Page 2 of Love is Fake

I really do need to get comfortable in a car again and I need to do it soon if I’m supposed to be driving to and from The Hamptons three times a week. And I’ve just found out that’s now a very big ‘if’. Once this client sees I’m not the renowned physiotherapist he was expecting, he may very well just send me packing.

I tuck a stray chestnut curl behind my ear, a nervous habit I’ve had since kindergarten.

“You can do this, Iz.” Kiara reads my mind in that uncanny way of hers. It’s one of her strengths and it’s made her a great businesswoman and a great boss. But sometimes I wish I wasn’t quite so easy to read.

“I’m not Michael.” In fact, I’m about ten years younger than him with about ten years less experience.

“Yeah, well – duh.” Kiara’s eye roll has actual volume. “But the client wants the best and you’re the best.” She says it with somuch confidence, it’s tempting to believe her, that is if I didn’t already know the woman could sell snow to a damn snowman.

“Michael’s the best,” I point out.

Kiara blows out a frustrated breath. “He has the name, Iz, but you’re just as good – Michael’s said so himself. And he’s been your mentor since college, so he should know.”

I smile at the kind words, although I still can’t bring myself to believe them. Sure, I graduated top of my class and I’ve been shadowing one of the top sport physios in the world since college, but that doesn’t mean I can do this without him. He’s always been there to bounce ideas off of, to be the ‘face’ of the clinic to the clients and I’ve been more than happy to take the backseat. This would be my first high profile job flying solo and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little nervous.

“You can do this, Iz. I wish you had more confidence in yourself.” I can practically hear Kiara shaking her head, making her signature statement earrings clatter against the phone.

I don’t tell her that compared to teenager Izzy, the woman she knows is unrecognizable. In high school I had been painfully shy, embarrassed about my very existence, not helped by the fact I was the definition of dorkiness. Talk about a painful puberty.

It had taken moving to New York, starting college and meeting like-minded people to lift my self-esteem off the floor. I’m proud of the person I’ve turned into. That doesn’t mean I don’t still doubt myself every now and again, especially when shit gets real, but that’s why my mantra is there to fall back on.

“Fake it ‘til you make it,” I mutter under my breath.

“That’s the spirit!” There’s a percussive sound as Kiara smacks her hand down on her desk. “You’ll be great. And you can thank me later – after you’ve met him.”

“Thank you for what?” I squint at the GPS screen, my contacts irritating my eyes after having worn them since theearly hours when I started work. With Michael on paternity leave, I haven’t stopped the past couple of days.

“You’ll see. But if his photos are anything to go by, you’re welcome!”

Possibilities of who the mystery man could be whirr through my brain – maybe he’s a famous actor or a model?

Kiara’s insistent voice interrupts my musings. “Now, put your foot on the accelerator and get there already. Call me when you’re done, ‘kay?”

“Sure, but what am I supposed to say when he asks why I’m the one who showed up and not Michael?” I slam on the brakes as a shiny black Escalade darts in front of me and I roll my eyes at the heavy bass pounding out of it. Could this guy be any more cliché?

“You’ll think of something, you’re resourceful like that. Talk later.” Kiara ends the call, like she does everything else, at a million miles an hour. There’s no doubt she’s already moving on to the next problem that needs patching up. There’s a reason she owns one of the most sought-after occupational clinics in Manhattan and she’s not even 30 yet – she works harder than anyone I know. It’s one of the things we have in common; neither of us had a helping hand from our families. We had to make our own way in the world. The truth is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ve got this,” I tell myself, trying to hold onto Kiara’s vote of confidence. It’s in that very moment that I’m distracted by a horn tooting me from behind.

I didn’t realize the light turned green. Instinctively, I tap the accelerator just a little. It’s enough to make the car lurch forward…and directly into the rear end of the shiny black truck in front of me. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t realize the lights had changed.

“Oh, crapola,” I say aloud, gripping the steering wheel, as a very irate, very large man gets out of the car I’ve just rear-ended.

He looks at me in complete shock, although he probably can’t really see me with the sun’s reflection on my windscreen.

Unclipping my seatbelt, I rush out of my rental, cursing under my breath.

“Oh my God, are you alright? I’m so, so sorry.” I round the hood and meet the giant by his rear bumper, which he’s inspecting with a grimace.

“You’re sorry? And how the fuck is that supposed to help me?” He shakes his head again, but doesn’t look at me. He’s still focused on the damage – or lack thereof – to his bumper.

I’ll admit, I’m a little taken aback at the anger in his voice, especially as I can’t see any issue with his car. Mine’s the one with the bonnet that looks like someone took a sledgehammer to it.There goes my deposit.

I get it though, he’s probably in shock.

“Like I said, I can only apologize, I know it was my fault, but the guy behind me was beeping and I saw the light was green and… I haven’t driven in a while…” I realize I’m babbling and that the man in front of me has zero interest in anything I’ve just said. He’s staring at his bumper so hard I’m tempted to ask if he wants a magnifying glass to check for a scratch.

“The most important thing is that you’re fine, the collision wasn’t fast enough to cause whiplash -”

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