Page 34 of That Fake Feeling
I’daskedSterlingto getConnorto meet with me before today so we could at least get our story straight, about how we suddenly fell in love, ahead of the interview.
Andas if all this wasn’t frustrating enough, whateverI’vebeen doing, whether it’s lying in bed at night, cooking dinner on the huge chef’s stove, or trying to focus on a textbook, my mind’s constantly drifted back toCentralPark.Howgorgeous his arms and shoulders were flexing back and forth as he rowed, how my body gravitated to him in my sleep, and, oh, myGod, the clit-exploding finger-suck.
EverytimeIremember how he gently ran his tongue slowly around the tip, then gave it a harder suck as he popped it out of his mouth, it makes me a bit light in the head department and a bit damp in the underwear department.
Andhe did at least try to get us out of this appalling magazine ordeal.Butthen he caved whenSterlingsaidWalkerwas behind it.Forsomeone who seems like such a free spirit, he sure does seem to do whatever his family wants.
Anyway, thinking sexy thoughts aboutConnoris pointless in all respects.
Nomen until after myPhD.Andno men who party till 3 a.m. or who live a lifestyle that couldn’t be further from my own,ever.
Sittingat the dining table, with the second cup of coffeeSterling’sprovided since she got here, isSherri, the journalist doing our interview.
Herpurple-nailed fingers tap impatiently at her phone.Sheis quite the vision in an orange pantsuit, lipstick that almost matches but not quite, and black plastic hoop earrings that protrude from her bleach-frazzled hair and are so big they almost brush her shoulders.
“Thismust be a very different lifestyle from what you’re used to,” she says.
Iopen my eyes a crack amid the endless makeup application to confirm she’s talking to me.
“Yes, it’s all veryElizaDoolittle.”Anervous laugh squeaks out of me. “Thepoor kid who grows up to live with the billionaire in hisChelseamansion.”
Everypart of this interview ordeal is further out of my comfort zone than anything has ever been, andConnorisn’t even here yet to share the load.
“Interestingcomparison,”Sherrisays, pulling a notepad and pen from her purse.
Shit.
“Oh, no.No.”Ijerk forward and reach toward her as if there’s some wayIcan shove the notepad back into her bag.
Amakeup pencil jabs me in the eyeball.
“Ow!Please, no,”IbegSherri, slamming my hand over my watering eye. “Wehaven’t started the interview.”
“Damn.”Themakeup artist holds the offending pencil aloft. “Nowyou have a streak of eyeliner across your temple.”
“It’sall supposed to be on the record,”Sherrisays. “ButsinceConnor’snot here yet, maybeIcould let it go.Whereis he anyway?”Shehuffs and shakes her head. “Iwas supposed to be interviewing aDanishprincess and her fiancé, but the trip was canceled because the fiancé was caught banging the gardener.”Shelooks up at me through her false eyelashes. “It’sthe only reasonIgot sent here.”
“Yes,I’msorry,”Isay as the makeup artist tries to erase the streak of eyeliner with a cotton swab. “I’msure he’ll be here in a minute.”
Breakingthrough the general chatter is the tapping ofSterling’sshoes on the wood floor as he paces, checking the time every thirty seconds.
“Right, that’s it,” he says, his knuckles white around the tablet gripped to his chest as he tappety-taps out of the room.
He’sbarely out of sight before the sound of his feet stops.
“GoodGod,” he says.Thenin a lower voice. “Maybeyou could hop on back upstairs and…change.”
Sterling’sfinal word trails off as it’s shouted down byConnor. “Hello, ladies.”
Everyface in the room turns to see him with one hand leaning on the doorway, the other swinging an open bottle ofJackDaniels.There’sa large bourbon-colored stain on his whiteT-shirt and two rips in his gray sweatpants, one of them worryingly close to his crotch.
Oh, for the love ofGod.
Myheart drops like a lead weight.I’mdone for.
Imight as well step off this stool and leave right now, do the rounds of my old employers asking for my jobs back, and start searching for an apartment that has only a few cockroaches.
Sherristares at him, the glint in her eye saying there might actually be a story in this after all. “Goodmorning,Connor.AndIsee you are, indeed, having a very good one.”Hereyes drop to the bottle. “I’mSherri, fromAGoodLook.”Shesays it almost as a question, as if he can’t possibly realize who she is or he wouldn’t be behaving like this.
