Aberration (6 page)

I laugh. "You want me to become your girlfriend? No... you're
bribing
me to become your girlfriend."

"Not my girlfriend. My fake girlfriend. And then, once the deal is sealed between the companies, or I receive my inheritance, you're off the hook."

"And if neither happens?"

He shrugs. "Then we fake break up. Either way, there is no loss for me. Just a lucky chance I want to take."

I mull around his proposal, leaning in close to him. "What would being your fake girlfriend consist of?

"Attending the season's remaining dinners as my date, where we will flirt and kiss and touch. When you leave for my house to shoot, loudly tell my parents that you are going to spend time with me. And that's it."

That's it. Sure, the deal is a little dirty, but playing boyfriend-girlfriend with Micah Greene would solve so many of my problems. Not to mention the fact that I'm single.

I think of Jaime. "Since we're fake, that doesn't mean I have to be exclusive."

"As long as you don't get caught," he says seriously.

I slide my hand onto his lap, leaning in closely as my parents approach the table. "When do we start?" I whisper.

I've never really been let in on family business. Dad never talks about the company with me in a serious tone, and he's never offered me an internship, even though I've always been more responsible than Cam and taken school more seriously. I love Daddy, really, I do. But sometimes he can be a subtle, misogynistic dickwad.

That's another reason why I haven't touched my inheritance. It's pride... really
,
it is. I'm waiting for either of my parents to look at my account and ask why I haven't spent any of the money allotted to me, or maybe even ask what I plan on doing with it. But so far, neither of them have.

And I plan on letting that money sit stagnant in that account forever. I have my own savings account to fill.

My parents have always cared more about my love life than how I'm investing my money or if I care about being a part of the company, so it isn't a surprise to me when Mom asks over dinner. "You seemed to be sidling up quite nicely to Micah Greene this afternoon."

Parents. So predictable.

"He's nice." I say, and decide to initiate the string of lies. "He asked me out next week."

Dad's chewing on his steak and staring at me intently.

"Well I think that's wonderful," says Mom. "Don't you
,
hun?"

"I always liked Micah," says Dad after swallowing.

This may be easier than I thought.

I make eye contact with Cam, who looks amused. It's like it's his new permanent expression when listening to Mom
’s
and Dad's concern with my life.

"Oh, and you won't have to worry about putting my friends up," I tell them. "They already put a non-refundable deposit on a vacation house."

Mom sighs. "Oh well. We can at least have them over for dinner."

I'm sure none of my models would complain about free food. They just better behave themselves.

After dinner
,
I Skype with Andrea through the early evening, trying to figure out what the hell kind of theme and storyline we're going to attempt. So far, all of our ideas have been total shit.

She sighs exasperatedly, placing her chin in her turned-up palm. "Here's the thing, Brit, maybe we should wait."

I groan and begin pacing my room as Andrea watches me from the television monitor on the wall. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to wing it! I'm already stressed out enough as it is. I don't need something else to worry about until the last minute."

"But the chemistry of the models is different every shoot. Maybe they'll inspire you. What if we half
-
ass a storyline and I write the entire script only for you to be inspired by something they do when they actually arrive in Malibu?"

Damn it, she's right. "Fine, fine. Keep brainstorming, okay?" I hear a ping from my phone. "Gotta run. I think I just got an email from my editor."

Andrea grins. "The model list. I've already read it. Your all-stars." And with that, she signs off.

I pick up my phone and check out the email. She's right. Evan, Dallas, Delilah, Adam, Chloe, Jaime, Miguel, and Ella.

I feel a little better
.

///

By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, neither Dad nor Cam nor Mom has told me that Jaime is coming to dinner. I take it upon myself to dress in one of my nicer sun dresses and not look like a slob in the house for once this summer. I swipe on a little bit of makeup, switch out my glasses for contacts, and begin curling the strands of my long, blond hair at my vanity when there's a knock on the door. Mom enters.

I realize that my laptop is on, showing some second-string images of the Halloween shoot that I was editing this afternoon
—
the kinky ones of Dallas and Evan on the BDSM bed. I reach over and slam the lid shut, turning to my mother and smiling. "What's up?"

"Well, what a pleasant surprise! You actually look..."

"Decent for once?" I finish.

"Well... I was going to be nicer about it. But yes. I was just letting you know that we are having company for dinner, but it looks like you've changed out of your sweats already."

"Who’s the company?" I ask.

Her grin gets wider and strained. Mom secretly fucking hates Jaime. "Jaime Rivera. I know, I know," she says quickly. "Despite what he told you, he and Cam are no longer friends, and your father fired him, but you are right. He's trying really hard to make amends with this family, and Dad wants to have faith in him." She shrugs. "So I guess that means I'm on board."

I think about Cam and the words he was sharing with Dad a few days back. "What about Cameron?"

"I..." she sighs. "He's trying, honey."

I shake my head. "They were friends for so long. Was Cam that betrayed when Jaime was fired?"

Mom frowns. "Cam was the one who turned Jaime in."

I feel my eyes widen. Cam turned Jaime in? Even if Jaime did steal and Cam found out, I feel like Cam would try to sort the truth out with Jaime before turning him in to Dad, especially if there was no
solid evidence against Jaime. Cam had a stronger relationship with Jaime than our parents.

Something seems fishy, but I don't tell Mom that. Instead
,
I grin. "Well, it's nice that Dad is giving him another chance."

Mom shoots me a funny look. "Really? I thought you hated Jaime."

Shit, Brit. Don't give yourself away. I shrug, trying to brush off my slip-up. "People change. People grow up."

She smiles. "That's my girl, sweet and forgiving."

I want to roll my eyes and gag, but I make due with clenching my teeth.

"Head down to the dining room when you're ready. Roasted pork tonight!" she says before leaving.

I turn back to my mirror self, blowing out air through my pursed lips.

My family really has no idea who the fuck I am.

When I'm done curling my hair, I tie a bow in it. I look gross. Cutesy and fucking gross. I actually laugh out loud at the image of myself.

"What is wrong with you, Brit?" I mutter before heading out my room.

I'm halfway down the foyer stairs when the doorbell rings. Dad rushes to answer it, swinging the door open. "Jaime! Good to see you." He gives Jaime a zealous, overly-joyful handshake, and Jaime walks inside.

He's dressed in black slacks and a rather expensive-looking button up
—
fuckably delicious. All I can think of is earlier this week when his head was buried between my legs
.

Wow. Is this like a cheesy prom reenactment, or what?

My hands brush against the front of my dress and I try to ignore the fact that he looks like a sex god and I look like a fucking Easter egg. I clear my throat. "Jaime," I try and say smoothly.

"Brit." His eyes are heavy-lidded. It's the look he gives me when he plans on getting me off.

"Now, now," Dad chuckles and motions me down the stairs. "I know there are years of bad blood between the two of you, but I think it's time that we put all of that behind us." When I reach them, Dad places a hand on my back and pushes me toward Jaime. "Why don't the two of you hug it out?"

Jaime looks like he's about ready to die from laughter, but he manages to hold it together. He holds his arms out, cocking his head to the side. "Come here, Britain."

I glare at him with I'm-going-to-spank-you-when-we're-finally-in-private eyes. Then I walk to him reluctantly. When he wraps his arms around me, I lean into his hard body.

I barely catch his whispered sentence. "I can't stop thinking about Monday."

Monday was the last time he snuck into my room. Heat spirals through my core. The next few hours are going to be torture.

I pull away from Jaime and Dad pats me on the back. "See? Not so bad. Let's get you two to the
dining room. Dinner's already on the table."

Cam and Mom are already seated when we arrive. To my surprise, Cam looks really relaxed, considering how tense he sounded when talking to Dad about Jaime. He even smiles and holds out his hand when Jaime approaches. "Hey, man."

The handshake is stiff, especially considering their years of friendship. I eyeball Cam, but he doesn't seem to notice. I make a mental note to confront him about Jaime later.

Dad takes his usual spot at the head of the table, and surprise, surprise, the two spots left are right next to each other. Jaime takes a seat next to me.

"Thanks so much for having me," Jaime says, his voice like silk. It's probably the most polite sentence he has ever spoken to my parents.

"Our pleasure," says Mom. Her smile is strained again.

Cam and I glance at each other, silently relaying simultaneously how awkward this whole thing is. My food is already arranged beautifully on my plate. I wish we were like normal families and served ourselves at dinner, because at least I’d be able to occupy myself.

The table stays quiet as we all eat. I keep my head down, staring at my food like it's made of diamonds. Dad is the first to speak up, like always. I'm pretty sure my father thinks that silence is the most awkward thing of all.

"So, Jaime, tell us all what you've been up to."

Jaime and I accidentally-not-so-accidentally exchange glances, and I return my gaze to my food, feeling heat douse my face. It's like I evolved the second I entered college to become a girl more confident and comfortable with herself, and every time I come back here, I revert to timid, blushing Britain.
Ugh.

"I've been keeping busy with modeling gigs."

Cam snorts. Mom and Dad don't seem to notice. I shoot a glare at my brother.

"Oh, modeling!" Mom puts on her impressed owl eyes. "Such a hard profession to get into."

Jaime shrugs. "I'm mostly doing it for myself," he says. "It's fun, and the opportunities are presenting themselves at this point in my life. Plus, small gigs add up." He takes a bite of his food, chews, and swallows. "They're helping me pay for my master's."

I nearly choke.

"Excellent," says Dad. "You saving up to apply, eventually?"

"No," Jaime says. "I'm studying economics next semester at UC San Diego. I already got in."

He's getting his masters. He already got in to a damn good school. And I didn't even know.

Dad's wearing a shit eating grin. He looks impressed, probably because Jaime's accomplishment
is
fucking impressive. Cam does not look impressed. He's squirming in his chair, glaring at his food. What
the hell is wrong with him?

I finally speak up. "That's pretty amazing.”

Jaime rests his hand on my thigh. He slips beneath my dress, inching high and higher until he pauses to give my leg a squeeze. My breath hitches in my throat.

Luckily, nobody at the table seems to notice. Other than Jaime.

///

After dinner, we make nightcaps. I pour myself a fat glass of chardonnay and head upstairs to the outdoor balcony overlooking my parents' spectacular view of the valley. I never realized how excessive this house was until I was in college. When I was a kid, I was blinded by my parents
’
money. I expected it. But after I let loose a bit, after I came to terms with the fact that I wasn't going to be able to be the person they wanted me to be, and therefore couldn't accept my inheritance, I started figuring out how to make my own way. And shit is expensive. Food, rent, the electric bill
—
even fucking Netflix adds up. Living is hard when you're not rich.

I lean against the balcony, and a breeze catches my hair. I can see just a sliver of the ocean from here. The ocean... now that would make for a kickass shoot.

The door clicks open behind me. It's Jaime. In his hand, he holds a scotch on the rocks.