But I’m not going to joke that he’s probably the only writer who has tickets to the gun show. That’s too personal. Too friendly. Too who we used to be.

  I have to be someone else with him. When Holly introduces me, I offer my hand to shake as if meeting for the first time.

  “I’d always hoped to land a part in a bring-a-nice-guy-home-for-the-holiday rom-com, so this’ll be fun, TJ,” I say, flashing my best smile his way, so he won’t know how much this ruse stings.

  He blinks, a good sign I’ve surprised him. Brilliant. I’d like to keep him off-balance. But he recovers quickly, his eyes icy again. “And just think, now I’ll have first-hand experience I can use to write a fake romance,” he says.

  Ouch. That’s a low blow.

  But he still doesn’t let go of my hand. He lingers in the handshake. I glance at his fingers, which have mapped my entire body.

  Inconveniently, my skin heats up from the memories.

  I let go, dropping his palm. It’s good for me to be the one ending things, even a handshake. “Ah, I thought you’d done it before. My bad,” I say.

  “But there’s a first time for everything,” he says bitterly.

  Holly clears her throat. “And there’s a time, too, to get everything sorted. That time is now, gentlemen.” She nods to the door. “Mason and I will go fetch Slade.”

  Once our agents leave, it’s just TJ and me in the sleek meeting room outfitted with a pair of long blue couches and a table. I wish I weren’t still attracted to TJ. Being alone with him feels like a cruel sort of joke.

  I peer around the open door. Hopefully, Slade moves at superhero speed.

  Maybe I should make fake conversation about TJ’s books as we wait. But right when I’m about to ask how his writing is going, he cuts straight through the silence. “So, you and William are—”

  Fuck that. I don’t want to suffer through the third degree about William when I’m innocent. “So what did you do wrong to get yourself tossed into fake boyfriend jail?”

  TJ simply stares at me, those brown eyes full of . . . is it hate or disgust? Hard to say, but there might also be a touch of you’re a fucking dick, Jude, and not the good kind.

  “What did I do wrong?” He repeats the question, tapping his chest. “Hasn’t that always been the question?”

  Then you should have picked up the phone when I tried to call you. You should have answered my text.

  But I’m not going to hash out the past. I shrug off his I’m-so-innocent comment. “Actually, TJ, I don’t really need to know what trouble you’re in,” I say breezily, even though I’m dying to know why he needs a fake date.

  “This wasn’t my idea,” he seethes.

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t mine,” I volley.

  “That much is clear,” he mutters as I head toward a couch.

  A flash of anger whips through me. I wheel around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you don’t even let the body get . . .” He shakes his head like he’s pissed at himself for saying that much.

  “Cold, TJ? I don’t let the body get cold?”

  “Forget I said anything,” he says.

  There was nothing cold about the way I felt for this man back then. My emotions were fire. But that’s another thing I’ll keep to myself. “You don’t believe everything you read in the press, do you?” I ask, saccharinely sweet.

  He tilts his head and gives an innocent, closed-mouth smile. “No, Jude. That’s your style, to believe everything you read.”

  Touché.

  Before we can hurl more barbs, the door swings open. In walks a tall, elegant man in a tailored shirt and crisp trousers. A skull earring shines in one ear, matching a gleaming ring on his index finger. He's a curious mix of stylish and edgy with fair skin and a Celtic tattoo on his hand. His brown eyes sail from TJ to me like he’s taking our temp.

  TJ stands with his arms tightly crossed. At the opposite end of the couch, I’m squared off with my hands on my hips.

  The temperature is sub-zero. But the newcomer seems determined to warm us up.

  I hope he has enough space heaters to fill a city block.

  5

  First Rehearsal

  Jude

  “I can see I have my work cut out for me.” Slade, the agency’s PR guy, sizes us up the moment he comes in, his dark eyes flickering with wicked glee. “And this is my favorite kind of job. A hard one.”

  I keep my mouth zipped tight, bottling up all these feelings inside me—anger, annoyance, stupid latent lust.

  TJ is quiet too, as icy as ever.

  “I love that silent treatment. It makes it all the sweeter when you call me a fabulous matchmaker later on. Slade the matchmaker.” He puffs out his chest like he’s strutting.

  “More like Slade the PR puppeteer,” TJ mutters.

  Slade smiles in over-the-top delight, then snaps his fingers. “Even better, plus points for alliteration,” he says as he strides across the room. “Let’s sit and review the plan for our new favorite couple. I want to make this as easy as possible, so let’s get our ducks all lined up. It’ll be a waterfowl kick line when I’m through.”

  Slade gestures to the navy-blue couch. I sit on one end while TJ parks himself as far away as possible.

  The man in the purple paisley shirt sighs like we’re bad little duckies. “Men, please. You’re going to be putting on quite a public show for the whole world. We can’t very well have you so dang far apart on the couch.”

  I scoot a few feet closer. Very begrudgingly. TJ does the same.

  He motions for us to scooch closer. “Just a little closer. I like my lovebirds nice and cozy. Snuggly. All cute and cuddly,” he says.

  But I don’t move. Nor does TJ.

  “We’re close enough right now,” TJ says, underlining his words.

  Slade stares at us like he’s starting to put two and two together—we don’t want to be here. “I can see you’re both tense, but no worries. I’ve got a bag of tricks, and I’m getting the sense we might need to do some ice breakers before we tackle the deets of your backstory.”

  I groan. “I don’t think so.”

  TJ seconds it. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Oh, but it’s a prerequisite. This isn’t an optional class you’re attending. This is a required course. And the first assignment is two truths and a lie.”

  Does he think we’re adolescents? “Seriously? You want us to play that game?”

  Slade doesn’t appear to be joking. “It’s a great getting-to-know-you exercise, and by the time we’re done, you’re going to know each other so damn well that no reporter can trip you up and no photo can make anyone doubt you two.” He rubs his hands together. “All right, let’s—”

  “—I’ll go first,” TJ says.

  “A go-getter. I like it,” Slade praises then gives a little clap of approval for the writer. “Gimme your three statements and make one of them a big old fib.”

  TJ nods dutifully. “Two truths and a lie for you. Here goes. Carbs are fantastic. Yellow is my favorite color.” He stops to sigh contentedly. “That guy is a friend.”

  TJ’s favorite food is pizza, and I know he hates yellow. But what guy is he talking about? Who is just a friend? A knot of jealousy twists inside me, along with confusion. “Are you sure you’re playing the game right?” I ask.

  “Oh, I thought I was supposed to prove how well I know you by giving your two truths and a lie.”

  I parse that out while TJ smirks at me innocently. I love carbs and bright colors, so the lie is . . . Motherfucker.

  I seethe. He barely deserves to know the truth. I don’t want to tell him what went down when I was in Los Angeles a few weeks ago for work. While there, I spent time with a friend and a great one at that. TJ should fucking know. William’s been struggling with fame, dealing with it through the bottle. I visited the rocker at his home one night and encouraged him to get help. Paps took a pic. A few nights later, William called me in a state of drunken despair from the Luxe Hotel, having demolished the goods in the minibar and then the bar itself. I came to get him, and he was hanging on to me as I ferried him out of the hotel, paying the bill too. Telling him again to consider rehab.

  He planted a thank you kiss on my cheek but a little too close to my mouth. The camera caught that, and it looked like we were into it from the angle. But William is fucking affectionate and always has been. Hell, he kissed both TJ and me on our cheeks when we were with him a year ago.

  But I doubt TJ would believe me. Holly hardly believes me.

  Tossing my head back, I laugh like TJ’s the life of the party. “That was a valiant effort. But I have lots of friends. Lots of true friends. And I find true friends understand and support you. They also . . . listen,” I say.

  TJ taps his temple. “Ah, listening. Thank you for reminding me how vital that skill is. Did you take a class in it over the last ten months?”

  Slade sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. “You do know we need to convince the public you dig each other. Trouble is, right now, you’re like a couple of giraffes trying to perform in an ice-dancing competition while riding a Zamboni.”

  TJ’s eyes pop. “Nice analogy.”

  Those words tickle my brain. Where have I heard them? “Is that from Mister Benefits?”

  “You know it,” Slade says, pleased I got the reference. “Hudson used that analogy in that story. And my point is, whatever this is that’s going on,” he says, pointing from TJ to me. “That shit needs to stop when you’re in public. You feel me?”

  TJ sighs heavily. “I do.”

  Slade stares pointedly at me. “And you, Jude?”

  Inside, I feel like an adolescent, but outside I take the warning like a champ. “Yes. I’ll do better.”

  “Cool, cool. Let’s start over.”

  “Just tell us what you want us to do.” TJ sounds like he wants to run out of here and get far, far away from me. “I don’t think we need ice breakers. Give us our lines and we’ll just do it.”

  Slade hums like he’s deep in thought. “Well, have you ever liked someone before?”

  “Yes,” TJ says.

  “Ever been in love?” Slade asks, upping the ante.

  I look away, so my ex can’t see my face, but I’m on the edge of my seat for his reply.

  “I have,” TJ mutters, and I hate that I hope he’s talking about me.

  “Good. Then you act like that, TJ, rather than like a flaming Molotov cocktail of an asshole,” Slade says.

  That sounds terribly familiar too. While it’s no secret I’ve read most of TJ’s books, I’m not about to slam the buzzer like a game show contestant and shout, “Yes Man! That’s from Yes Man!”

  Trouble is, Slade stares sharply at me. “Can you make it two for two in the get-to-know-your-new-beau game?”

  I have a new enemy in Slade. “Yes Man,” I grumble.

  He mimes ringing a bell, then whips his gaze to TJ. “Now, do you think you can act like you like Jude and know his work too?”

  “Of course,” he bites out.

  “Good. Show me now,” Slade says.

  My one-time lover takes a deep breath then turns to me. “I enjoyed If Found, Please Return,” he says as if he means it.

  But I don’t want to be fooled again. “Thank you. I hope it was worth the popcorn,” I say. Oops. Did that come out douchey?

  Slade stares at me sharply. “Jude, do you want this to succeed?”

  “Yes,” I say, chastened once more.

  The PR man turns to my partner in pretend. “TJ, you don’t want to be stuck forever, do you?”

  Stuck forever? What’s going on with TJ?

  “No, I don’t,” TJ says, looking at his shoes.

  “Then let’s give it another go. Jude, I know you can act. And TJ, I’ve seen your social media posts. You know how to put on a good front.”

  Oh, but I can’t resist. “Sometimes, he even seems like one of the heroes in his books,” I say as if I’m just so impressed with TJ’s skills. I could stop, but I don’t. This fake boyfriend game is officially fun now that we’re ad-libbing at our finest. “I do so love the way they carry themselves with a certain swagger. Holding back, being all reserved and broody. And then, boom, they speak their hearts in bed.”

  Oh.

  Hmm.

  Wait. That’s totally true. I did enjoy that side of TJ.

  And Slade seems to enjoy this side of me. “Keep that up, Jude. You’ll need to act like you’re familiar with each other’s work. I imagine, Jude, that TJ is your favorite writer. Perhaps you’ve adored his books for some time. And TJ, you’ve seen every episode of Our Secret Courtship and, of course, you met at Pillow Talk. But you guys didn’t start dating until Jude moved to New York earlier this year, shortly after If Found, Please Return released in late December,” Slade coaches.

  TJ lifts a finger like he’s about to speak.

  But I’m going to take the lead here and show Slade what I can do. “We kept it quiet at first, just wanting to get to know each other,” I offer, then reach for TJ’s hand, squeeze it lovingly, like a boyfriend. I press a kiss to the top of his knuckles.

  And that was a mistake.

  Why does he have to smell so good? All clean and fresh. It shoots me back to the first night we were together. Vivid memories snap before me. Our flat. London. Hot water beating down. My stomach swoops, and I hate how my body responds to someone who never felt as intensely about me as I did about him.

  As I pull back from his hand, his breath catches slightly. As if he’s holding in a gasp.

  Maybe he is affected?

  But TJ clears his throat and focuses on the story. “Hate to be a downer, but that plot has some holes.”

  Slade tilts his head, curious. “But there are photos of you at Jude’s play in LA when you met Robert from Webflix. We can easily spin that as the night you met.”

  I burn at the mention of the start of our end.

  “Yes,” TJ says. “That’s my point. Those pictures exist. That’s a fact. And if I were an enterprising reporter looking to expose a fake boyfriend ruse, I’d hunt out other facts. For instance, I’d research whether the two of us knew each other before.”

  Holy shit. He is Agatha Christie. “You’re good,” I whisper.

  He steals a glance my way, a sliver of a smile teasing his lips. “Right, Jude? Someone will find out, so we want to cover our butts,” he says, a little tender, like he wants to protect us.

  Times like these, I like his protective side. “You’re totally right,” I murmur, then meet Slade’s gaze. “We roomed together in London once upon a time.”

  “And someone will find out. Someone will research the three weeks I worked in London eight years ago,” TJ says to the press agent.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. We had no idea you were once roomies,” Slade says.

  “That’s how we met,” TJ says like he’s reminiscing.

  “Sort of. Don’t forget TK Maxx,” I say, remembering that day fondly too.

  “I haven’t. We hit it off right from the start,” he says, and for these few seconds, we’re not cold. We’re warm, stoked by memories.

  Slade points at TJ. “And you always carried a torch for Jude.”

  “I did. I was totally taken by him,” he says, sounding infatuated again, and I’m as toasty as the equator. Perhaps Olivia was right when she said he was crazy about me in London. Well, it went both ways.

  “That’s absolutely believable. Say it just like that,” Slade urges.

  “I will, because it’s true,” TJ says.

  “The press is going to eat this up.” Slade grabs his tablet from the table and types on the screen. “Let’s just add a few layers.” He directs his gaze to me. “When you two met again in Los Angeles, you were so floored that TJ appeared at your show that you asked him to come backstage. You went out for drinks. And you two hit it off. But you lived on opposite coasts. So when TJ returned to New York, you stayed in touch via phone and text, getting to know each other,” he says.

  We could have done that.

  If only TJ had called me back. If only I’d had the chance to apologize.

  I wither a little inside as he rewrites our story into what I wished we’d had in the months apart.

  “And when Jude relocated to New York recently to begin work on Unfinished Business on LGO—bam!” Slade continues. “This was the perfect opportunity to really give it a go. You took things slow over the last several weeks, keeping it quiet and under wraps as you reconnected here in New York, learned all that chemistry from the texts and calls was real, and now you’re ready to share your romance with the world. How does that sound?”

  Too good to be true. That’s the trouble. We were great in London. But terrible when we ended it in LA. I’ve got to be careful not to be seduced by the past.

  Best to end this meeting fast. The longer I stay here, the stronger the lure of days gone by grows.

  That’s dangerous for my heart and my head.

  “Believable,” I say, then glance at the door, eager to get far away from my ex and the tempting memories of when we were good together. “So, we’re all set for our first public appearance then?”

  Slade checks the screen on his tablet. “You have tickets Thursday for the opening night of the adaptation of Nick Hammer’s TV show into a musical. Damn, you lucky devils. I might need to score some tickets too for Adventures of The Last Single Guy in New York. Then, maybe some dart and pool with a couple players on the New York Leopards for a fun Instagrammable date. That team has some hotties. So we’ve got a little Broadway, a little hang with some out pro athletes. We’ve got some other events planned for you,” he says, then shares details of those—a film festival, as well as a press junket. “We even have a perfect breakup planned, but let’s get through your first event. And with that yummy backstory, I don’t want to wait to debut you two. We have a client who’s opening a new restaurant tomorrow. I’d like to send you to it.” There’s a question in his voice, but it’s clear the question has only one acceptable answer.

  “Tomorrow?” TJ’s voice shoots up.