Page 1 of Love is Fake

Chapter

One

Squinting into the low June sun, I reach over to the glove compartment, grabbing the sunglasses I stashed there when I picked up the rental. I only take my eyes off the road for a split-second, before a deafening horn blasts behind me. The sound makes me jump out of my skin and I frown at the enormous truck beside me – way too close beside me – and the driver who is currently flipping me off.

Crap.

I turn the steering wheel, realizing I started drifting into the lane next to me.

“Eyes on the road, Iz,” I mutter to myself, gripping the wheel like I might fall off if I don’t.

Living in New York for the past five years meant I hadn’t exactly needed to drive. Judging by the current shitshow that is my driving, I’m clearly more than a little rusty. The daughter of a mechanic who can barely maneuver a car. My father would have a field day if he could see me. I snort at the thought. It would have been funny if I wasn’t so terrified of causing an accident on the freeway.

You owe me big for this one, Kiara.

As if thinking her name has made her appear, my cell starts buzzing with an incoming call. I risk taking one hand off the wheel for a second to press the touch screen to answer.

“Are you there yet?” Kiara has never been one for pleasantries. When we first met, she told me ‘I don’t do small talk’ and in the years I’ve known her she’s proven that point again and again. Not that I’m complaining. Her bluntness and take no shit attitude are some of the things I love most about her.

I sigh, heavily. “No, Ki, and calling me every half an hour isn’t going to make me get there any faster.”

“You can’t be late.”

“I’mneverlate, you know that.” If anything, I’m the person who’s chronically early – to everything. Meeting up with friends, I’m always the first one there, especially as all of them arealwayslate. I make a habit of taking a book with me now whenever I go out and inevitably have to wait.

“You do have a point, but if you keep driving like an old lady then you will be,” Kiara mutters.

“I donotdrive like an old lady,” I grumble back at her, ignoring the unladylike sound of disbelief she makes at the other end of the line. “And if I didn’t have to go all the way out to The Damn Hamptons then I wouldn’t evenhaveto drive,” I point out. Not even a second later, I’m cursing under my breath as I almost miss the turn the GPS is telling me to make.

“The client was very specific - ” Kiara starts, but I’ve heard the spiel already.

“Yeah, yeah, I know – extensive orthopedic experience, blah blah, but the client also very specifically asked forsomeone else,” I remind her. I’m not bitter or disappointed that I wasn’t the first choice – it makes sense, there are a bunch of physiotherapists more senior than me at our clinic. For one reason or another, none of them were available today. So, here I am – uninvited, but showing up anyway.

“I get that you didn’t want to pass up a big VIP client, Ki, but Michael is way more experienced than I am. Can’t this guy just wait a couple days? Did you explain that Michael’s had a family emergency when you told him why you were sending me?”

I tap the accelerator, noticing I’ve dropped well below the speed limit as I’m getting tailgated by a woman who looks old enough to be my grandmother. I’m distracted enough that it takes longer than it should for me to notice my best friend’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Ki…?” Ohhellno. “Youdidtell the client that Michael wasn’t coming, right?” I grit my teeth because I know the answer before she even voices it.

“Not exactly…”

“Kiara!” I groan out her name, headbutting myself on the steering wheel in frustration.

“If I had, then we would have lost him. His manager wasveryparticular that he only wanted the best and while Michael was his first choice, he had a long list of other physiotherapists who would jump at the chance to work with his client.” Kiara doesn’t sound even a little contrite – it’s against her religion to back down from an argument, even if it’s with me.

“His VIP client whose damn name I haven’t even been told,” I complain, pissed that I’m about to walk into a supremely awkward situation. And I’m already awkward enough all on my own without adding in external factors.

“I had to sign an NDA before his manager would evenspeakto me, Iz.” It’s the closest I’m going to get to an apology from Kiara, so I take it. I know it’s killing her not to be able to tell me, we tell each other everything and my best friend is prone to more than the occasional over-share. “And how was I supposed to know Michael’s wife was going to go into labor 4 weeks early?”

I can imagine her throwing her hands up in frustration at the inconvenience of the cute premature arrival.

“I’m sure what youmeantto say was that you’re over the moon thatour friendMichael has a happy and healthy baby and he understandably wants to spend time with his family and work comes second to all that.”

Kiara lets out a long-suffering sigh and I smile to myself. “Yeah, we both know that’s what I meant,” she relents, begrudgingly. “That’s why we’re so good together – we balance each other out. You keep trying to stop me from being a complete bitch and I keep trying to give you just enough bitchiness to stop you from being a complete doormat.”

I laugh at the straightforwardness of her explanation, as if it’s a universal truth which can’t be argued.

“First of all, you’re not a bitch – well, notallthe time,” I tease. “And, second of all, I’m not even close to being a doormat!” I check my rearview mirror carefully before changing lanes and exhale in relief when I do so without causing an accident.

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