Page 13 of Yours for the Season
Caution made her hesitate. “That’s it?”
Tom closed his eyes. “I also want to pretend that we’re in a relationship. For the camera only, of course,” he hurried to reassure her. “I’ll introduce you to Andy no matter what your answer.”
The expression in his blue eyes was pleading, and part of her wanted to sign on the dotted line, while another part of her, the same part that had been hurt so badly by Hunter, hit the emergency brake.
“I don’t understand,” Sameera said. “Do you want to be an influencer that badly? Why do you need a showmance to entice your viewers?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the other question:Why me?Tom Cooke was cute and kind and he cooked like a dream. If he wanted some arm candy to help him film videos, she was sure thousands of women would be happy to oblige.
As if reading her mind, Tom answered, “On-camera chemistry is a hard thing to find, believe me. I’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf. That’s why I’m a caterer, not a restaurateur. I like to do things on my own. To be in control.”
He met her gaze, and a frisson of something that felt a lot like desire bolted through Sameera, taking her by surprise. She liked being in control, too. He went on.
“But when we were filming, it all felt ... effortless,” he said softly.
He was right—their banter had felt real, because itwasreal. She had enjoyed poking fun at Tom, teasing and flirting. It felt so natural in the moment, she had almost forgotten they were on camera. The commenters had picked up on their effortless vibe right away. It was what had so captivated his audience. The internet loved a good ship.
She refocused on the conversation. “What do you get out of this?” she asked bluntly.
“I don’t want to open a restaurant. I don’t want to be an influencer. However, my agent has been talking to a few television producers ...” He trailed off. “I’m in the running to lead a new cooking show on the Food Network. Or rather, I was, until my viewership numbers started dropping.”
Sameera sat back. She felt on firmer ground, now that she had all the facts. “Your agent thinks I can help get those numbers up and land you that television gig,” she said, and he nodded, looking hopeful for the first time since they’d started this conversation. She tried not to notice the adorable way his hair curled by his brow, or the warm heat of his gaze ... and its effect on her. She swallowed and tried to think through his proposal logically, like a lawyer. Which she was. A very, very tired, overworked, and worried lawyer. If Tom could get her in front of Andy, that might solve one of her problems. And what he was asking in exchange was a small price to pay. Filming a few videos with him, giving into the flirty banter she so enjoyed, would be no hardship. In fact, it might be ... fun. Something she hadn’t had a lot of recently.
“If we’re going to do this, we need some ground rules,” she said, trying for a businesslike tone. She ticked off the rules on her fingers. “We fake date for a month, maybe two. In that time, we can film three videos together.”
“Ten videos,” Tom countered. Something in his posture had relaxed once she started talking about rules. “I upload twice a week.”
She scoffed. “I already have a demanding job. I can’t add another. Five videos,” she said firmly.
“Six,” he said, eyes glinting with playful energy.
“Deal.” They smiled at each other, and Sameera continued, “We need an end date. I should know if I still have a job by the end of January, and the novelty of seeing us together should have worn off by then for your viewers. Can you pretend to be madly in love with me for that long?”
“I think I can manage,” Tom said, eyes steady on hers. She tamped down her immediate reaction to these words, the flare of awareness low in her belly.This is business, not pleasure,she reminded herself.
“Great. You can dump me at the start of February,” she continued. “I’ll be heartbroken, naturally. There will be pictures of you in my apartment with devil horns and scratched-out eyes.”
Tom shook his head. “Beautiful, no one is going to believe thatIdumpedyou.”
She wanted to ask him why, but knew that would make it seem like she was fishing for compliments. Which she definitely was. “Fine. I’ll break up with you; feel free to use pictures of me as target practice.”
“Never,” Tom said gallantly. “I’m a gentleman. I’ll take my heartbreak like a man—by shitposting and crying into my perfect samosas.”
This time, Sameera didn’t hold back her grin. She stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal.”
He took her hand in his, carefully. His hand was warm and large, completely enveloping her own. She was the first to let go, and her hand felt different than it had a moment ago. She looked up to find Tom’s eyes soft and warm on her face.
“Sameera middle name unknown Malik, will you be my fake girlfriend?” he asked softly.
“My middle name is Ayla, and yes,” she said, suddenly feeling shy.
“Tom Tipper Cooke,” he said.
They shot their first video that night. Tom had already taken footage from cooking the biryani, but he wanted to include Sameera’s reaction to the food. True to form, she mocked him for a few minutes, questioning his technique, ridiculing his spice cabinet, then declared her mother’s biryani to be much better than his dish, and that furthermore, Hyderabadi biryani was the best, just to cause a ruckus on the comments thread. Nothing got desi people going quite like an argument about which country, region, or state made the best biryani.
After he pressed post, he texted Andy and showed her his response:
Andy, I found your new favorite lawyer. Her name is Sameera Malik, and she’s a commercial litigator at Greaves, Hargrave & Bury.
Three dots, and then Andy Shaikh—theAndy Shaikh—wrote back.Sure thing. Is she coming to Alaska, too?
