Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(44)

“Our Pygmalion adventure. When we started, you said you needed me for three events: dinner with the parents, the wedding, and the party in a couple of weeks.”

“You happy about that?”

“Happy about what?”

“That we only have one more of these shenanigans left before our deal is over?”

She’s quiet for several seconds, and I think she’s not going to answer. Then …

“I’m not sure.”

She sounds as confused and conflicted as I feel. As far as admissions go, it’s not much. It’s probably nothing. But I feel a little surge of happiness at the confession.

“If we don’t find a cab soon, I’m gonna freaking kill someone with the heel of my shoe,” Stephanie says as her gait becomes even wobblier.

I’ve moved before I realize I’m going to, and suddenly Stephanie is in my arms and I’m carrying my fake girlfriend through the Upper West Side as she mutters threats in my ear, and even though my delicate little flower is cursing up a storm, I find myself grinning.

My dad was right.

I am happy.





Chapter Fifteen


Stephanie


“How do we know Martin even knows what he’s talking about?” Ethan asks.

I take a long sip of Diet Coke and try not to roll my eyes. “Well, here’s my way of thinking—and it’s just a hunch—but Martin has a couple of Golden Globes and an Oscar under his belt. For screenwriting. There’s gotta be at least a fifty-fifty chance that he knows his shit.”

Ethan rocks back in his chair and studies me. “Wow, just a couple of hours in your old get-up and you’re back to your old bitchy self.”

His comment stings, and I fiddle with the tab on my soda can so he can’t tell. I wasn’t trying to be bitchy. Maybe that’s my problem. The real me—the one that doesn’t wear sundresses and shimmery eye shadow—is bitchy without trying.

It’s no wonder he likes the fake me a hell of a lot better than the real me.

Although I have to admit that as far as summer clothes go, the fake me’s attire is a hell of a lot more practical. It’s also comfortable. Too comfortable. So I figured it was time to remind myself that it’s not the real me. I pulled on my old cargo pants and tank top today, although I stuck with flip-flops instead of the boots. I didn’t miss Ethan’s double take when I came into the kitchen, but what did he expect? We don’t have any Price family obligations, and we had to go to campus to have Martin Holbrook look over our notes for our screenplay. This is my turf. Surely Ethan didn’t expect me to be wearing freaking pastels.

And besides, I need my old stuff—my battle armor. Things have been getting a little too close between the two of us lately. I want some distance. And judging from the way he’s been snapping at me since the night of his cousin’s wedding and spending all of his time at his dad’s office, I suspect he does too.

But we can only avoid each other so much, and the clock is ticking on our film project. It’s time to focus on the reason we went down this path in the first place: turning this train wreck into a movie idea.

“I think Professor Holbrook has a point,” I say as I glance down at the scribbles all over our story notes.

“Quit calling him that,” Ethan says as he continues to rock back and forth in his chair like an insolent schoolboy.

“Well, I’m not going to call him Martin,” I snap. “Just because he was your father’s frat brother and is your freaking godfather doesn’t mean he’s anything other than a professor to me. And if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to do well in this class.”

His chair comes back to the floor with a loud click. “All right, all right. Take it easy before you whip out your knife collection.”

“I wish I had a knife collection,” I say under my breath.

“So what was Martin yammering about when he read our notes?” he asks, pulling my notebook toward him. “Something something conflict?”

“Yup. It’s the single most important aspect to a storyline like this one. We don’t have it.”

“What do you mean?” he asks. “We have two complete opposites thrown together pretending to be a couple when they don’t like each other. Bam. Fireworks.”

I snatch the notebook back. “Where exactly is the bam? Holbrook’s right. As of now, we have the two protagonists one hundred percent cooperating in this little venture. They’re both getting something out of it. They’re on the same page. They’ll happily part ways when they’re done. It’s boring.”

Do I feel a little silly talking about the two of us in the third person? Sure. But I have to stay objective. Our little adventure is the basis for the screenplay, but at the end of the day this isn’t about me or Ethan. It’s about the characters. It’s about what would make an interesting film.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

He’s clasping and unclasping his watch, which probably cost more than the house I grew up in, and I resist the urge to snatch it out of his hands and throw it at the wall. I don’t know what is with us these past few days, but we are not in sync. It’s as though that playful evening when he carried me through Central Park was some sort of warning sign that we were on the verge of screwing everything up. And so we’ve both regressed into antagonistic children.