Chapter 3
brODY
“She said what?”
Cara, Marv’s assistant, takes a step back, her face paling.
I raise my hands in surrender. “Sorry. It’s just been—”
“No, I’m sorry,” she cuts in, her red eyes refilling with tears. “I would never have—”
“You’re sorry, he’s sorry, I’m sorry,” Marv interrupts testily. “But this pity party ain’t gonna solve the bigger problem.”
He steers Cara to the front door of my apartment.
“Why don’t you get some fresh New York air, huh? Do a bit of Christmas shopping. Use my card. Treat yourself. I’ll message you when we’re done.”
Marv pulls her woolen hat snug over her blonde hair and wraps her scarf around her neck like a protective dad. Even though my anger still simmers, I see what drew me to Marv when I was eighteen and what Cara sees in him too: a steady, fatherly presence neither of us had growing up.
Cara’s gaze flicks to me, uncertain. I’ve only known her for two years, ever since Marv realized he couldn’t handle me on his own and hired an assistant, but she already feels like a little sister. She reminds me so much of Harper, the youngest Locke sibling, and my inner big brother steps up.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I promise I won’t harm a hair on his head.”
Marv gives her a broad smile and smooths a hand over his thinning locks.
“Can’t afford to lose any more!” he jokes.
The corners of her mouth twitch, and the tightness in my stomach eases.
“Okay,” she says. “I won’t go far, and if you need anything, just call.”
Marv hustles her out of the apartment.
“Yeah, yeah, all good. Go have fun.”
As soon as he closes the door behind her, I’m on him.
“How could you use her like that?” I growl, keeping my voice low so Cara won’t hear if she’s listening outside. “It’s one thing getting her to reply to emails pretending to be you—”
“I don’t—”
“C’mon, Marv. She’s polite and knows how to spell. You’re fooling no one. But to dress her up as Piper? And not tell her why?” I shake my head. “That’s fucked up, even for you.”
He makes his way over to one of the giant leather couches, the tap-tap-tap of his Italian shoes on the parquet floor echoing around the open-plan space. His shoulders hunch as he sits, his posture signaling defeat.
Without an adversary, the fight leaves me too. I take a seat opposite him, the silence between us filled with police sirens, traffic noise, and all the other noises that make up the Big Apple soundscape. I once used to love it. It was the sign I was somewhere exciting, where dreams come true.
Now? It grates on my nerves.
“Look, I’m sorry, man. Genuinely.” Marv rubs a hand across the deep grooves in his forehead.
“I just … I don’t know. Panicked? Things have been snowballing in a bad way, and it’s a motherfucking avalanche of shitty press right now. This job … it’s still possible, but we need a new story out there. Something good.”
He’s not wrong. My career is sliding into a chasm, and I can see the bottom I’m headed for. Soon, all I’ll be offered are bit-parts. The low-rent thug who gets offed in the pilot episode, the guy who doesn’t even get a name.
The job I want isn’t a lead role, but it’s different and complex. An opportunity to show what I can really do. But Marv’s right. The chance of the showrunners wanting anything to do with me right now is slim-to-none.
“Bro, can I be real for a sec. Like, really real?” Marv’s voice is hesitant.
I brace myself, a sick feeling settling in. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he’s going to say.
Marv takes my silence as an affirmation, leaning forward, his hands open.
“We’ve been together twelve years. That’s longer than most marriages. I see your hunger, your talent, where you want to go, and who you want to be. But you’re running on sand. There’s no foundation because you won’t deal with your past.”
My jaw clenches, holding back emotions I don’t even want to acknowledge.
“I know how much the Locke family means to you. How much Pi—”
The ferocity of my gaze cuts him off and I spring to my feet, wanting to run away. I’m still reeling from seeing her again yesterday. All those feelings I thought I’d buried, leaping out of the ground and smacking me in the face.
“The longer you leave this, the worse it’s gonna get. The Lockes are family to you. They—”
I sit back down and hang my head. “It’s been too long now,” I manage, my voice scratchy and raw. “I’m too late.”
“You’re not. I’ve never met them, but I know they’re good people. Sure, this fake-dating thing isn’t real, but your relationship with the Lockes is.”
“Was.”
“You need to go back to Hideaway Harbor this Christmas. Yeah, I hope the good press will land you this gig, but that’s not the most important reason. You need to remember who you are under all this famous actor crap. Right now, you’re lost.”
I shake my head, even though I know he’s right. How the fuck did I get so caught up in the fame game that I let my true friends go?
My stomach twists like I’ve got an ulcer. I can’t face Piper and her family after so long. I’d be like the prodigal son on steroids, and I doubt even the Lockes would celebrate my return.
“And anyway, Piper’s on board.”
Marv’s words cut through the fog of regret and self-disgust, and my heart misses a beat.
Piper.
I clear my throat of the remorse that’s clogging it and deflect.
“A printer? She wants me to advertise a fucking printer?”
Marv shrugs. “She works for an office supply company.”
“Doing what?”
“Graphic design.” He takes out his phone, jabs at the screen, then hands it to me. “She even drew the company mascot, Stanley the Stapler.”
“Huh?”
Marv keeps talking, but I’m not taking any of it in. I’m just staring at the photo of Piper on the company’s website. Her smile. Like she wants to be there. Is proud to be there. Has a purpose.
“They’re in the Poop Building.”
I tear my gaze from the phone. “The what?”
“You must know it. The big brown building with ‘POOP’ painted across the side?”
Marv throws his hands in the air at my confusion. “What the fuck does it matter, anyway? Just say yes, for Chrissakes.”
“And how do you think that’s going to help my reputation? My career? Standing next to a printer with a stupid grin on my face?”
Marv gets to his feet, pacing like he’s got ants in his pants. “You won’t actually do it. Just say you will. Once you get the job, you’ll be on the other side of the world. It’s not like she’s gonna produce a contract. And even if she does, I’ll find a loophole.”
“No, I’m not lying to her.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
I stare back at Piper’s face, my heart pounding so fast I think I might faint.
“You’ll go back to Hideaway Harbor and fake-date her?”
Could I? The thought feels like madness. Like standing on the edge of a precipice with no parachute or safety net. And what would fake dating involve? Even the thought of holding Piper’s hand makes my breath stutter to a stop.
“Brody?”
“I can’t … We can’t … I’m not sharing a room with her,” I say decisively, even though my body thinks otherwise.
“I told ya, I’ve already booked rooms at the Hideaway Hotel. A few photo ops and a catch-up with old friends. It’ll be a piece of Christmas cake.”
Marv grabs his phone back from me and taps the screen. “Gotta call her.”
“Who? Piper?”
But he’s already stalking across the living space, the phone clamped to his ear and one arm outstretched behind him like he’s already pushing me away.
“Hey, Piper? It’s Marv. Brody’s in.”
Palms sweating, I jump to my feet and follow him, a million thoughts and questions running through my head: What’s our backstory? Will we tell her family the truth? How are we getting to Hideaway? When are we leaving? Can I really do this?
It’s just another acting job.
So why am I in full fight-or-flight mode with my mouth as dry as a desert and my heart racing at VO2 max?
“I need to talk to her,” I say, the words feeling like gravel in my mouth.
Marv ignores my outstretched hand. “Yeah, yeah,” he says into the phone. “Separate rooms.”
At least we’re on the same page about that. So why does the thought make my chest ache?
“You just need to act like you’re into him in public,” Marv continues. “Hold his hand and shit. Y’know, as if you like him.”
The pain in my chest moves up into my throat. Piper doesn’t even like me anymore?
What the fuck did you expect after the way you spoke to her?
“Nah, you don’t have to kiss him … But if you want to?” Marv sounds hopeful.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath till I let it go at Marv’s next words.
“Okay, no problem. I get it. Remember, you just need to look like you’re into him. If you don’t wanna hug him, I’ll use Cara for those shots.”
“Marv!” I hiss. “No!”
“Cara’s my assistant.” Marv pauses, and I strain to hear what Piper’s saying. But the phone is pressed so hard against his ear I can’t make out a word.
“She wasn’t a part of it,” he continues. “The photos online. Cara’s a sweet kid, so go easy on her when you meet, okay? I’m the asshole here, not her.”
Another pause, then Marv laughs. “Yeah, I know.”
My foot taps impatiently on the wooden floor as I wave my hand in front of his face.
He frowns at me and turns away. “You got it … yep … yep …”
Panic rises inside me. I’m so out of control of my own life right now.
“Give me the fucking phone, Marv!”
“Huh? Oh, don’t worry about him,” he says to Piper, like I’m a rugrat having a temper tantrum. “He’ll be cool. Okay, speak—what?”
There’s a beat, and Marv’s eyes move to me, as if unwilling to acknowledge that I’m an integral part of this charade.
“Uh … you sure?” Another pause. “Yep, okay.”
He presses the phone against his chest, muffling the microphone. “She wants to talk to you. Don’t fuck it up.”
I shake my head, as if this situation isn’t already totally fucked up.
He reluctantly passes me the phone, and I bring it to my ear. I can’t hear anything on the other end.
“Brody?”
Adrenaline and guilt spear my heart at the sound of her voice, and my free hand tightens into a fist as I will myself to hold it together.
“Bro—”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Silence.
“Are you—”