Oh...my gosh.
I dropped the phone in my hand as a slow-moving limo pulled up on the street in front of my balcony. A tiny crowd of people trailed behind, snapping excited pictures on their phones. But it wasn’t the limo that had everyone up in arms.
It was the fact that Marcus Taylor was sticking out of the sunroof. Mocha-chino in hand. I bet this stunt would land him on every newspaper tomorrow morning. Hell, I bet it’d go viral within an hour. Yet, it seemed like he didn’t care. Was he risking his reputation for me? Because wooing a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks might not look so good for him. Even if it was all fake, like he claimed. Wouldn’t it look better for him to date a wealthy socialite?
He was grinning from ear to ear, obviously elated with the theatrics of his plan. “Hark, fair maiden,” he called, making the women in the crowd instantly swoon, “might I come up and borrow your ear?”
My mouth fell open, and I stared dumbly between him and my coffee. Hark? Hey, where was he when I was practicing my lines today?
I picked up the phone. “Mom, I have to call you back.” I hung up and leaned over the railing, trying to pull myself together. “Has someone been watching romantic comedies again?”
He ignored me and cli
mbed up the fire escape like a champion, all while trying not to spill coffee. And by the time the two of us squeezed into the tiny metal box, I had to admit I was blown away that he’d go out of his way like this to get my undivided attention.
“Wow,” I said. “I’m impressed. You didn’t spill a drop.”
“This looks a lot better in the movies.” He glanced around the cramped space and handed me the cup.
“Yeah, well, this is Los Angeles. Space is money.” I shook the mocha and smiled—it was about a quarter full. “So what’s the number to this coffee delivery service? I love it!”
He winked. “Are you asking me for my number?”
I grinned.
He straightened his shirt and put on his best poker face. “I’ll get right down to it. I want to pay you twenty thousand dollars to come to the Caribbean for the weekend.”
“I’m not a high-class call girl,” I said. “Maybe you should check with them. I’m sure they’ll jump on it. Should I kick you now or later? I told you, no prostitution.”
“I need an actress. Not a call girl.”
“That’s right. You had mentioned that you wanted me to act like your girlfriend so we can fix your Casanova image problem you got going. You could’ve paid a hooker to do this, you know. They have ‘girlfriend’ packages, from what I hear.”
“I don’t want to be associated with a hooker.”
“Yeah, if you get busted, that would really hurt your image.”
“So is twenty thousand dollars a fair price?” he asked.
“Is this for real?”
“Yes, Rebecca. This is a very real proposal. Act like my girlfriend for a weekend and I’ll pay you.”
My mind went blank. Completely blank. Could have been something to do with twenty thousand dollars... Amanda would kick me if I didn’t take this offer.
I opened my mouth several times, each time falling short of what I actually wanted to say. “What do you...? Are you actually...? What would I do in the Caribbean all by myself?”
He pursed his lips to restrain a smile. “Well, I’d be going with you. Perhaps I should have made that clear. A very important client of mine is hosting a charity gala there in two weeks, and I have to make it appear that I’m stable.”
“...clearly.” I grinned.
“With a stable, charming girlfriend.” He gave me an appreciative nod. “One who I already know he likes.”
I was still at a loss. “You just go to the Caribbean for the weekend?” I grasped at another inconsequential detail.
Why was it that whenever anything big happened in my life, I remembered things like the song playing in the background rather than what actually occurred? Maybe I wasn’t built for these kinds of shocks.
He shrugged without shame. “When you can afford to go whenever you want, you just go for the weekend.”