Page 22 of The Puck Contract

I tense. "What kind of questions?"

"The suspicious kind. Wanting to know when you two first appeared together, who knew about the relationship beforethe gala." She gives me a pointed look. "He's always looking for controversy."

"Let him look," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "There's nothing to find."

Except, of course, a signed contract and direct payments to Mateo, but those are buried under enough NDAs and legal jargon to withstand a nuclear blast.

"Just be careful what you say to media," Sophia warns. "Stick to the script."

After another half hour of photos—this time safely away from any heat sources—Sophia and Zach finally pack up to leave.

"These turned out great," Sophia says, scrolling through Zach's camera roll. "We'll edit them and start rolling them out over the next few weeks. Makes it look like an established relationship."

"Glad we could provide such convincing fake domestic bliss," I say dryly.

She gives me a look. "You know, for someone who claims to be faking it, you two look pretty comfortable together."

With that parting shot, she and Zach leave us standing in my kitchen, surrounded by the aftermath of our "cooking" adventure—flour dusting the countertops, egg shells scattered about, and the distinct smell of burnt dish towel still lingering in the air.

"Well," Mateo says after a moment, "that was..."

"A disaster?" I suggest.

"I was going to say 'an experience,' but disaster works too." He grins, brushing flour from his sleeve. "At least we got dinner in before the chaos."

I glance at the clock. It's nearly 9:30. "It's getting late. Do you want me to call you an Uber?"

"Actually..." Mateo hesitates. "Sophia mentioned something about me needing to be seen leaving your place in the morning. For the whole 'spending the night' implication."

My brain glitches momentarily. "She wants you to stay over?"

"Apparently there's a gossip blogger who lives in your building," he explains. "She thinks catching me doing the 'walk of shame' tomorrow would add authenticity."

Of course Sophia would think of that. She probably has a flowchart of relationship milestones we need to hit for maximum sponsorship appeal.

"Right," I say, trying to sound casual. "That makes sense."

An awkward silence stretches between us as we both contemplate the logistics of this new development.

"I can take the couch," I offer finally.

"No way," Mateo protests. "It's your apartment. I'll take the couch."

"My bed is more comfortable."

"Exactly why you should sleep in it."

We stare at each other, at an impasse.

"This is ridiculous," I say finally. "My bed is king-sized. We can share it and still maintain a demilitarized zone in the middle."

Mateo's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you sure?"

"It's just sleeping," I point out. "We're both adults. Unless you kick in your sleep or something?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he says. "But I've been told I sometimes talk."

"I can live with that." I start cleaning up the kitchen mess. "I have spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet. And I can lend you something to sleep in."

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