The Decoy Girlfriend(28)
Alma’s face goes so still that Freya thinks the Wi-Fi is on the fritz. “No,” Alma says finally, the word drawn out in a way that tells her that whatever Alma says next won’t be good. “You still have your promised four weeks. But that’s it, okay? You know I’ll go to the ends of the earth for you, but they’ve demonstrated an enormous amount of grace, and I can’t make excuses for you forever. I know you know this, but the wolves are at the door. You’re running out of time.”
There are a few more euphemisms and an aggressively perky I believe in you! before Alma hangs up. Freya doubts she’s put her mind at rest, and despite Alma’s best intentions, nor has she Freya’s.
* * *
—
Apparently one day to cram is all Mandi thinks Freya needs, because barely twenty-four hours after receiving the dossier, between bouts of snail-pace progress on her manuscript, Freya is summoned to an address in Los Feliz.
Parked in Stori’s Civic in the driveway of a charming little bungalow on Melbourne Avenue, late-afternoon sun warming her thighs, she tries to rally herself with Stori’s favorite (but least useful) affirmation: You’ve got this!
“I so don’t ‘got this,’?” Freya says with a groan, slumping over the steering wheel.
In hindsight, she should never have given Mandi her contact details, but she’d been too stunned to refuse after that bombshell of a proposition . . . taking Mandi’s place for the next four weeks.
Freya’s had some time to get her head around it, and even though she’s tacitly agreed by showing up to the address Mandi texted her, it still feels surreal.
Her phone goes off in a barrage of incoming text chirps from the group chat.
Ava: I Google Earthed the house. It’s in a REALLY nice neighborhood.
Hero: I can’t believe you agreed to this preposterous idea! There’s only about, oh, a MILLION ways it can go wrong, AND HOW ARE YOU GOING TO CONVINCE TAFT THAT YOU’RE HIS GIRLFRIEND?
Ava: Like it would be a hardship kissing that face haha. I wouldn’t mind “convincing” him lol lol lol.
Mimi: UGHHH I wish we were still in LA! Tell us everything! Did you go in yet?
Steph: You should have told Stori where you were going. This feels sketchy. If we don’t hear from you in an hour, we’re telling her.
Affection glows warm and soft in Freya’s chest. Mandi would be furious if she knew she had spilled the scheme, but if her friends were able to keep the original ruse a secret for the past few years, she trusts them to hold on to this one. Besides, if her best friends can’t be here in person, this is the next best thing.
She types back a response.
Freya: Mandi was pretty cryptic, but it should be fine! She probably just wanted to meet somewhere else. Less eyes. BYEEEE, heading in!
Bright yellow dandelions peep through the gaps in the stone walk up to the front door, which is painted the same shade as the Italian basil in the windowsill herb garden. Smaller and pointier green leaves sweeten the air with the scents of lemon and anise.
As she reaches for the lion’s maw door knocker, her thoughts turn to Hero’s very valid question: Just how is she going to fool Taft into thinking she’s Mandi? Of all people, he would be able to tell.
She doesn’t need to dwell on it long. Because seconds after she drops her hand to her side, nervously scrunching the cuff of her black denim shorts, the man himself answers the door.
“You!” tumbles out of Freya’s mouth even as the rest of her goes rigid.
“Bookshop Girl,” he says calmly.
He doesn’t seem in the least surprised to see Freya gawking at him like a starstruck fan. She gets it now: she doesn’t need to convince him, because he’s already in on it.
Five years ago, at the height of Once Bitten’s popularity, she would have promptly swooned into his arms if they had ever come face to face. Nothing short of bamboo under the fingernails would get her to tell anyone that she’d once spent an entire New York Comic Con prowling the Javits Center hoping to accidentally-on-purpose bump into him between his panels, but security wasn’t letting anyone get close.
Little did that sweet little Taft Bamber–stan Freya realize just how close she’d be to him one day, now for the third time. Her bones liquefy just thinking about being pressed against him again, his palms warm against the curve of her back and his eyes hungry with longing. He may not have known who she was at first, but there was no mistaking what was going through his mind when he’d caught her mid-fall.
Should have swooned when I’d had the chance. What a missed opportunity. She’s almost rueful.
His hand flexes against his thigh. “Coming, Freya?”
“Excuse me?” she squeaks.
“Mandi’s inside.” He opens the door wider and lifts a gently rounded brow. Just one.
It’s an enviable gesture that shouldn’t look as hot as it does, and yet the simple invitation lightning strikes straight between Freya’s legs. Unlike her, he has no trouble making eye contact.
Proximity to this man is a dangerous thing, she’s starting to realize.
“Oh. Yes. I’ll just—” She sidles by him, sucking in a breath as though that will somehow minimize any overlap in their personal-space bubbles, but not before getting a tingling whiff of his Acqua di Parma that’s almost as heady as the fact she’s in the Taft Bamber’s house. Considering he answered the door, it’s a solid assumption, and one that proves correct when she sees the slim entryway table with a picture of his family at a backyard barbecue. She tries not to stare, but it’s hard; pre-fame teenage Taft was cute.