When It's Real. Erin Watt

hand?

      There’s no way I’d ever fall for a guy like that.

      I sneak a look at Paisley, who’s smiling slightly. She must have had the same concerns.

      “So are we going to talk about terms? Like, what are my work hours?” I ask coolly, cradling the pop can between my hands.

      “Work hours?” Claudia echoes, a tiny furrow appearing on her forehead.

      “Yeah, since this is my job.”

      She titters. “Not a job, more like a...”

      “Role?” one of her assistants offers.

      “Yes. A role in a long, romantic movie. And you’re the two leads.”

      I feel actual bile rise up in my throat.

      Oakley grumbles with impatience. “Let’s get on with it.”

      Quickly, Claudia outlines our meet-cute with the drawing and the Twitter stuff. When she’s finished, Oakley yawns.

      “Sure. Whatever. You’re going to handle it, right?”

      “Well, not me, but Amy here will.” Claudia tips her head to the raven-haired woman on her right.

      Amy holds up her phone in acknowledgment.

      “Great.” He slaps his hands down on the table. “Then we’re done?”

      Seriously? I waited over two hours and got only a granola bar and an extra serving of humiliation for this five-minute demonstration of how Oakley Ford isn’t even going to participate in this charade? Instead, I’ll be fake flirting with the assistant of one of his media people.

      I turn to Paisley, who gives me a small, rueful shrug.

      “No. We’re not done,” Jim barks from the other end of the table. The two of them exchange glares, but whatever power Jim holds over Oakley, it’s enough to get the young star to resettle into his chair.

      “Let’s hear the rest of it.” He makes a tired gesture toward Claudia.

      She picks up her notepad. “We’ll need the first date. We don’t think you should have any physical contact until after the third—” she looks at her assistants and then at Jim “—fourth date? I mean, we’re trying to sell this as a wholesome romance.”

      Everyone starts throwing ideas out about when and how the touching will happen. Someone says he should kiss me on the forehead. Another suggests a hand on the small of my back. There’s another vote for hand-holding.

      I’m still struggling with the concept of any touching when Paisley, the traitor, asks, “When did you and W start holding hands?”

      Before I can answer, Oakley jumps in, snickering softly. “You dated a guy named W?”

      “So what?” Wow. His first words to me are to make fun of my boyfriend’s name? It’s like Oakley’s trying to get me to dislike him.

      “Sounds like a pretentious asshat.” He leans back in his leather chair and folds his arms across his chest. The action makes his biceps flex again.

      I drag my eyes away. “Okay, Mr. I-Name-All-My-Albums-After-Me Ford.”

      Someone at the end of the table gasps at my audacity, but Oakley’s unfazed by my insult. “Even Madonna has a full collection of letters in her name.”

      “W is not pretentious.”

      “If you say so.” He smirks.

      “I do. He’s awesome. And sweet.”

      “So why’d you break up with him?”

      “I didn’t,” I say indignantly.

      His brow creases. “So he broke up with you?” He sounds...confused. Like that doesn’t make sense to him.

      “He hasn’t!”

      Oakley shifts to Claudia. “So my down-to-earth, wholesome, normal girlfriend is a cheater?” He raises his eyebrows. “That’s gonna go over well.”

      “Oh, you mean the fake breakup,” I say. For a minute there, I’d forgotten.

      He looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but refrains.

      “He’ll break up with her tomorrow. The sooner, the better. We’ll give it approximately two weeks after the breakup, and then she’ll Tweet you the drawing. Then there’ll be a series of dates, but no touching.” Claudia turns to me. “When did you have your first kiss?”

      “Ever?” I realize it’s a stupid question, but my mind is stuck on the breaking up with W bit. I haven’t thought this whole thing through. I’ve been so focused on the money and how we’d be able to pay off the mortgage, pay for the twins’ college, allow Paisley to sleep better at night, that I hadn’t given any thought to the actual details of how this whole thing was going to work.

      “Yeah, ever,” Oakley says, and this time he does roll his eyes.

      These personal questions suck. “When was yours?” I counter, still focused on the W issue. Lately, he’s been pulling away. He says it’s my fault that I don’t act like an adult about our relationship because I’m still refusing to have sex with him.

      “With tongue? I think I was eleven. It was with Donna Foster, the daughter of my dad’s side chick.”

      My eyes grow wide. He French-kissed at eleven? I still thought boys had cooties at that age. Oakley would probably pee with laughter if he knew I was a virgin.

      “You?” he prompts.

      “Um...” Jeez, now I’m even more embarrassed, but for another reason. “Sixteen,” I mumble.

      “How sweet. Just like the saying.”

      I curl my fingers into fists. If Claudia’s team wasn’t sitting between the two of us, I might’ve reached over and smacked his smug smile off his smug face.

      Paisley grips my hand, an unspoken gesture for me to get it together.

      Even Claudia must sense that my patience is coming to an end. Hurriedly, she says, “Let’s do hand-holding on the third date and then a kiss on the fourth date. We’ll keep the first couple of dates under wraps, but leak the later ones to the paps.”

      “Hold up, we’re going to kiss? I have a boyfriend,” I remind the room. “No one said there’d be kissing.”

      “We’re gonna have a year-long relationship and we don’t kiss? Why don’t we just announce that it’s fake from the beginning?” Oakley mocks.

      “But...but...” Yeah, I definitely didn’t think this through. I quickly turn to Paisley for help.

      She grimaces. “They’re right. No one is going to believe that you and Oakley haven’t kissed. Not if you’re serious.” Her tone is apologetic, but her words don’t provide me any relief.

      “You don’t expect me to...” I trail off, not able to bring myself to say the words out loud.

      “Of course not,” Jim interjects briskly. “We’re not that kind of agency.”

      He tries to play it off as a joke, but, um, they kind of are. They’re hiring this guy a girlfriend and they expect us to kiss.

      How am I going to explain this to W? Sorry, babe, not willing to have sex with you yet, but I’m going to kiss another guy. In public.

      That will go over well.

      Claudia leans forward. “This is no different than if you were acting on a television show. Remember, you’re playing a part in a big love story.”

      Her assurance doesn’t help, either. I may not know what I want in life. I may just be telling everyone I want to be a teacher because that’s easier than admitting I’m clueless about my future and that I’d rather