Oh my God, what’s that sound?

I twist my head around and immediately regret it as my vision blurs. My temples are pounding and my skull feels like a jackhammer is trying to pry it open. I knew those shots with Tate were a mistake.

There it is again. That incessant song.

I glance around a tad slower this time and see my phone peeking out from under my discarded dress. I lift up the covers.

Yup. I’m naked. Well, at least I had the common sense to wait until I got into my room.

I try to get up, but the room begins to spin. I shut my eyes and fall back on the pillow. Man oh man, I’ve never been more hungover in my life.

Ke$ha begins her “Timber” chorus all over again, and I stifle a curse. I’m going to kill Kelley.

Finally, my phone grows quiet. My relieved sigh is cut short as my phone begins to ding. “Okay!” I whisper, dragging the covers off my body. Since walking is out of the picture, I settle for crawling on all fours.

I dig my phone out from under my dress and swipe the screen. Two missed calls and four texts. Honestly, I’m surprised there aren’t more.

I smile and then grimace. Yes, even smiling hurts.

My stomach lurches and I clutch my side. I crawl back into bed with my phone in hand.

I get halfway through my response before the nausea kicks in. I throw my phone down, leap out of bed, and run for the bathroom.

Five minutes later, any lingering vodka cranberries and SoCo shots are gone, and I’m feeling much better. I still feel like I got hit by a bus, but at least my stomach is settled.

I brush my teeth and crawl back into bed, glancing at my phone as I pull the covers over my head. Yup. Kelley’s still on a rampage.

I look at the time and cringe. That’s in one hour, and at the rate I’m going, getting ready is going to be a marathon. I consider cancelling, but I know that Kelley and I are already on thin ice. Besides, I really need a friend right now. I desperately need to talk to someone about this insane plan I’ve gotten myself into.

I slink into the bathroom and hop in the shower. Thirty minutes later, I’m standing tall in skinny jeans, a floral tank top, and ankle boots. It’s a miracle. Now I need food.

I head for the kitchen, my mind fantasizing about the fried foods I wish I could have but have zero chance of finding in Tate’s health-obsessed kitchen. Whatever. At this point, I’d settle for a few granola bars.

“Hi, there.”

I whirl around and see a handsome twenty-something coming out of the office to my left. He’s tall, lithe, and tanned with black hair and brown eyes.

“Um, hello,” I say, taking a step back. Random guy in the house? Not good.

His face breaks into a big smile. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Marcus, Tate’s assistant.”

“Oh,” I say with relief. I take his outstretched hand. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here.”

“Yeah, my bad. I tend to hole up in the office when I’m here, and I didn’t think anyone was home. I have a key,” he adds, seeing my puzzled expression.

“Then Tate’s gone?”

“I don’t know. His car is here, though, so he’s probably out for a run.”

A run?!

I just puked for five minutes and Tate went for a jog? The man is invincible. “Got it. Well, I’m on my way out. I was going to grab some food, but I’m running behind—”

“Do you want me to get something for you?” Marcus interrupts. He starts walking toward the kitchen.

“No, no, please,” I say quickly, following after him, “you don’t have to.”

“It’s my job.”

“But you work for Tate.”

“And you’re the boss’s girl. If you’re happy, then the boss is happy,” Marcus says with a wink.

I laugh. “I don’t think ‘happy’ is a word in Tate’s vocabulary.”

“Ha! Tell me about it.” Marcus’s eyes go wide. “Oh, man. I’m glad the bossman didn’t hear that…”

I take a seat at the counter while he rifles through the fridge. “How long have you been working for him?”

“Little over a year.” Marcus takes out a Savse smoothie and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I screw open the cap and suck half of it down in one gulp. “A year? That’s longer than I thought someone would—” I bite my tongue.

“Last?” he finishes with a laugh. “Tate’s demanding, but let’s just say I’ve worked for worse. Besides, he’s opened doors for me. It makes up for everything else he throws at me.”

I perk up. “How so?”

“I want to direct one day, and so being on-set with him is a dream. I get to watch the pros in action, make connections…”

“So is grabbing me smoothies your number one priority?”

“Actually, handling Tate’s social media tends takes up most of my time. Social media is a full-time job theses days.”

“Something I’m finally understanding. My accounts blew-up overnight from that press release and media stint.”

“I could handle it for you.”

“Wait, really?”

He shrugs. “I’m pretty good at it.”

“But still—”

“And I like it. Please, let me help. It’ll be good if your account syncs up with Tate’s, anyway.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

He pulls out a coconut water and sets it in front of me. “I’d love to help.”

Dude. Personal assistants rock. “Thank you, Marcus,” I gush, snapping off the cap and taking a long pull. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Marcus grins at me. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

“I see you two have met.”

Marcus and I turn around to see Tate standing by the foyer, watching us through narrowed eyes. I do a double take. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a frickin’ Under Armour billboard instead of finishing up a grueling run. I look like a red-faced banshee when I work out, not some Norse god.

“Hey, boss!” Marcus edges around the kitchen island. “I was just making Charlotte breakfast. Want anything?”

Tate furrows his brow. “I’m fine. And you don’t work for Charlotte, you work for me.”

“Yeah, but I thought—”

“I don’t need your attention focused elsewhere.”

“Give him a break,” I say. “It was just a smoothie.”

Tate ignores my comment (of course). “Did you update my social media accounts yet?”

“Not yet. I wanted to run it by you first, since…” Marcus glances at me “…this post’s rather atypical.”

What? Oh.

Tate nods. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just make it quick and to the point—and spell Charlotte’s last name right. There’s an ‘i’ in it.”

My eyebrows shoot up. That’s strangely thoughtful. I didn’t think Tate would care enough to know how my last name is spelled.

Tate glances at me, then turns toward his room. “I’m going to shower. Charlotte, we should talk and go over the media attention from last night.”

“Sounds good,” I say, hopping off my stool and heading for the foyer. “But it’ll have to wait.”

Tate stills. “Why?”

“I have something,” I say over my shoulder.

Tate follows me with his eyes. “What?”

I shrug. “A date with a friend.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“Why would you need to know?”

Tate frowns. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m your boyfriend?”

I glance over at Marcus as he edges out of the room. “Well, that’s unfair. I woke up today and didn’t know where you were.”

“I went for a run. It’s hardly the same.”

“And I’m going for coffee with my best friend.”

Tate crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine. Just…be careful.”

I laugh. “Be careful? This is Beverly Hills, Tate.”

“Exactly. You’re my girlfriend now. Don’t be surprised if people recognize you after this morning’s media frenzy.”

“I doubt it,” I say, dismissing him with my hand. I grab my purse off the landing table and throw it over my shoulder. “You’re overreacting.”

Tate cocks an eyebrow. “Right. The famous guy who’s graced the cover of every magazine doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

I ignore that ridiculously conceited comment and throw open the door. “Bye, famous guy.”

“Famous guy?” Tate repeats.

I smile sweetly back at him. “You christened it.”

“Good luck out there, sweet cheeks,” Tate says with his most maddening smirk.

I roll my eyes, turn around, and slam the door right in his handsomely smug face.

* * *

“This is a terrible idea!” Kelley slams her mug down on her saucer and leans over the table at me. “You’re not even over Jay and you’re fake dating an actor!”

“Will you keep your voice down?” I hiss, glancing around the coffee shop.

“And not just ‘an actor,’ but Tate Gunner!”

“Kelley, you have to lower your voice.” I grab her shaking hand. “I signed an ND. Do you want me to get sued?”

“No, of course not,” Kelley whispers, “but I want you to think about what you’re doing!”

“I have, I swear. I went into this with eyes wide open. Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well…Tate’s not exactly nice or pleasant like I had hoped,” I admit. “He’s actually a huge pain in the ass.”

“He’s the quintessential bad boy, Char. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know! Not someone who makes me want to murder him.”

Kelley snorts. “That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Yikes.” Kelley fiddles with her napkin before looking up at me. “Sorry I got mad. I had this vision of you and him basking by some luxurious pool while he fed you chocolate-covered strawberries and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.”

I stare at her for a second, then dissolve into laughter. I laugh so hard that Kelley tries to slap me. “No! I’m not in hysterics. I’m just—that’s so far off the truth, Kel. We’re at each others throats, if he even notices me. He mostly ignores me.”

Kelley puts her hand on my arm. “That’s awful.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m getting paid enough. Plus, I think about all the people I’ll meet, and suddenly, I can cope.”

“Yeah…but…”

“Don’t worry about me,” I say, forcing a smile on my face. “Oh, by the way, we have an acting coach.”

Her jaw drops. “No way.”

I nod. “We couldn’t stand touching each other.”

“So you’ve be touching each other?” Kelley asks slowly. “Like, in the bedroom?”

I scowl at her.

She laughs. “Look at you! Getting all blushy. You say living with that gorgeous man is terrible, but it can’t be all bad.”

“Oh no, it is.”

“Come on, what about when he comes out of the shower?”

“Separate showers, Kel.”

“Or out of the pool?”

“He never uses it.”

“What about after a long, steamy workout?”

I open my mouth to argue but stop, remembering how that sweat-drenched shirt clung to Tate’s hard chest this morning and how rivulets of sweat ran down the curves and turns of his muscular arms.

Kelley’s hand flies to her mouth. “I knew it!”

“Shhhh!” I say, trying not to go even redder.

“He’s hot, admit it.”

“Of course he is. I’m not arguing against a universal fact.”

“And you like him!”

“Ew, no.”

“You do. You so totally do.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m going to leave if you don’t stop.”

“Okay, okay.” Kelley watches me over the rim of her mug as she takes a few sips of her mocha. “But when you do sleep together, I want all the steamy details.”

“That’s it!” I stand up and grab my purse. “I’m leaving. Tate wants to talk about the media coverage, anyway, and what we’ll be doing next.”

Kelley’s smile widens. “Oh, I think I know what you’ll be doing next.”

For the second time that day, I roll my eyes and storm out of the door. Something tells me this is going to become a habit where Tate Gunner is concerned.