Page 29 of Living Hell

NINE

Iona

“FOR THE TENTH TIME, I did not give her that idea,” I yelled to the door.

“Those were her exact words. She said, and I quote, ‘Iona gave me the idea for the fake engagement.’” Tyler’s voice was muffled.

We were on day eight of the I.T. Scheme—that’s the nickname Babette came up with and had her assistant refer to us as I.T. to the press. It was better than the blended names that usually occurred with celebrity couplings.

“That’s not what she said.”

We had this fight every morning and every evening. Forced to be in the same house with him wasn’t as sexy as I thought it might be once I accepted the idea. Yes, I had originally thought of it, but never told Babette, and that was the truth. I was just as shocked as Tyler was when she said I gave her the idea.

But once she explained it to us, it made sense. I still had no idea why the press went after Tyler with a vengeance. Usually, if a celebrity dates a non-celebrity, the paps would dig up a few factoids but nothing extreme. With Tyler, they twisted anything he did to make him appear to be a monster.

“Yes, she did.”

“She never calls me Iona. I’m always I.D. to her. So she wouldn’t have said Iona gave me the idea.”

His bedroom door opened, and my mouth dried up. Tyler stood there in only his fitted khakis—no socks, no shoes, no shirt. My eyes had to soak him in. They trailed the muscles of his body with purpose.

Material for later when I break out my vibrator.

“My eyes are up here,” he said.

“I know where they are.” I still stared at his abs. “How did you get those?” I pointed to where my eyes wouldn’t budge from.

“Eating healthy and exercise. I assume you have some sort of trainer you pay a ridiculous amount of money to. Probably an expensive nutritionist as well. It’s amazing how I can do what they are paid to do, for free.”

The folding of his arms over his chest caused my gaze to flicker. Which arm to drool over first? Maybe if I went cross-eyed, I could look at both at once.

“Can you stop ogling my body and focus on what’s important for a minute?”

With much regret, I pulled my focus from his creamy, tight body to his face. Which wasn’t bad to look at either, but I saw it every day so it didn’t have the illicit factor that made things extra appealing.

“The argument isn’t important. I don’t know how many times I can tell you this. I never said a word to Babette about the fake engagement idea. She came up with it on her own. It was the emails that gave her the idea.”

Tyler looked at me like I was trying to sell him the latest fad diet which included eating nothing but potato chips and snack cakes yet caused people to lose a hundred pounds in a month.

Truth be told, that sounded like an awesome diet. Wish my trainer had me eating that.

“Right. The mysterious emails . . .” He air-quoted with his fingers.

“Why is it so hard to believe that I used to email Debbie? You know her, she’s a sweet lady.”

He shook his head and strolled past me, heading toward the stairs.

I told him the day after meeting with Babette in the diner that I had been emailing Debbie ever since I had left. He didn’t believe me, and I had no idea why.

“Because for one, she never mentioned anything to me. She knew we had dated. And on top of that, she would ask if I had heard from you. Why would a person, who you claim is super nice, ask if I heard from someone when she was getting weekly updates from said person? It makes no sense.”

I followed him and when he hopped off the last step he turned. “And before you tell me to ask her about it, I already did. She said she hadn’t heard from you. Why would Debbie—who is such a nice person—lie like that?”

I bit my lower lip. This was more stressful than I had originally planned. Debbie shouldn’t be dragged into the hot mess that was my life.

Tyler turned his back to me and made his way past the living room and into the kitchen. I followed and sat on the stool, resting my arms on the marble island bench. He puttered around the kitchen, removing ingredients from the refrigerator and pans from under the counter.

Despite our morning fights, I enjoyed watching him cook. He was like a sexy chef I didn’t have to pay.

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