Page 3 of The #FakeBoyfriend Bet

"And you," he counters, "have a face that says you're hiding something."

"We all have secrets."

"True." He straightens, wiping down the bar with a cloth. "But most people don't drag strangers into them."

I should walk away. Find another bar, another unsuspecting man who might be more easily persuaded. But something about Max's steady gaze holds me in place. He's not buying my carefully constructed charm, and it's both infuriating and refreshing.

"One month," I say firmly. "Public appearances only. No real feelings, no complications."

"And no explanation?"

I hesitate. "Let's just say I need to change the narrative about my life, and you would be helping me do that."

He considers this, head tilted. "So I'd be, what, the leading man in your personal rebrand?"

"Supporting role, at best," I fire back. "I'm clearly the star of this production."

His mouth twitches. "See, that right there is going to be a problem."

"What?"

"If we're going to sell this—" he gestures between us, "—then we need to be equals. Partners. I'm not going to be your prop boyfriend who stands around looking pretty while you direct the show."

I blink, surprised by his perceptiveness. "I don't?—"

"You absolutely do. I can already see it in your eyes. You're mentally positioning me in photos, aren't you?"

The flush that heats my cheeks is answer enough.

Max crosses his arms. "If I agree to this—and that's still a big if—then we co-direct. Fifty-fifty."

"That's ridiculous. I'm the one who needs—" I stop myself, realizing I'm giving away too much.

"Needs what?"

"Nothing. Fine. Co-directors." I extend my hand. "Partners."

He looks at my hand for a long moment, then slowly takes it. His grip is warm and firm, and something electric passes between us that I immediately file away as irrelevant.

"Still don't know why I'm agreeing to this," he mutters.

"Because you're intrigued," I say confidently. "And because deep down, you know this will make a great story someday."

"Or a cautionary tale." He releases my hand. "So, partner, what's our first move?"

I pull out my phone. "First, we need contact information. And ground rules."

"Ground rules," he echoes, then leans in with a grin that transforms his entire face. "Rule number one: I get creative control over at least thirty percent of our fake dates."

"Twenty percent."

"Twenty-five, and I won't make you go bungee jumping."

I narrow my eyes. "Were you planning on making me go bungee jumping?"

"I am now."

For the first time since Cameron's video dropped, I feel a genuine smile tugging at my lips. "Twenty-five percent, no heights involved, and I get final veto power."

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