Page 37 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

He swirls his whiskey, watching me carefully. “You’ve got everything, man—money, power. But none of it seems to be making you happy right now.”

“You’ve known me all my life, Reed,” I say, meeting his gaze. “You’re probably one of the few who know me well.”

“I do, and I’ve never seen you this lovesick before.” Reed pauses and takes a sip of his whiskey. “I kept telling myself that it’s not my business and I shouldn’t butt in, but it is my business. Emma looks like she’s seconds away from losing her mind while she types away on her computer all day, and you…you’re lifeless, and you’re acting like a shell of your former self. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the times when you guys would scream at each other and fight. You’re my best friend, and she’s the only family I have left. I want the two of you to talk things out.”

I give him a sad smile. “Don’t you think I would have done that if I could? I’ve tried reaching out to her many times, and she always rejects me. There’s nothing I can do, Reed. It’s not like you would let me storm into your house to speak to her.”

“You’re right, I won’t,” Reed says. “It’s her safe haven, and it would be betrayal for me to do that to her. At least all of this is giving her inspiration to write, which she’s been doing nonstop.”

“Really?” I ask, glad that somehow there’s a good side to all of this.

Reed nods. “Brilliant stuff, too. She’s finally letting me read it—only snippets, of course, because she doesn’t want to spoil the whole thing for me. I know this will be the novel that will get her the success she wants.”

I simmer in that thought, glad to hear she’s doing well in other aspects of her life. But I’m not quite sure I like her source of inspiration being how I hurt her.

But she reminded me that our marriage is fake, so why should she feel hurt?

“So,” Reed says. “I know I said it’s none of my business, but I want to know…what exactly happened between the two of you?”

I let out a groan. I don’t even want to talk about it. “It’s Jessica. She came over a few weeks ago.”

Reed gives me an incredulous look. “Jessica? As in ‘I can’t believe I ever dated her’ Jessica?”

I nod, feeling glum. “You know how she gets up and personal around me. Before I could get her to leave, Emma saw us and I think it upset her…I don’t know. She’s refused to talk to me ever since, and now she’s saying there’s nothing to apologize for because what we have isn’t real.”

Jessica never goes to extremes to get me back, but she always finds a way to reappear when I least expect it, asking for another chance. Like the time she showed up at my office unannounced, leaving a gift on my desk with a note that read, ‘For old times’ sake.’ Or when she conveniently bumped into me at a charity gala, acting as if we were still together. I usually ignore her, but now that Emma is my wife, I can’t let it slide. Next time she shows up, I’m filing a restraining order.

“Forget that,” Reed mutters, shaking his head as he sets his glass down with a thud. “Not real? You really believe that? I knowrealwhen I see it—the two of you are in love, head over heels.”

“I don’t think so.” I laugh bitterly. “It’s just me, and I’m wrong for that. I have to remind myself that this marriage is purely professional, and I shouldn’t let it get to me. I shouldn’t be catching feelings.”

“You act like you have a choice.” Reed gives me an odd look.

“I do,” I say. “I mean, I can choose not to act on those feelings. I can choose to completely ignore them and her. After this little contract of ours ends, she won’t hear from me again.”

Reed looks like he’s about to say something but changes his mind. Instead, he takes another sip of his whiskey. My glass sits untouched beside me—I’m not in the mood for it tonight.

“So are you going to explain it to her?” I ask Reed.

Reed snorts. “Me? Tell her what? I told you I’m not getting involved in this any more than I already have. You’ll have to figure this mess out yourselves. Besides, does it matter what she thinks if it’s already established that none of this is true and it won’t last?”

He’s right, I did say that. But saying and acting on it are two completely different things. I can’t for the life of me get her out of my mind.

“Well, I’ll be off now.” Reed gets up from the couch. “Emma expects me to be there for dinner…it’s the one time when she acts like a normal human instead of a writing zombie.”

Before I get to ask him what he means, he’s out the door. I sigh, gathering the glasses and putting the whiskey away. I notice how awfully quiet the house is and wish it could be filled with another person’s presence. I find my legs walking toward her room, the one she was supposed to stay in after our wedding.

The room is barely touched, and everything is intact except for the bed. I make it, and I’m amazed to find that the room still smells of her perfume. It’s so intoxicating that it makes my head spin.

I inhale the air around me, and if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine her sitting next to me, possibly telling me off for something I did or said. I smile fondly, remembering the kiss we shared before the phone call interrupted us. I want to kiss her again.

Sighing, I walk back to my room, only to find a pamphlet on my bed, one I’d forgotten. It’s for the upcoming annual company banquet, and I’m expected to show up with my newly wedded wife in my arms.

A wife I haven’t spoken to in nearly two weeks.

That’s it. I need to contact her in the one way she might actually see it: through email. Reed mentioned she’s always on her laptop, so I figure it could work.

I shoot her an email, which reads:

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