I experience this stupid level of relief to hear Clark say that. Rex is a gruff person with commitment issues, yes, but he’s the kind of guy who owns what he is—that’s something I appreciate about him, whereas the article made him out to be some kind of cruel, power-drunk playboy. So wrong. And he thinks I can help him with that.
Well, he’s right. I can!
“That article was a real hatchet job,” Jada says sympathetically. “Someone has it out for Captain Sternpants, huh?”
Clark’s lip quirks. “Excuse me?”
I stare at Jada. Like, did you really just say that?
“I mean…Rex. O’Rourke. What?” Jada grabs my sleeve. “And you’re the commoner. You’re Matt Damon’s waitress.”
“Okay, my roommate is done joking around,” I say to Clark. “I feel like this can really work.”
“And you’re not involved with anybody at the moment? The team didn’t find anything on your social media account to suggest romantic involvement over the past winter, but there was a Clayton Rice and then Bernard Reston and…” Clark goes on to name a few guy friends, one of them a former “friends with benefits.” I tend to prefer the friends-with-benefits style of dating. “Are any of them still in the picture?” he asks.
Jada snorts. “Not to worry.”
I give her a hard look. “I’m not dating at the moment. Those are really just friends. I really think I can pull this off.”
“We can’t have pictures surfacing of you with other guys while you’re supposedly engaged to Rex. No drama or smitten suitors.”
“There won’t be,” I say.
“Definitely not.” Jada bites back a smile. “Tabitha is not one for romance drama.”
“Absolutely not,” I tell Clark. “You guys have made an amazing choice for fake fiancée. Like a stroke of genius.” I smile and hold up my hands as if to frame a picture. “One, I get along with anybody. Two, I deal with people from all walks of life, and the whole fake fiancée trope?” I’m thinking of my years of soap opera watching here. It’s like I’ve been training for this! “Let’s just say, you guys are going to be very pleased with my level of expertise.”
“Excellent,” Clark says, shuffling papers.
“Picking me was a stroke of brilliance,” I add, because I want him to get it. Rex may not like me on a romantic level, but I’m going to do an amazing job for him. I can’t think of anybody who’s more suited for a fake relationship than I am.
Clark pulls out the contract, which is ridiculously long, and starts explaining the different clauses.
Still, it’s strange. Did Rex pick me because I’m like the girl next door? Because he knows how good I am with people? Rex really is a challenging person. Maybe he gets that I can hang in there with him better than most. Maybe deep down he feels our strange connection.
Either way, I so need this. I wait, eager now to sign on the bottom line.
Clark wants to go over everything—every detail. I’m actually supposed to initial the part where Rex is to be allowed complete peace and quiet whenever we’re not on deck because of his time-sensitive project. I jot down TE.
This is really happening. I’m getting excited to be the official owner of that check.
“Who goes on a Caribbean cruise on a gorgeous yacht and spends all their time working?” Jada asks.
“Rex O’Rourke,” Clark and I say in unison.
Jada snorts.
I rub my hands, following along and nodding, trying to show him how chill I am about the whole thing.
A private jet to Miami where we meet the yacht of some rich family? Pleasant smile.
Motoring around the Caribbean? Polite yawn.
Another NDA to cover everything that happens on the yacht and a bonus structure that has my heart pounding a million miles a minute? Shrug.
A massive winning-the-account bonus if we’re successful? A personal shopper who will be setting me up with a wardrobe that I get to keep? Gah!
But I keep calm. I don’t even mind the rule that I have to take out my pretty blue and purple hair streaks.
Whenever Clark is busy riffling around the papers, I make OMG faces at Jada, and she makes OMG faces back at me. I almost have to stop looking at her after a while, but OMG.
So I’m trying to act serious and natural. Because I have this feeling that at any minute, Clark will stand up and go, record scratch! Why are we giving this girl all this money and a free yacht trip where she gets to sit in her room and watch streaming content? And then he takes the check with all the zeroes and rips it all up and I’m out on the street with Seymour.
I cannot allow that to happen.
And I try not to let it mean anything that he picked me. I remind myself that guys are like dogs in that they have lots of instincts. Somehow, deep down, Rex knew I’d kick ass as a fake fiancée. I know when I’m a transaction, when somebody wants me for a specific reason that has nothing to do with caring about me.
So I smile, expertly putting Clark at his ease, demonstrating an important quality in a fake fiancée.
Eventually the contract is signed. And the check is in my hands. And I’m closing the door behind him.
I spin around and put my finger to my lips.
Jada grabs my arms and we wait for the elevator bell. And then a few more seconds for the thump of the elevator doors, and then we scream and dance and go change into cocktails-out outfits.
The first time I went to cut Rex’s hair, I was really scared to meet the boogeyman of the financial district, really scared I’d screw it up. After the stories I’d heard about him from his previous stylist, who’d moved out to L.A., I was shaking in my pink boots.
I’d arrived early and an assistant with a cute bob and a hard stare led me through a maze of gatekeepers past floor-to-ceiling arched windows, flashing monitors, and brightly colored workstations. Finally we headed down his hall of toiling minions and arrived at his office.
The assistant pushed open the door and there he was, tie loose, shirtsleeves rolled up, surrounded by broker-type bros and techie-looking people. They were all staring at a monitor with total intensity, but none with the intensity of Rex O’Rourke. It was like he wanted to melt the monitor with the power of his mind.
Then something seemed to happen on the screen, and they all leaned in, and Rex placed his meaty fists onto the table. Like he wanted to shove the table into the ground and melt the monitor.
“Friday haircut’s here,” the assistant called across to them. “I’ll have her set up.”
Right then, Rex glanced over.
And our eyes met. Something about him struck me deeply in a way that I can’t explain. His sooty hair twinkled; his lashes glowed black as night. And god, that stare.
He seemed so totally powerful, yet fiercely isolated. A man alone in a group. A man with his very own container, a titanium turtle shell.
And then somebody said something, and his attention was back down, glued to that monitor, shutting out the whole world.
I unpacked my stuff in the far corner of the office that the cute-bob assistant indicated I was to inhabit, arranging my things on a towel, quietly watching Rex scowl. And then something important seemed to happen on the computer, and Rex’s minions straightened, like invisible marionette operators suddenly pulled their strings tight.