The Decoy Girlfriend(24)

She throws something at her, and it catches Freya in the face before falling to her lap. She looks down in disbelief. “A bucket hat? I haven’t seen anyone wear these in . . .”

Unprompted, an old memory pops up, all soft and hazy at the edges: a photograph of Freya in a matching lavender bucket hat and elastic pants, no more than two years old. Squirming in her mother’s lap, Freya’s small, eager fingers frantic to turn the pages of her board book on the rug in front of them.

Tears spring to Freya’s eyes, washing away the film of sepia going back two decades.

“Oh, come on,” says Mandi. She jams it down on Freya’s head, tugging it low over her eyes and ears. “It’s not that bad. It’s very nineties.” She tilts her head and smiles. “?‘I’ look good.”

“Then you wear it,” Freya mutters under her breath.

Mandi smirks, then pulls out another hat for herself, this one far more in vogue.

“But that’s a straw hat! Yours actually looks cute!” The indignant words are out before Freya remembers that she’s trying to stay on Mandi’s good side.

“Hmm, straw?” Mandi adjusts it in the rearview mirror, slightly angled, while humming under her breath. “I had no idea. Thank you for illuminating me about this newfangled chapeau.”

Freya didn’t expect her to be this funny. Or this petty. Or know French.

Mandi gets even more hilarious (!) inside when she ushers Freya past the doorman, a youngish white guy who pauses the financial podcast he’s listening to when he sees them. He’s fine to let them just walk straight to the elevator, but Mandi makes a point of stopping right in front of his desk. He doesn’t seem surprised when she greets him like a friend, as though they have quick chats quite often.

“This is my cousin,” Mandi proclaims without being asked, pointing to Freya.

What is she doing?

“It’s her first time visiting LA, and I promised her parents I’d take good care of her.”

Freya shuffles her feet, hanging back.

“Geraldine, say hi to Doug.”

It takes hairline eyebrows and a pointed stare for Freya to grasp that Mandi’s addressing her.

“Hi, Doug,” Freya repeats dutifully.

How is this her life? At some point between the car and the lobby, she’s become Geraldine, Mandi’s gawky cousin with truly abominable fashion sense.

To complete the disguise, Freya’s also wearing Mandi’s sunglasses, which look sexy on the actress but, coupled with this hat, embarrassingly touristy on Freya. Sweat crawls over every inch of Freya’s skin, her arms also having been stuffed into the sticky skintight sleeves of Mandi’s exercise pullover.

Wicking, my ass. Freya’s chest, almost a cup size larger than Mandi’s, strains against the fabric, giving her an unflattering uniboob.

“Gerry’s not used to the sun, poor thing.” Mandi clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Skin condition,” she adds, sotto voce.

Freya’s face flames even hotter. Mandi’s clearly enjoying this.

“That’s too bad,” says Doug. “It’s gonna be a hot one today.”

“Taft will be by later,” Mandi says with a sweet smile. “You can send him on up.”

“Sure thing.” Doug grins. “Happy to see that crap about you two breaking up was a whole lot of nothing.”

“Taft is the best. You know those media vultures.” Mandi rolls her eyes. “Happy couples just aren’t as exciting to write about. They’re in the wrong business, honestly. If you want to make things up so badly, go write fiction.”

Doug nods in sympathy. “You’ve got that right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Geraldine. Hope you get to enjoy the city while you’re here.”

Mandi barely holds it together until they’re in the elevator. She punches the button for her floor—the penthouse, naturally. The second the doors shut on Doug, she dissolves into giggles. “You were incredible! You totally pulled off that scared little-girl-in-the-big-city act! I knew you could handle yourself!”

Freya gives her a tense smile. It wasn’t an act.

“Shouldn’t you be mad at me?” Freya asks, struggling to peel the extra layer of clothing off. “Yell at me or something! Put me out of my misery, please.”

“I am mad,” Mandi says mildly. “Look at this face. It radiates fury.”

“You’re still smiling,” Freya points out, frowning. “Were you . . . testing me?”

“It’s my villainous evildoer smile. And don’t frown. We’ll get premature wrinkles.”

We? Freya scowls harder until she realizes that Mandi’s partially right: of the two of them, only one has easy access to ridiculously spendy skincare. She also doesn’t miss that Mandi sidestepped the question.

“?‘Villainous’ and ‘evildoer’ are synonymous,” Freya grumbles.

The elevator dings. Mandi’s already stepping out. “Oh, look, we’ve arrived at my lair.”

Freya finally manage to wrench off her pullover. “Ha ha.”

Mandi throws a wink over her shoulder.

This whole situation is confusing and absurd, but Mandi’s so charming that it’s impossible to stay mad at her, Freya quickly realizes. It’s also impossible to get a bead on her.