Chapter 2

Tristan's POV

I left the coffee shop, got in my car, and just sat there. The signed contract was on the passenger seat, her handwriting next to mine. Nora Stone.

What the hell did I just do?

I started the engine, then turned it off.

"You're an idiot," I said out loud. "You're a complete fucking idiot."

I paid an $800,000 contract just to get a girl to pretend to be my girlfriend. Eight hundred thousand dollars. Because of what? My pride? My ego? Because I couldn't stand Philip and Jake making jokes about how I was still pining over Abby?

This is insane.

I grabbed the contract and stared at it. I'd never spent it all on something this stupid before.

And for what? So my friends would think I'd moved on? So I wouldn't look pathetic at parties?

"Jesus Christ, Tristan," I muttered, dropping my head against the steering wheel. "What is wrong with you?"

But I knew what was wrong with me. I was tired. Tired of being the guy everyone pitied. Tired of their sympathetic looks every time someone mentioned Abby's name. Tired of feeling like I was stuck in place while everyone else moved forward.

And Nora... God, the look on her face when I said I'd pay her whatever she needed.

What does she need that much money for?

I sat up and looked at the contract again. Her signature was small, neat, a little shaky. Mine was bold and confident, the way my dad taught me to sign documents.

Well, I definitely didn't own this situation.

I thought about calling the whole thing off. I could text her right now. "Hey, sorry, changed my mind. This is crazy. Let's forget it happened."

But then I remembered the way she'd paused before signing. The way her hand had trembled. The way she'd said "eight hundred thousand dollars" like it was a prayer.

She needed this. Whatever she needed the money for, it mattered.

And I... I needed this too. Even if it was the dumbest thing I'd ever done.

"Okay," I said to myself, folding the contract and putting it in my glove compartment. "Okay. You're doing this. You're actually doing this."

I pulled out my phone and set a reminder: Pick up Nora at 6:45 PM.

Tonight was the party. Tonight, I had to convince my friends that I had a girlfriend. That I'd moved on. That I wasn't the sad, pathetic guy still waiting for a girl who'd chosen Paris over me.

You can do this. It's just acting. How hard can it be?

I drove home in a daze, my mind racing through everything that could go wrong. What if Nora was a terrible actress? What if my friends saw right through us? What if Abby found out and thought I was trying to make her jealous?

What if this whole thing blew up in my face?

By the time I got back to my apartment, I'd convinced myself at least five times to cancel. But I didn't.

At 6:15, I was standing in front of my closet, staring at my clothes.

What do you wear to pick up your fake girlfriend for your first fake date?

I settled on a navy sweater and jeans. Casual. Not trying too hard. I checked my hair in the mirror, then checked it again. I put on cologne, then wondered if that was too much.

"You're losing it," I told my reflection.

At 6:25, I grabbed my keys and headed out.

I pulled up to Nora's dorm building ten minutes early, which was stupid. I knew it was stupid. But here I was anyway, sitting in my Porsche like an idiot.

Why am I so nervous? This was just a transaction.

I adjusted my watch and checked the time again. 6:38 PM.

Students walked past, laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that I was about to debut my "girlfriend" to my friends.

Fuck.

At exactly 6:50, the dorm door opened. Nora stepped out, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.

She wasn't dressed up. No designer clothes, no heels, no jewelry. Just faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She looked like she was heading to the library, not a party.

But God, she was beautiful.

I'd seen her around campus before, everyone had. The Ice Queen of Columbia. The girl who never smiled, never went to parties, never seemed to notice that half the guys on campus wanted her attention. But I'd never really looked at her until now.

She opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. The car suddenly felt a lot smaller.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi."

Silence.

I pulled out into traffic, way too aware of her sitting next to me. She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, staring straight ahead. Her profile was sharp and delicate at the same time.

Say something. Don't be weird.

"So, uh, tonight should be pretty relaxed," I started, keeping my eyes on the road. "Just some friends hanging out. Nothing formal. You only need to... you know, just be there. With me. And maybe smile once or twice?"

"I know what I'm supposed to do," she said, her voice flat. "This is work."

"Right," I said. "Work."

More silence. I turned onto Fifth Avenue, the city lights bouncing off the windshield. I glanced at her again. She was looking out the window, her face giving away nothing.

"They're going to ask questions," I said. "About us. How we met, how long we've been together. I figured we'd keep it simple, I came to the library to ask you out, we've been dating for a few weeks. Sound good?"

"Fine."

"And if they ask about—"

"I'll handle it," she cut me off. "Don't worry."

Don't worry. Fine.

We pulled up to the building. The doorman nodded at me as we walked past.

In the elevator, I pressed the button for the thirtieth floor. Nora stood beside me, arms crossed, still looking perfectly calm. Meanwhile, my heart was pounding so hard.

Get it together, Tristan.

"Ready?" I asked as the elevator dinged.

She looked at me for the first time since we'd gotten in the car. Her dark eyes were steady, unflinching. "Yes."

The doors opened.