourish. I watched their confused faces turn to shock as he explained where it came from.
One of them looked over at our table. I raised my wine glass in a small salute.
They didn’t know how to react. Perfect.
“Austin,” Melody prompted. “What favor?”
I took a breath. This was it. The pitch. The moment where I either convinced her or lost her entirely.
“I have a proposal,” I started. “And I need you to hear me out before you say no.”
“That’s not a promising start.”
“Just listen.” I took a sip of wine and wished it was something much stronger. “Last night at the wedding, that was fun. Really fun. And this morning, I started thinking—what if we didn’t stop?”
“Didn’t stop what?”
“The relationship. Us.” I leaned forward. “What if we made it official? Not for real, obviously. But publicly. For a few months. Long enough to serve both our purposes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We faked it for a few hours last night. Let’s fake it a few months.”
She stared at me. “You want us to fake date?”
“I want us to help each other.” I kept my voice low to make sure no one overheard us.
“Look, you need to rebuild your reputation. Get people talking about something other than that brand scandal. And I need my family to back off. My father’s threatening to cut me off from my trust fund.
Cash is on my ass twenty-four seven. They think I’m a screw-up, and maybe I am, but I’m not ready to lose everything over it. ”
“So you want to use me as what? Proof that you can be in a stable relationship?”
“Yes. And in exchange, I’ll help you. I have access to the best PR teams in the country.
Lawyers who can go after that brand for what they did to you.
Connections that can open doors. The Bancroft name carries weight, Melody.
Real weight. With me in your corner, your reputation can be restored. Better than restored—enhanced.”
She was quiet, clearly processing everything I’d just said. I could practically see her mind working, weighing the pros and cons.
“For how long?” she finally asked.
“A few months. Long enough that when we eventually break up, no one questions that we gave it a real shot.”
“And what do you get out of it besides keeping your trust fund?”
“Breathing room. Space from my family’s expectations. A chance to figure out who I actually am instead of who they want me to be. No more babysitters.” I held her gaze. “And honestly? I like spending time with you. That’s not fake.”
“But the relationship would be.”
“The circumstances would be fake. The agreement. The timeline. But everything else?” I reached across the table again, running my thumb across her knuckles. “That can be as real as we want it to be.”
She pulled her hand back. “This is insane.”
“Maybe. But it’s also smart. Mutually beneficial. And it gives us both what we need.”
“What I need is to rebuild trust with my community. With women who feel like I betrayed them. How does fake dating a billionaire help with that?”
“Because it changes the narrative. Right now, you’re the girl who sold out. But date me for a few months? You become the girl who survived cancel culture and came back stronger. The girl who didn’t let anyone keep her down. My PR team can help you craft that story. Help you take back control.”
I could see her wavering. See the logic starting to penetrate her skepticism. Time for the closer. I hit her with my most dazzling smile, the one that had gotten me out of trouble more times than I could count. The one that made people say yes even when they knew they shouldn’t.
“What do you say, baby girl?”
She flinched at the nickname. “If we do this—and I’m not saying we are—you need to stop calling me that.”
“Why? You get all flustered. It’s cute.”
“Because this would be pretend. A business arrangement. And that nickname makes it feel—” She stopped, biting her lip.
“Makes it feel what?”
“Real,” she admitted quietly. “It makes it feel real. And I can’t let myself forget this is fake.”
Fair enough. The nickname was probably too intimate for a fake relationship. But I liked the fact that it affected her. I’d keep that in my back pocket for later.
“Fine. No baby girl.” I paused. “In public. What I call you in private is negotiable.”
“Austin—”
“I’m kidding. Mostly.” I smiled. “Look, I get it. This is a lot. And you’re right to be cautious. So here’s what I propose. You think about it. Take your time. And if you agree, we’ll draw up a proper agreement. Ground rules. Boundaries. Whatever you need to feel comfortable.”
“Ground rules,” she repeated.
“Yeah. Like what we’re comfortable doing in public. How often we see each other. What we tell our friends and family. How we handle the media. All of it spelled out clearly.”
“This is crazy,” she finally said.
“The best things usually are.”