Sitting in the audience, Hailey saw the look of pain and shock pass over Jake’s face the moment that stupid blogger asked him about being fired or replaced. She could’ve smacked the blogger for asking the question, but that was the way of it: controversy drove the news, such as it was. Admittedly, Jake leaving the show would be of great interest to the fans.

Jake stammered, looking over at Miles and Simon with a quick, baffled expression. “I . . . ah, I have no idea. I haven’t heard anything like that from my agent.” He looked momentarily at a loss. “I sure hope that’s not true. I mean, I love this show, and I’ll do whatever it takes to stay on it.”

The crowd cheered, Hailey louder than most. Personally, she thought his performances were just as strong as Miles’s and Simon’s, if not stronger—the writers and producers underestimated his character and didn’t give him much to do, but he had some sly humor and great delivery.

Granted, she was a little less charitable toward him after his epic fuckwittage when she’d had to leave last night, but it didn’t discount the fact that she enjoyed his character.

She prayed he’d be more Rick, less fuckwit, now that she had to face him again. God, she hated asking for favors.

It’s for Cress, and Rachel, she scolded herself. So suck it up, buttercup.

“Okay, that’s it for questions,” a man with a headset and a convention T-shirt said, holding up his hands defensively when the crowd booed. “Hey, the guys will have another panel tomorrow! And don’t forget, we’ve got other events this week, including the cosplay fashion show and the dance party. Later this afternoon, we’ll have two mini-panels, with the women of Mystics”—this drew an enthusiastic cheer from the priestess fans—“and the villains of Mystics, the Illuminati.” Fewer people cheered at this, and a few jeered in response. The guys walked off the stage, waving, and headed to what had to be the green room via a door at the back.

Hailey wasn’t here for any of the panels. She had used the VIP badge he’d left at the front desk to get into this one, grateful that Jake had done as promised before their “romp turned fuck-up.” Now, she was going to see how far it could get her. She waited for most of the panel attendees to file out, heading for food and restrooms. Then she walked up to the security guard who stood sentinel at the green room’s door.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one who was looking for entry. “But I just want to see Jake,” a woman—not much more than a girl, maybe twenty?—said, holding up her VIP pass like it was a weapon. “He’ll be really pissed if he doesn’t see me. Did you hear what those bloggers were saying? He’s probably really upset!”

“What’s your name?” the security guard asked, deadpan.

The girl frowned. “Missy. Missy Bailer.”

“Your name isn’t on the list, Miss Missy,” the security guard said, keeping a straight face.

“My name isn’t on the list, either,” an older redhead said, looking at the guard with an obvious seductive pout. “But I’m sure he’ll want to see me.”

Good grief, was that the woman from the pocket-ripping brigade? Hailey shuddered. That lady had “predator” written all over her, from the hungry glint in her eye to the way she kept stroking her neckline.

The guard remained implacable, not looking at either woman. “Sorry. If your name isn’t on the list, you don’t get entry.”

The redhead flounced away, while “Missy” tried even harder to convince, cajole, or bribe the man into letting her back into the green room. Hailey felt her stomach clench. Maybe she should wait until Jake was leaving, heading back up to his room? Assuming the hotel had fixed that problem and he actually had accommodations this time. But there were still other women, clustering around the green room door. They were probably there to see the other two actors, as well . . . it was going to be a crush, an absolute shit show.

Hailey stood straighter, doing her best “of course I belong here” strut. As if she didn’t care, one way or the other if they allowed her access. Her goal was to get in, and see if Jake was amenable to helping out the bookstore. She’d back off if it didn’t work, or press forward if it did.

One way or another she’d get to talk to Jake tonight, and ask about the appearance. There was more than one way to catch a fish.

The security guard gave Hailey more of a look than the others. “Hey, I know you,” he said.

She blinked, then her eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

“You deal.”

Missy stared at her, obviously assuming that “dealing” meant drugs. Hailey couldn’t tell if the woman was appalled, or wondering if she should’ve bribed her way in with a dime bag.

“Blackjack dealer,” he continued. “Up at Snoqualmie. Yeah?”

Hailey nodded, grinning. “You play? What’s your name?”

He shook his head. “I’m Rico. I worked security there, few years back, before moving over to this hotel,” he said, grinning back. “Don’t tell me you’re a fan?”

“I am actually,” she said. “But I was supposed to, erm, talk to Jake Reese. My name’s Hailey Frost.”

His grin widened to a beam. “You’re on the list.”

“How do you know?” Missy demanded. “You didn’t even look on your phone or on a paper or anything! How do you know she’s on the list, and I’m not?”

“Because hers is the only name on the list for Jake.”

“Thanks,” Hailey said, leaving the girl to splutter. She walked down a dark hallway, before stepping into the little side room they’d set up. It wasn’t that fancy looking—just a hotel’s back room, with a table set up with some food and drinks, and a couple of chairs. The Mystics guys were there, in their full glory. Simon was just as good looking, with those piercing green eyes. Miles was tall, resembling a poet or a Renaissance painter with his trimmed beard and his longish hair pulled back at the nape of his neck.

“It’s bullshit, man,” Simon was saying to Jake. “You should talk to the producers. No way they’re replacing you!”

“My agent told me they don’t want to speak to me directly,” Jake responded, rubbing his face with his hand.

No matter how they’d left things last night, Hailey couldn’t help but feel her heart clench at his stunned expression, and the devastation in his voice. The show meant more to him than she’d realized.

Miles grumbled. “They’re not going to fire you. I don’t even know where the guy got that information.” He was standing close to Jake, giving him one of those hard pats on the shoulders that guys give instead of hugs.

“I have to boost my Q Score,” Jake said, still sounding mournful.

“What the hell is that?” Miles asked, obviously baffled. She knew the feeling. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard it correctly, because she had no idea what they were talking about.

Simon, on the other hand, shook his head. He seemed much more knowledgeable, and shrewd. “Really? Your Q Score? What are you, a video game? A movie? A bar of frickin’ soap?”

Hailey couldn’t help herself. She snickered at Simon’s histrionics, letting out the laugh as a sort of pressure-release from all the tension she was feeling, both for the bookstore and for herself. All three of them looked over at her.

“Well, hello,” Simon said, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Who have we here?”

“Nobody’s supposed to be back here,” Miles said, almost simultaneously, standing protectively in front of Jake. Simon flanked him. It actually made her feel better, to see the other two looking out for him.

But Jake had gotten a glimpse of her before they’d created their human wall. “Hailey?” Jake stood in a fluid motion, his eyes lighting. “I didn’t think I’d see you today. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yup, here I am.” She hated that her voice sounded a little hesitant. “Thought we should talk.”

“Um, well, it’s time we went up to our rooms. Get ready for tonight’s VIP dinner,” Miles said, then nudged Simon.

“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Simon countered, walking up to her and holding a hand out. “Simon. Nice to meet you. Hailey, was it? You seem familiar.”

She grinned. Apparently, the tabloids saying the guy was a total man-whore weren’t wrong. He was charming, and obviously loved women.

“You do have to go somewhere,” Miles said, grabbing Simon’s shoulder and shoving him toward the door.

“What? I wasn’t even going to change my clothes.”

“You have to do the thing,” Miles said. “Remember?”

“What thing?” Simon protested.

“The thing where you don’t cock-block your friend,” Miles hissed, shoving him toward the door. When the door opened, Hailey could hear women shriek.

“Ladies!” Simon called out, the smile clear in his enthusiastic tone. “What have we . . .” It was cut off as the door closed, leaving her alone in the room with Jake.

She turned to him, hands in her pockets. “Um, I wanted to talk.”

“I’m glad. I didn’t have your number, and I really, really wanted to apologize,” he said, surprising her. “You were right. I was an asshole last night. It wasn’t any of my business, and you were obviously in a hurry. I thought maybe you were just not thinking clearly, or you didn’t think you could ask me for help, but I crossed a line with the he-man crap. The more I thought about it afterward, the more I realized you had something serious going on, and the last thing you needed was my interference.”

She felt a bubble of relief—and guilt. “It’s okay. Really.”

“I guess that I’ve just been burned a lot,” he said. “I know, that’s not a good enough excuse. But I hope you’ll give me another chance, let me make it up to you.”

The guilt intensified, which was weird. He was handing himself to her on a platter. She couldn’t have gotten a better response from him if she’d schemed it herself.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Well, yes.” She frowned, then shrugged. Best to be honest. “I do want something from you, though.”

He froze. Then grinned. “I want something from you, too.” He started to reach for her.

She evaded, holding up her hand. “No. I mean, not that I’m not interested there, too,” she admitted, as a quick memory of the previous night—and what they’d almost done—flooded her mind. Damn, was she interested. “But I do want something else from you. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Now his expression looked like a cross between eagerness and wariness. “What can I do?”

“I’ve got . . . well, my family’s got a bookstore,” she said, slowly.

How much to tell him? She didn’t want to spill the whole thing. Cressida’s life was hard enough, and the trauma behind Cress’s circumstances wasn’t her secret to tell, anyway. But she could share some details.

“Our landlord raised our rent in January. The bookstore was barely making it beforehand, but now we’re running in the red and getting behind on bills.”

God, the shame of it was like drinking battery acid. She swallowed painfully.

“We’re, um, thinking of rebranding it, making it a fandom bookstore. You know, one that caters to geeky genres and a really strict niche. For women, though. Geek girls.”

He shrugged, his previous warmth starting to chill. “How, exactly, do you need my help?”

“If you could do an appearance before you go back to Vancouver, it’d be huge,” she said. “It would make a noticeable difference. Especially if you could announce it during this conference. It would go a long way toward helping us build our financial solvency.”

“So. You want me to do an appearance, because your family business is failing.”

She nodded.

He took a deep breath. “And did you know about this before or after you and I almost slept together?”

It was as effective as a slap. “It has nothing to do with what happened last night. Why I left, I mean.” At his skeptical glance, she narrowed her eyes. “Trust me, buddy, if I were trying to run a number on you, I would’ve hit you up when I had your pants off.”

That surprised a bark of laughter out of him, but he was shaking his head, and she felt her heart drop. “Sorry. I’m not supposed to do any non-sanctioned appearances.”

She felt disappointment and anxiety start to bubble in her chest, but she pushed forward doggedly. “Why not?”

“I’m in contract negotiations,” he said, and he just sounded tired. “And frankly, I’m trying to boost my Q Score, I’m trying to save my job. I can’t afford to blow it.”

“Couldn’t you ask them?” she pressed. “It’s charitable. Could be good publicity.”

“My agent wouldn’t go for it,” he said.

She felt a burn of frustration. “The agent works for you, doesn’t he?” she said sharply.

“She, not he. Was that all?” he asked with some challenge of his own.

She groaned, seeing the opportunity slip away. This was the best, and quickest, idea that she’d had. She wasn’t going to lose the chance now. She was going to help Cressida.

“Maybe one of the other guys could help me, then?” she asked, keeping her voice level.

“I’ll ask.” He stood, gestured to the door.

This sucked. Well and truly sucked. Before the panic, and the stupidity, of last night, she’d really enjoyed the time they’d spent together. Now, seeing him closed off and hurt because of her question, she felt—well, she wasn’t sure how she felt, only that it wasn’t good.

“What are you going to do about that Q Score of yours?” she asked, unwilling to leave just yet.

“Hailey, you don’t have to ask. I can’t imagine it’s that interesting.” He shot her a sardonic smirk. “I mean, do you really care? You’ve got enough on your plate, right?”

That made her stiffen. “I do want your help, but you were the one who acted like an ass first. Yeah, I’m asking you for a favor. You can’t, or won’t, no problem. I’ll figure it out, believe me.”

There was enough snap in her voice to have his eyes widening. She tried tempering her tone, but then thought: fuck it.

“I’m not one of those fawning groupies,” she said, and her voice took on an edge. “If you don’t want to talk about it, if you want me to go to hell, that’s fine. But goddamn it, I genuinely asked.”

He sighed, then rubbed his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. “Well, it seems like I’m about to be fired from this job.”

“I heard the question. The blogger.”

“I really like it, working on the show,” he said. “If they want me to do the VIPs, even when they rip at my clothes, I do it. If they want me to dress up like a Labrador and dance the Macarena, I’d do it.”

She nodded ruefully. I know those feels, bro.

“But I don’t know how to . . . do that . . . publicity thing,” he said. “Not well, obviously.”

“Stupid question: can’t you hire a publicist?”

He frowned. “I had one for a while. Or rather, my father assigned one to me.”

“What? It didn’t take?”

“She wanted me to be someone I wasn’t,” Jake said, and she could see the memories clouding his face. “I was supposed to be seen. I went to a bunch of parties. I hated it. I didn’t care about anything they were talking about. I got drunk plenty of times, but I wasn’t into drugs. And the stuff I was interested in, nobody else was.”

“What are you interested in? “

“I don’t know. Hiking, surfing, camping. And just talking about things.” He looked frustrated. “My publicist said she couldn’t work with it, wanted me to be something I wasn’t. I cared about more than just who was sleeping with whom, and getting my next part.” His shoulders hunched, and his frown made him look like an angsty gunslinger. “My agent thinks if I got the right girlfriend, it might help.”

“So do that,” she said. “Easy-peasy.”

He shook his head vehemently. “For one thing, it feels wretched. Bit too much like being a hooker.”

She felt one of her eyebrows pop up, and she knew she was throwing him some epic shade, but damn it, she hated it when people who’d never actually been hookers talked about things like they were. She’d known plenty in L.A., and lots of them were sweethearts. “Oh?”

“Besides, I did try it once before,” he admitted.

Her eyes went wide. “What, you were a hooker?”

“No!” he yelped, letting out a burst of surprised laughter. “The setup girlfriend thing. Two girlfriends ago. She was trying to be the next America’s sweetheart. I was doing the modeling thing,” he said. “I thought she was pretty cool. Until I found her naked, straddling another actor.”

“Oops.” Hailey winced.

“In my house.”

“That’s gotta hurt.”

Jake shrugged. “In my bed.”

“Okay, stop,” Hailey said, chuckling a little. “Next thing you’ll tell me they got married.”

“No, but she did get into his next movie. I don’t know if those events were related, but I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.” He sounded bitter. “Anyway, I had another girlfriend after that, but she also just wanted to get a part on the show that I was on, which tanked. Then I got this gig. Been with Mystics for two years, and I love it. Working with Simon and Miles, the writers, getting to be a Knight Templar with magic powers fighting evil, centuries-old aliens fuckin’ rocks.”

She grinned. The smile lighting his face as he described the show was infectious.

He sobered. “I don’t want to lose it.” He paused. “And I’m not sure why I told you all that.”

“I have one of those faces,” she said, easily, and was rewarded when he smiled. “So, anything else you could do?”

“I could go on a huge binge, maybe crash a car, go into rehab,” he joked, shaking his head. “Or, you know, skinny-dip in a hotel pool. Maybe get involved with a married co-star.”

“Or one of your guy co-stars,” she said. “The slash fans would eat it up.”

“Much as I love those guys,” he said, “I don’t, you know, love those guys. And I don’t think either of them want to take one for the team. I’m not their type, either.”

She smirked, nudging him gently. “Well, all you’re looking for is a story. Something the fans want to see. Something to get them talking.”

And then it struck her.

The perfect con.

“You’re trying to become an integral part of the fans’ lives. Why don’t you date a fan?”

He looked at her in horror. “One of those women yanked the pocket off my jeans,” he said. “Denim. That actually takes some significant strength. That lady must’ve had arms like an orangutan.”

“I’m not saying date that one, specifically!”

“With my luck, I’d get involved with someone who then keeps me chained in her basement.”

“Be nice,” she said. “You have to respect your fans, especially if you want them to respect you. It’s a great show, and you’re great on it.”

“I know. Sorry. I’m being a dick,” he admitted. “I just . . . I can’t just proposition some fangirl, and ask her to keep mum about why. It wouldn’t be fair to her, either.”

Hailey grinned, seeing the game laid out in front of her—a way to help both of them.

“I’ve got the perfect solution,” she said, her smile slowly widening. “Pretend to date me.”

* * *

Jake stared at Hailey, a surreal feeling of numbness hitting him.

“You want me to pretend to date you,” he repeated, as if that might make it make more sense.

“Look, it’s not that complicated,” she said, her indigo eyes flashing with excitement. “You haven’t been dating anyone, and there’s some curiosity. You let it leak that you’re dating a fan, someone you met at a convention. The first Mystics con, in fact. You’re trying to keep it a secret.”

“I must be really bad at it, then,” he muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the concept. “Because if I keep it a secret, it’s not going to help my Q Score much.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing. The deep breath did nice things for her breasts, which were already straining against her blouse. It was a black blouse with lots of cherries on it, he noticed. Of course, he noticed more than the cherries.

“Flattering, but eyes up here, buddy,” she said with an indulgent smile. “The things that spread are always the things that are supposed to be secret, trust me.”

“So you’re a publicist, too?” he asked. “Is that what you do for your bookstore?”

“God, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Business is all Rachel’s wheelhouse—that’s my sister. Well, half sister,” she added absently.

“So how do you know this will work?”

“Because I used to run cons.”

He blinked. “Run cons? Conventions?”

“No. Cons. Confidence games.” He must’ve looked as puzzled as he felt, because she rolled her eyes. “Con artist. Get it?”

“Like The Sting, or something? You’re a grafter?”

“Grifter. Nothing so sophisticated,” she said. “And I said ‘used to.’ Past tense.”

“What made you stop?” He felt like he’d fallen down a serious rabbit hole. Or perhaps someone slipped him some ’shrooms. He wouldn’t put it past Simon, prankster that he was.

“Juvie,” she answered, with a shrug. “After that, Grandma Frost found me, brought me up here from Los Angeles. I didn’t really need to run any after that.” She rubbed the back of her neck, and he could see her gaze go soft, obviously remembering. “Besides, Grandma said if she caught me conning anybody in town, she’d beat me with a broom.”

He tensed. “Seriously?”

“She didn’t mean it. Probably,” she amended. “It didn’t matter, though. I didn’t need to anymore. But the point—which we’re going a little far afield from,” she emphasized gently, “is that this isn’t really that different from running a con. You’re just trying to get people to behave a certain way, think a certain thing. Trust me. People are interested when fans hook up with famous people, because in their hearts, they’d like to think it’s possible. And people spread secrets because they want to show they know something before other people do. That’s just human nature.”

She sounded so matter of fact. “But it’s still a lie,” he couldn’t help but point out.

That indulgent look was back. “I’ll let you pay for dinners, if it makes you feel better,” she said.

“I hate lying.” He grimaced. “I just hate being fake. Not being real.”

“Okay, I hate to point this out,” she said, “but you’re an actor. You lie for a living.”

“It’s not lying, it’s acting,” he said, then realized how stupid that sounded. “I’m portraying a character.”

She leaned back against a wall, surveying him. “I suppose your previous publicist tried to convince you that you were just playing a role?”

He sighed. “Yup. Tried that. The thing is, I get to play pretend all day, for my job. But I don’t want to live my job. My life is my reality.”

“Well, you’re going to have plenty of reality if you lose this job, right?”

He winced. Trust her to get straight to the heart of it. “If you put it that way.”

“Listen. I think I can help you. I’m not saying I can work miracles or anything, but I think this is something I can pull off,” she said, her face almost shining with intensity. “If I screw up, and it doesn’t work, well, you lose the job. You don’t have to help me. But if it does work and the contract goes through . . . will you tell your agent you’ll do the appearance?”

He frowned, but felt himself being inexorably drawn in—like the Millennium Falcon toward the Death Star. If the Death Star was a smokin’ hot gothabilly brunette. “What would it entail?”

She smiled, a sly, catlike smile of victory. He felt his body tighten, even as he reflexively threw his guard up. She had a hell of a smile. He could see how she would be dangerous—she could probably rob him blind and he’d help her pack that beast of a car with all of his belongings if given the chance.

So why was he feeling vaguely excited? He hated publicity, but the way she talked about running a con made it sound less like perpetrating a fraud, and more like just having a good time. Playing pretend, having fun.

Kind of like working on Mystics.

Of course, maybe his enthusiasm had to do with the fact that he’d be able to be around her. Sure. That could be it.

“Trust me. Nothing too strenuous,” she said. “The key here is to whet curiosity. You’re attracted to a fan. You’re dating a ‘civilian.’ Once the press gets ahold of it, we’ll work on making more . . . memorable things for them to write about.”

“Define ‘memorable.’”

“Oh, you know. PDAs, maybe double cosplay. Public sex. The usual.”

If his eyebrows jumped up any higher, they’d hit the ceiling. She immediately started laughing.

“Oh, my God, the look on your face,” she said, around a giggle. “Relax, there, chief. I think you’ve already got sexy in the bag. I’d say focusing more on fun is probably the key here. Go for goofy.”

“Goofy?” he repeated, still reeling from the public sex comment. If only I didn’t picture it quite so vividly . . .

“Yeah. You’re funny. They don’t take advantage of that enough, in my opinion,” she said, and he felt unaccountably warm. Not sexy-warm, this time, though. More like hug-warm.

“You think I’m funny?” He knew he was fishing here, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Yeah. I’ve seen some interviews, and when you’re a little more tired, or you’re with the other guys, you loosen up. And you’re funny as hell.”

He smiled.

“That. That smile,” she said. “Keep doing that, and you’ll be on every magazine on the planet.”

“So, just pretend I’m dating you and smile,” he said, shaking his head. “Just that easy, huh?”

“Again: what do you have to lose?”

He sighed. “When you put it that way, not much, I guess. But if they find out it’s a hoax, they’ll crucify me. Us.”

“I’m not a public figure. That’s not going to be a problem,” she said, shrugging. “But you’ve got a point. We’d probably need to spend a lot more time together to really sell it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Like, how much more time?”

“I don’t know. You’re only going to be here for what, a week? That’s not a lot of time,” she said. “When is the contract deadline?”

“By the end of the week.”

“One week. Not a big deal.” He wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself. “We fake a grand romance, the fangirls get to dig into the idea that Jake Reese connected with an ordinary woman . . . you get your contract, our bookstore gets a nice boost of publicity. Win-win.”

He was about to protest that nothing about Hailey could be considered “ordinary” when her words sunk in. They were faking this. It was a transaction—just like Susie wanted, an orchestrated ruse. He gets something, she gets something. It’s just business.

The thought of having sex with her—with anyone—as a business transaction made his stomach turn. He knew women who felt they didn’t have any choice but to have sex with a director in order to score a role. Men, too, now that he thought about it. He knew his father had abused his position as an A-lister to get women in the sack. They probably thought they were getting a good deal out of it, or it was “just business.”

Suddenly, the idea of striking a “bargain” with Hailey made his stomach queasy.

“One condition,” he said. “If we’re going to do this—I don’t think we should sleep together.”

She blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“We can pretend to,” he said. “If the—con—requires it. But I don’t think we should, um, muddy the waters.”

She stared at him for a long, silent moment, and for the briefest second, he thought he saw hurt shining in her eyes.

“Because you don’t trust me,” she clarified, her voice even and steady as a rock.

“No! It’s not that,” he said quickly, then frowned. “I mean, it’s true, I’ve only known you for a day. But I don’t mean to be hurtful, I just . . .”

“Don’t ever apologize for protecting yourself.” She cut him off. “Not ever. That’s just being smart.”

He stared at her. Her voice, her expression, was fierce. And not in anger—or at least, not anger at what he’d said. It seemed she was angrier that he was apologizing.

“This is business,” she continued. “Good fences make good neighbors, that sort of thing. So it’s a smart idea. We’ll run the con, you’ll do the appearance, and that’s that. No sex.”

“That’s that,” he echoed.

He could still feel the jolt of electricity. He could smell her—that fantastic smell, like night-blooming jasmine and hard candy. Her skin was soft, her eyes hot.

Absolutely no sex, he reminded himself.

“Deal?” she said.

She held out her hand. He took it. For a second, their gazes locked, and it felt like his heart skipped a beat, then picked it up again, pounding double-time. That furnace blast of awareness tore through him, making his body tingle.

“Deal,” he answered, forcing his voice to remain steady, and shook her hand.

* * *

Hailey was still thinking about their deal later that night. Jake had wanted to start brainstorming, but she’d needed space and time to think out their game plan.

Besides, tonight was girls’ night.

Their friend Kyla was curled up in a wingback chair, her feet tucked under her, an art pad and pencil in her hands. Their friend Tessa and her boyfriend, Adam, were cuddled on one couch, while their other friend Stacy sat on the floor, using the coffee table as a desk, leaning back against her boyfriend Rodney’s knees as he perched in a chair behind her, glancing over her shoulder. “Girls’ night” would need another name if the boyfriends kept coming over, Hailey mused.

Briefly, she imagined what it would be like if Jake were there. Just as quickly, she shook the image off. Not the point here, stupid. She had to stay focused. After Cressida’s little jaunt outside, they were all on edge, and Rachel had called an all-hands-on-deck gathering to discuss how they could turn things around. They’d discussed the re-branding. Kyla, cosplay queen and artist extraordinaire, had whipped up some quick pencil sketches of a revised logo and sign, while Rachel did rougher diagrams of how displays might work.

“Frost Fandoms,” Rachel said, pointing to Kyla’s most recent sketch. “I love it!” Kyla simply winked, heading back to the kitchen.

“So a memorabilia shop?” Tessa asked, looking at the sketches and diagrams pensively. “Would all the books go?”

“Absolutely not,” Cressida said. “At heart, we’re a bookstore. Gram loved books.”

“And books are an essential part of most fandoms, anyway,” Rachel quickly asserted. “Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Hunger Games, Divergent . . . just going through the YA fandoms, we’d be stocked.”

“There are novelizations, too,” Adam added. “I read all my brother’s Robotech novels, back in the day. And I’m totally picking up the Mass Effect novel by K. C. Alexander and Jason M. Hough when it comes out.”

Kyla walked in from the kitchen, bundled up in an oversized fuzzy gray sweater, jeans, and leg warmers, of all things. “Spiked cider,” she said, putting a tray down.

“Oooh. That’ll go well with the cookies I made this afternoon,” Cressida said, getting up and making a beeline for the kitchen. Kyla looked at Cressida’s disappearing figure, then leaned toward Hailey.

“How’s she doing?” Kyla whispered.

“She’s hanging in,” Hailey responded, keeping her voice low. “She’s playing tough, but . . . damn it, Kyla. We’ve got to make this work.”

Cressida came back in, and Kyla simply nodded. “Don’t worry, we got this,” she told Cressida and Hailey both. “I’ve got costumes you guys can display and sell, and I’m going to make smaller cosplay stuff, cheaper stuff, that’ll go more quickly. Mystics-related stuff, too, to capitalize on the convention.”

Cressida gave her a grateful smile, and Hailey hugged Kyla’s shoulders.

“You’re getting paid for those,” Rachel said pointedly. “You work hard on your costumes. You deserve to get paid.”

“You guys are family,” Kyla said easily, with a wave of her hand, her smile bright as sunshine and sweet as lemonade. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wish I’d gotten my act together around this sooner,” Rachel said sadly. “We could’ve gotten a booth at the Mystics convention, selling stuff.”

“Next year,” Kyla said, patting Rachel’s back.

Everyone else looked awkwardly at each other. Nobody needed to say what they were thinking: If the bookstore was still around next year.

Hailey cleared her throat. “I’m going to be heading to the Mystics con this week—I scored a pass from a guy I met at work.” Which was not technically lying. She’d tell them about Jake when she had the details more clear in her head. “I’ll hand out flyers. We just need to make sure we have enough cool stuff to stock it, and set up some displays. That’s what you’ve been working on, right, Rachel?”

With that, their attention snapped back to the issue at hand. Rachel handled herself like a pro. She’d already discussed it with Hailey that afternoon, and Hailey was completely on board.

After an hour or so of brainstorming and writing details, while Stacy and Tessa talked social media planning, Hailey took the opportunity to retreat to the kitchen herself, just for a second, to decompress.

Cressida stepped in behind her. “What’s up?”

“Felt more like cocoa than cider,” Hailey hedged. “You okay?”

“I was going to ask you that,” Cressida said, leaning against their heavy, battered pine kitchen table. She stared at Hailey expectantly.

“Just winding down.” Which was true. The bargain she’d just made with Jake had her dialed up to eleven. She felt like her system was still revving, needle in the red.

How the hell am I going to make this work? I know nothing about publicity or acting careers. Or those score things. Or . . . well, anything.

She’d never tried to pull a hustle with this little foundation work before—and she hadn’t been on the grift for years. She’d been too eager, very “let’s make a deal,” and jumped the gun. Hell, when she’d made her spiel, she’d even convinced herself she could pull this off. Now, with the buzz of adrenaline wearing off, and with the gang discussing all the plans they had for the bookstore, she was struck with the very real question of exactly how she was going to do what she’d claimed—and how she was going to get Jake here, to do the appearance and launch the whole pursuit properly.

She quickly added tequila to the cocoa, as well as chili powder, a trick she’d learned from Tessa. It wasn’t as good as Tessa’s—it never was, even though Tessa swore she wasn’t keeping secrets—but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Cressida quietly shuffled around the kitchen, popping milk in the microwave to make herself a nonalcoholic version of what Hailey was drinking. Wearing Pusheen the cat pajamas and slippers that looked like Godzilla feet, she looked like she did when Hailey met her, all those years ago—like she was still about twelve, and a skinny, gangly twelve, at that.

“So what’s really going on, Hales?” Cressida asked quietly.

Hailey winced, glancing quickly out at the living room/store, where the war room was still in full effect. “What makes you think . . .”

Cressida held up a hand, stopping her. “I could tell as soon as you walked in this afternoon that something was going on.”

“How?”

“I could feel your energy.”

Hailey narrowed her eyes. “Really.”

“Okay, I could tell because you kicked your badass boots off and they’re all sloppy and a mess in the hallway,” Cressida admitted, stirring hot milk into the hot cocoa powder in her mug. “You never do that. You baby your footwear. Ergo, you’re obviously worked up about something.”

This was the problem of knowing someone for as many years as they’d known each other. Cressida was her Jiminy Cricket, the angel on her shoulder, the one who knew her better than anyone.

The one who called her on her bullshit. Like she was now.

“Well . . .” Hailey started.

“Oh, shit,” Cress said, stirring the cocoa and plopping down on the opposite chair, staring at her. “You’ve got that look.”

“First the boots, now the look,” Hailey shot back, rolling her eyes. “You caught me. I’m planning to rob Fort Knox.”

“No, but you’re up to something.” A shadow passed across Cressida’s sky-blue eyes. “You’re not doing anything—you know.”

“No, I’m not doing anything illegal.” The words came out clipped, and she felt the quick one-two punch of anger and fear of getting caught, followed up by a hard hit of guilt. She wasn’t doing anything criminal, admittedly, but she was still doing something . . . shifty.

Of course Cressida picked up on that. “Not technically illegal?”

Hailey sighed. She should’ve known that she couldn’t hold anything back from Cress. Best to just come clean.

“I’m working on getting one of the guys from Mystics to do an appearance to help promote the bookstore,” Hailey whispered, then braced herself.

Cressida’s cornflower-blue eyes went wide, and she did a quick check to make sure the others weren’t listening. “What? How?” she hissed.

“That’s the hustle. Nothing technically illegal. Nothing even illegal adjacent,” Hailey clarified. “I’m . . . well, I’m going to help Jake Reese improve his K score, in exchange for helping us.”

“His what?”

“K score. I think,” Hailey said. “The thing that says how popular he is.”

Cressida smirked. “Q Score. You’re thinking Q Score.”

“Whatever,” Hailey said, embarrassed. You can’t even get the name of the score right! How is this going to work? She shook off the thought. “Anyway, if I can help him improve his standing, then he’ll ask his agent to do the appearance.”

She could practically hear the gears shifting in Cressida’s brain. “You don’t know anything about publicity. And you don’t even know what a Q Score is. How, exactly, are you ‘improving his standing,’ Hales? And why haven’t you told Rachel yet?”

Hailey sighed. “I’m, erm . . .” She took a deep breath, and said it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Pretendingtobehisgirlfirend.”

If Cressida’s eyes got any wider, they’d pop right out of her head. “You’re . . . pretending . . . to be his . . . girlfriend.” She repeated it slowly, softly, as if convinced she’d misheard something.

“Yeah.”

Cressida went silent. The gears kept whirring away.

Finally, she nodded, with a slow sigh. “You’re running a con. You’re helping him run a con.”

Hailey relaxed against the chair. There was no judgment in Cressida’s statement, just observation. “This is why I love you. You get me.”

“It’s the star-falls-for-fan trope,” Cressida said slowly, her eyes still misty and unfocused as her brain parsed out the details. “A shomance. Or rather, a promance—PR romance. Do you know how you’re going to set it up?”

Hailey felt like a knot was untying in her chest. Cressida was on board, not naysaying. She could talk it out, talk it through. Just knowing she wasn’t alone helped enormously. She should’ve turned to Cressida sooner, but it felt alien. It was her job to help Cress out, not the other way around.

“Not sure what my approach is yet,” Hailey said, taking a sip of cocoa, and wincing at the tequila’s bite. “I figure I’ll stake out the paparazzi. There ought to be a few hanging around.”

“It’d be better if you got a fangirl to take a picture with her cell phone, or somebody from one of the Mystics blogs,” Cressida mused, spinning the mug slowly on the table, lost in thought. “It’ll seem more organic that way. Less staged.”

“That’s a good one,” Hailey agreed, sipping the chocolate and letting the kick of tequila do its thing. “We’ll work on getting the photos spread. I’ll try to tell someone to not share it.”

“Smart. Get the right fan, they’ll share it even more that way.” Cress sipped her own chocolate, sighing and grinning absentmindedly. “This’d be better with more whipped cream. So, once the story’s out, how will you amp it up? It’s not enough for the fandom to know. If he’s trying to bump up a Q Score, he’ll need more media covering it.”

“That’s where the paparazzi needs to come in,” Hailey said. “It needs to go to those more viral places. TMZ, that crap. Boost the love element.”

“Okay. . . .” Cressida was frowning now, biting her lip. “Still going to need something for them to talk about.”

“I was thinking public sex.”

Cressida laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Man. You’re kidding, right?”

“Do you know me at all?” Hailey teased, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yes, and if you don’t think I heard about that time you had sex on the Space Needle, you’ve got another think coming,” Cressida said. “I might be house-bound, but I see all and hear all.”

Hailey let out a bark of laughter. “Shit. You do, don’t you? How do you manage that?”

“I have an active online life,” Cressida said primly, then smirked. “So yes, you’d do public sex in a heartbeat. But not for a scam.”

“No, not public sex.” Hailey frowned. “Although he’s not the sort you’d kick out of bed for eating crackers.”

“He is terribly handsome,” Cressida said, then clamped down her mouth.

Hailey sighed. “Just ask.”

“Were you planning on . . . I mean, is it a good idea . . .” Cressida’s pale skin was scarlet with embarrassment. “How did you manage to convince him that this was a good idea, exactly?”

“I didn’t take one for the team, if that’s what you’re asking.” Hailey straightened her shoulders. “I haven’t bounced a guy to get a deal ever, and you know that.”

Now Cressida looked guilty. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would, but when it comes to protecting me . . .”

Hailey sighed. Cressida was right. If it meant screwing the Seventh Fleet to keep her family safe, Hailey would probably whore herself bowlegged. But she didn’t want Cressida feeling more guilty, or worried. “It’s not an issue, Cress. If it makes you feel any better, he already stated that clearly. Absolutely no sex.”

Now Cressida blinked. “So he’s gay?”

Hailey burst out laughing. “Your confidence in me is appreciated. If his previous performance is any indication, though, he’s definitely interested in girls.”

“His previous . . . oh, my God.” Cressida gawped. “He was the guy you were with last night? I interrupted you and Jake Reese?”

Hailey nodded, leaning back in her chair and grinning. “Yup.”

“Oh, my God,” Cressida repeated, her jaw dropping open. “Are you . . . I mean . . .”

It was so funny, to see Cressida so completely blindsided. Hailey chuckled.

“You talked to him about the bookstore. You’re helping him out with his Q Score,” Cressida said finally. “Was it . . . is this the start of . . . something?”

“Yeah,” Hailey drawled. “It’s the start of a scam.”

“I mean, you’ve gotten together, you’re helping him out,” Cressida said, and she had that suspicious tone of voice again—the “calling your bullshit” tone. “Are you thinking, maybe . . . relationship?”

“Hell no,” Hailey scoffed, taking a sip of her chocolate. “First, we didn’t ‘get together.’ I left before the main event.”

Cressida’s expression was hangdog.

“It’s just a con, sweetie. A business arrangement.” She thought about what he’d said about “no sex” and the quick sting she’d felt. She told herself it was because she wished she’d said it first. “Even if we had slept together, you know my policy. Keep it hot, and keep it brief. I’ll help him, he’ll help me, and then we’ll part company. He’ll have a career, and we’ll have a bookstore that’s, God willing, running in the black.”

“Hmm.” Cressida’s eyes went unfocused as she went into deep thought mode.

After a few moments, Hailey kicked Cressida’s Godzilla toes. “If those gears in your head grind any louder, smoke is going to come out of your ears. What gives?”

“Nothing,” Cressida said, with a slow, thoughtful, catlike smile. “So, do we get to meet Mr. Mystics Underwear Model?”

“At some point,” Hailey said. “I haven’t said anything to Rachel yet, though, until I can get the details laid out. I don’t want to get her hopes up if he flakes, you know?”

“She’s going to need to know to set up the publicity,” Cressida warned her.

Hailey sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I know. Which is why I need to get the fake relationship hustle set up. The approach, the buildup, the payoff.”

“It’ll definitely seem more serious, and less like a hookup, if he meets your family,” Cressida added. “Just sayin’.”

“We’ll save it for the appearance,” Hailey said, then giggled. “You just want to get a shot at my boyfriend.”

Cressida snickered, then made that “hmm” sound again.

“Okay. I’m going to work out a few more details of the con,” Hailey said. “Want to help me sketch out the game plan, while the troops are figuring out the store stuff?”

“Do you like him?” Cressida asked instead.

Yeah. I really, really like him, Hailey thought . . . and felt a little knot form in her gut.

“What’s not to like?” she said instead. “He’s sex on a stick, and he can help save the bookstore. Two of my favorite things.”

Cressida’s responding smile was smug.

“But in a week, he’ll go back to Vancouver or whatever, and that’ll be that,” Hailey added quickly.

No sex. One week. One scam. That was it.

I just have to keep repeating that to myself until it sticks.