Page 48 of I Think They Love You

He types,YOU ASSHOLE, then deletes. He tries,London should’ve kept you, but that’s too rude, even for him. He settles on,who are you???,then locks his screen.

Thirty seconds. Then, an answer.

Apparently your fake boyfriend, who’s very busy at work by the way.

He typed out “by the way.” Denz is speechless. He’s halfway through another reply when a throat clears so loudly, Denz startles out of the chair. From the floor, he spots Jordan leaning over his desk, smiling in a way that makes Denz’seyebrowssweat. He squints back.

“For someone in a fake relationship, you look pretty happy,” Jordan comments. “You sure it’s not real, cuz?”

Denz pockets his phone before standing. “That’s slander. I’m leaving.”

“I can’t wait to read all the fan fiction about you two,” Jordan says sunnily.

Denz flips him the finger on the way out. Jordan’s wrong. It’sabsurd. This situationship is far from real. Denz will never let anyone in his heart like that again.

Especially not Braylon Adams.

Denz is barely settled back at his own desk when Eric knocks on his doorframe. His dark hair is unstyled. Eric isn’t wearing hisglasses, and Denz can see the heavy shadows under his eyes. A mustard stain stands out against his pink button-up. His usually perfect posture is slouchy.

Kenneth has remained tight-lipped about why Eric dropped out of the CEO race. Even Auntie Cheryl isn’t sharing intel. If she has any.

Denz has considered asking, but—

He’s never had lunch with Eric. While Denz has been out for drinks with Connor and Kim and their respective partners, he hasn’t been with Julie, Eric’s wife. Questioning why someone dropped out of a life-changing career opportunity feels personal on a level they’re not.

Eric says, “Hey, boss.”

“Don’t call me that,” Denz pleads.

“You don’t want to manifest it?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I hate that name for someone in charge.”

“Fair enough,” Eric says. “I called the Rigel to set up a tour. Wanted to get an on-the-ground game plan for the mayor’s gala.”

Like the star it’s named after, the Rigel is a monstrous but still intimate event space north of the city. It’s hosted parties for the cast ofQueer Eye,rising Hollywood stars, awards shows. Just last month, they accommodated a high-profile wedding TFW couldn’t stop raving about, including a paragraph aboutanotherAtlanta event-planning company handling the ceremony seamlessly. Allegedly, Denz hate-read the article over muffins.

The Rigel is the perfect place to take 24 Carter Gold into its next phase.

He opens the calendar app on his phone. “How soon can we get in?”

“Never.”

Denz tilts his head. “What?”

“The venue manager said the space was never confirmed.” Eric pushes a curl off his forehead. “They never received a signed contract from you.”

Denz’s eyes dart to one of the Post-its hanging from his desktop monitor. The neon orange one. In his big handwriting:sign venue contract.

“Fuuuck.” Bile races up his throat. “W-we’ll fix that. I’ll email—”

“It was due yesterday,” Eric says, far too calm.

No. Denz remembers reviewing the document. Highlighting where his initials went. Double-checking the date. There was nothing more important than—

“Fucking fuck!”

Yesterday. Crema. Spending entirely too long creating a list of rules for a fake relationship. Taking that stupid photo for social media. Walking away with a cheek-aching smile.

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