The Decoy Girlfriend(93)
He doesn’t want to walk away from his own series, but . . . His heart is pounding a frantic drumbeat that sounds suspiciously like Freya, Freya, Freya. He doesn’t just want stolen moments with her, he wants a life.
“No, Taft, they won’t recast you.” Before the relief can unfurl in his chest, Moira says, “Without you on board, there are no sequels. They’ll scrap it.”
He can’t help it. He thinks of every single person who works on Banshee suddenly losing their job because of one asshole person who decided they just didn’t want to do it anymore—him.
“I can get you the day to think about it,” says Moira. “But think long and hard. Have a chat with Mandi. Because it’s not just your future at stake here.” Her voice softens. “I’m your manager, and I will support you in whatever you want to do. Just make sure whatever that is, you really want it.”
Their goodbye doesn’t come quick enough. The coffee machine has finally stopped sputtering when he hears soft footfalls padding out to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” says Freya through a yawn. “Were you on the phone?”
“Moira had some follow-up points about the sequel offer,” he says, handing her a mug prepared just the way she likes it. “Can we . . . talk?”
She gives him a few bleary blinks before taking a sip of coffee. “Yeah, of course.”
When they both sit down at the table, he says, “I . . . I think I’m going to accept it.”
“Oh,” she says. Just one word.
It encompasses everything and nothing, and yet Taft can’t read anything into it. At a loss, he asks, “You don’t think I should?”
“No, it’s not that.” Freya wraps her hands around the mug. “I guess I just didn’t realize you’d already made the decision. Last night it seemed like you didn’t know where you were leaning. But I guess a good sleep helped clarify things?”
It didn’t, but Taft finds himself nodding.
“I’m really happy for you, baby,” says Freya. She stands, leaning forward to meet him halfway across the table in a quick peck. “When you were gone last night, I got all packed up to go back to Stori’s place. It’s so strange, I don’t even think of it as ‘home,’ anymore,” she muses.
“Home can be a person.”
She smiles shyly, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, exactly. I think so, too. Anyway, I’ll be back here soon, right?”
“You’re my girl, Freya. Of course you will. Just . . . maybe not as soon as we thought.”
The warmth in her face is replaced by worry. “I don’t understand. Are you still worried for me? Because, you know, there are a lot of Hollywood couples who manage to keep their relationship on the down low. I even made a list yesterday! I don’t know exactly how it works keeping their pictures out of the press, but I’m sure you could ask someone? Moira, maybe?”
“Freya—”
“And I was thinking, who’s really going to be that interested in me, honestly? Alma’s still reading my manuscript, and it might be complete trash and totally unpublishable. Until my next book comes out, there’s nothing newsworthy about me, and since I’m never going to pretend to be Mandi ever again, there’s no reason that someone like Kurt would give a shit.”
“Freya.”
She takes a breath. “Sorry. I had a lot of time last night to think about this.”
He just has to say it. There’s no gentle way to ease her into the realization they should have both made last night.
“My ‘relationship’ with Mandi is the selling point they want to capitalize on,” says Taft. “The leaked pictures? Turns out that Moira, Gareth, and the movie publicists were actually able to give the bad optics the right spin, and the only story anyone cares about anymore is what’s next for Raft. Everyone wants to announce the sequels with confirmation that we’re engaged.”
Freya blinks at him. Finishes her coffee without saying a word. Blinks some more.
“Please say something,” he implores.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m still processing the fact that the guy I was fake dating who I thought was going to be my boyfriend is now planning to fake marry another woman. So. That’s where I’m at.”
Shit, it sounds so bad. He winces. “I’m not ending things. We’ll make this work, you and me.”
“Oh, okay.” Her tone is icy. “So explain it to me. When we do go out in public, will you introduce me as your ‘friend’ or as the other woman?”
“What? No!”
Freya shoves the mug away and fixes him with hard eyes. “So then what?”
“I realize this is a big ask, but what if”—Taft swallows—“we kept our relationship a secret?”
SHIT SHIT SHIT, THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU WANT, YOU KNOW IT’S NOT.
He wishes he could take it back as soon as he says it.
* * *
—
Freya’s not angry. She’s disappointed.
The question suspends between them like cheap thread, flimsy and fraying. Taft breaks eye contact first, sucking in a sharp breath like he’s a bit horrified at what just came out of his mouth.
“Did you seriously,” Freya says slowly, “ask me to keep pretending? Like the last four weeks of it hasn’t been enough to last a lifetime?”