The Decoy Girlfriend(14)
But Mandi knows exactly what he’s talking about and doesn’t pretend to misunderstand or obfuscate. “You mean when we mutually break up and tragically announce it to our millions of followers in a carefully captioned Instagram post crafted by our publicists?”
There’s no mistaking the bite in her voice.
He almost smiles. “Now who’s being sarcastic?”
“I’m not being sarcastic, Taft. I know it’s not real, but you’re the best ‘boyfriend’ I’ve ever had.”
If Taft isn’t one to vomit out his every thought, Mandi isn’t one to say what she doesn’t mean. She doesn’t claim to love her cold brew when it’s just okay at best, and she takes to Twitter to lambast whoever slims and shrinks and sculpts her magazine covers even when her manager would prefer if she’d just gush about how much she loves the way the final product turned out.
Product, not person.
“First rule of Hollywood: pay attention when people reveal what you are to them,” Mandi had said the morning after that magazine cover reveal and the resulting argument with her manager.
Taft had stayed the night for emotional support and slept on her sofa with an arm slung around her German wirehaired pointer. She’d passed him a cup of coffee, and then she’d tossed the magazine in the trash. She made sure to throw her used Keurig pod on the cover, letting it bounce off her face.
They’ve been friends for five years, ever since that first chemistry read for Banshee. They’ve never slept together, obviously, but from time to time they faked spending the night. Her apartment has a doorman, but Taft knows that she sometimes likes having another person stay over, especially since Kurt, one of her more dogged paparazzo stalkers, has started getting more intrusive.
“If you totally hate the club, we can leave,” Mandi offers. “But, um, if you’re up for it, I’d really love to blow off some steam.”
Words matter to her. So Taft knows he can take her at her word. But at the moment, he’s more concerned about why Mandi needs the night out so badly. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s just—I’ve been having the weirdest day,” she says. “My manager’s been fielding some pissy calls from some local business owners saying that if I don’t shout-out their store, they want their stuff back? And I was like, I don’t have their shit.”
Mandi does get unsolicited freebies for promo sometimes, and if she wears the items publicly, she’s conscientious about acknowledging the generosity. Most people understand that all name drops are solely at her discretion, though, so it’s strange that there are suddenly pitchforks aimed her way.
“Gareth’s a shark,” says Taft. “He’ll figure out whatever’s going on.”
Her gusty exhale is loud in his ear. “A shark who never lets me take a break. ‘If I’m always “on,” so are you,’ remember? He once told me he sleeps about four hours a night so he can keep up with all the time zones.”
Taft frowns. “Did you ask him about taking some time off before the premiere?”
“Yeah. He scheduled me a two-hour massage. Said it would work everything out.”
Taft is pretty good at masking his emotions, but he’s suddenly glad he’s not on video with Mandi. He’s sure his expression would give away that he could cheerfully strangle her callous manager. “Tense muscles, maybe,” he scoffs before he can stop himself. Then, with more diplomacy, he says, “I guess his work ethic can work for some people. But if it isn’t working for you, maybe it’s time to have a conversation.”
“You know the last time I tried he implied that I wasn’t as invested in my career as he is,” snaps Mandi. “You know what? It wasn’t even an implication.”
“I’m sorry.”
She takes a breath. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not you I’m mad at.”
He tries a joke. “Don’t worry about it. What else are emotional-support boyfriends for?”
She sighs, and he can practically hear her worrying at her lower lip. “Yeah.”
If any part of him was torn about the risk of returning to Books & Brambles to see Freya again, Mandi’s need for a night out with him makes the decision surprisingly easy. “Just so you know,” he says, “I’m doing this for you, not because of that ridiculous contract they made us draw up.”
“YOU ARE THE BEST! Okay, our names are already on the list. I’ll meet you inside.”
CHAPTER FIVE
To our very own tour de force!” cheers Mimi, holding up a flute full of Mo?t and gently clinking it against Freya’s.
Steph pretends she isn’t totally loving it as the friend group toasts her. “Oh my god, y’all,” she says with a Texas twang, no less accented after moving to the Upper East Side as a teen. Her hands move to play with her twists before she remembers she’s swapped them for braided Bantu knots.
Her high-voltage neon-yellow nails pop against her brown skin as she grips the stem of her flute, raising it high. “To the best friends a girl could ask for. Thank you all for flying out here for this. And special thanks to Mimi, for keeping the champers flowing.” She gestures her glass in Freya’s direction. “And to this babe, for having the courage to move to such a fabulous new city and finding this sick club.”