Graham

Oh my God, what is wrong with me?

Why am I behaving like this?

Is it because I haven’t had a guy in my life in a while?

Is a few months a while, even?

Ugh, why can’t I get my emotions under control?

I just let Graham Tettersaw, who is waaay hotter in person than he is in pictures, see into my freaking soul.

Damn jerk.

Why’d he have to exude such kindness when I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes?

It totally messed with me, and I let him in.

But only for a minute or two, thank God.

I can fix this now by shuttering the ridiculous connection I feel to him.

So that’s what I do.

I look away and close myself off.

By the time Graham makes his way over to me, I am shut down.

Good, this is the way it needs to be. He’s not my real boyfriend. He’s a pretend love interest, a fake, a phony.

So why do I feel like we could be more?

Stop it. You’re just attracted to him because he’s an exceptionally good-looking man. This happened after you looked at photos of him online too.

It’s true. When I looked him up, I felt open to more. But I’ve thought about it since then and decided that’s just silly. This is a business arrangement, and I shouldn’t forget that. Otherwise, I could be in for a world of heartbreak.

So yes, I can control myself.

I must.

Biting my lip to stay strong, I hold out my hand and murmur flatly, “Hi. You must be Graham.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eden.”

Graham shoots me a dazzling smile, probably trying to loosen me back up.

No chance, pal.

We shake hands, and he says, “It’s nice to meet you too, Eden.”

Jock is glancing back and forth all excitedly between us. He witnessed what happened, and he’s obviously thrilled seeing our initial spark, that connection or whatever the hell it was that ignited between me and Graham.

I bet he’d love to have that back. It would make our backstory all the more believable.

Speaking of which, I ask Jock, “What are we supposed to say about how we met? I know you mentioned we should pretend this started back in May. But there’s more to our story than that, right?”

I venture a peek over at Graham, and he looks disappointed in the purely business direction this has turned.

Sorry, dude, but it’s better to stay focused on how us being together is all a farce.

Jock clears his throat and begins, “Yes, there is more backstory.” He gestures to the long sofa. “Let’s all take a seat and we can discuss it. I have packets of info for both of you that we should go over.”

“Yay,” I murmur sarcastically as I plop down on the sofa.

Maybe that puts Graham off, because he sits down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

I sigh, and this time it’s Graham who looks away.

Jock takes a seat too, but he’s too focused on removing the folders from his briefcase to pay us much heed.

Finally, he hands one packet to me and then stretches over the coffee table to give Graham his.

I look down at the folder.

There’s a label on the front—Tettersaw and Vetterly Backstory—along with a big red “confidential” stamp.

“Jesus,” Graham mutters.

Here we go.

I close my eyes for a sec, before flipping to page one.

And then Jock says, “As you can see, there are several pages of vital facts on the two of you in the front of the packet. I suggest you both peruse these at your leisure. The team has compiled all that info in order to assist you both in learning important data about each other. Things like birthdays, who are your siblings, where you both were born, and other pertinent details on your life up to this point.”

Uh, it’s more than birthdays and personal stats.

I feel the color draining from my face as I flip through several pages of deeply personal info that the team has somehow gathered on me.

It’s a little creepy.

They know a lot.

And now Graham will too.

There’s stuff about my dad passing, my mom leaving when I was a kid, and even crap about that guy I was casually dating a few months back.

Yeesh!

I skip ahead to Graham’s section and find nothing really new.

I guess that’s because most of the stuff about him is public knowledge, like his time playing football in Phoenix, his injury, his painkiller problem. There’s something about him having one sister. But again, I already knew that.

Jock has us flip forward to the “our backstory” section of the packet.

“We need to review these details very carefully,” he says. “It’s important you’re on the same page with how your relationship started and has since evolved.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Got it,” Graham mutters.

Jock starts to go over the highlights, starting with, “We’re leading with the story that you two met when Graham was here in Columbus back in May. You know that part, of course, but there are a few pertinent details.”

Jock slides on his reading glasses. “For example, we’re saying Graham came into the diner one evening and you were his waitress, Eden. You started talking and there was something there, an instant spark.”

Crap, that part is kind of true. But it happened only minutes ago and right here, not in this made-up diner story.

Jock pauses, but I don’t dare look over at him. He knows what happened minutes ago, how, in a way, it completely validates this faux backstory.

Jock is peering over; I feel his eyes on me.

When I finally venture a glance his way, he’s thankfully moved his focus over to Graham.

Phew!

Graham, though, isn’t looking at either of us. Nope, my fake boyfriend is too deeply engrossed in the contents of his folder.

Though, oddly, it appears he’s still on page one.

And we’re at page fourteen.

Seems someone is distracted.

Jock sighs and, flipping to the next page, says, “Here’s what the press release will say. ‘Miss Vetterly and Mr. Tettersaw decided to keep their burgeoning relationship a secret due to the distance factor, and also in the interest of not knowing how things would work out. Eden continued working at the diner, and Graham returned to Las Vegas. All the while, the two stayed in almost constant contact. There were daily phone calls, numerous texts, and video chats. Miss Vetterly even flew out to Las Vegas in July, shortly before the couple decided to move forward with their relationship by moving in together in August.’”

“Wait,” I interrupt, stuck on one glaring part of what Jock just read. “I didn’t fly out to Las Vegas in July. I’ve never even been out west, not once in my entire life.”

Graham looks up then.

With a gentle smile—oh my, this guy really is sweet—and like I’m the only one in the room, he says, “I could take you out west sometime if you’d like, Eden. I could show you around Las Vegas and we could drive down to Phoenix to where I grew up. I know all the best sights and stops along the way. It’s a pretty scenic route.”

For some reason, the idea of traveling with Graham excites me. But is that due to him, or the fact that I’ve never really been anywhere?

Maybe it’s a little of both.

In any case, I nod and murmur an honest, “Thank you, I’d like that. Maybe we could do that sometime.”

Jock loves that idea.

Excitedly, he exclaims, “You two could and you should. That would be fantastic for your story. We already have pics of the two of you photoshopped on the Strip and in the Nevada desert, but real photographs would be so much better.”

Graham raises a brow. “Jock, are you telling me the team had pictures of us photoshopped for some phony made-up vacation? For what purpose?”

“So we can post them on Instagram at some point, of course,” Jock replies nonchalantly. “Like for Throwback Thursday or whatever the hell they call it.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good,” Graham chuffs, “but I don’t have an Instagram account.”

Jock laughs. “You do now.”

I soon find out I have one too, thanks to the team’s media department.

“But I really don’t do social media,” I protest. “I’ve never had Instagram in my life. I don’t even know how it works.”

Graham looks like he’s about to chime in with some sort of backup to what I’m saying, but Jock holds up his hand.

“Now, now, you two, there’s nothing to worry about. Neither of you need to know or learn how to use Instagram. The team has people assigned to maintaining and updating both of your accounts. You don’t have to look at any of them if you don’t want to.”

“What do you mean by any of them, plural?” I ask.

“I mean, you have more than just Instagram. You both now have Twitter, and something called Snapchat too.”

“We do?”

“Yes.”

Talk about micromanaging our lives!

Not to mention the team has totally invaded my privacy, what with all the detailed info about me in the stupid packet. Hell, there are even details about Paul.

Shit.

When this is all over, will I even know who I am?

I made a promise not to lose myself with this arrangement. So why does it feel like I’m already in too deep?

Will I recognize myself in the end?

Sighing, I decide the only way to stay true to myself is to not let myself ever fall for Graham Tettersaw.

It won’t be easy, though, not with his good looks and that indisputable charm. And then there’s our connection.

Shit, how will I not fall for Graham Tettersaw?