THIRTY-ONE
Nathan
As of the charity auction last week, we officially overshot our financial goal for the adult side of the Reversal of Fortune Foundation. The board gave its perfunctory okay and Aunt Maisie is as excited as I am about this new venture. Next is community outreach and marketing and we’ll finally be able to offer some relief to the people drowning in this hard new world.
My family isn’t worried about me anymore. The concerned glances and fake smiles are gone, as is my general mistrust for humanity at large.
I pull open my closet and flick through a few shirts before a realization stops all movement.
I’m happy. I’m actually happy.
Who would have thought several months with Mina Blake, Hot Mess Express, would give me my life back? I feel comfortable in my skin again. I don’t have to be the villain or learn to play the hand I was dealt. I can just be me. The guy who feels best when he’s giving. And I don’t have to worry about being lied to or taken advantage of. Mina doesn’t want my money. Or my notoriety. She doesn’t want anything from me except me.
I haven’t regretted one thing about letting her into my life. Not one thing. These last six months have been the best of my life.
My phone pings and I smile expectantly.
It’s probably Mina, informing me she’s running late for our dinner date. She and Benjamin have been going over the final plans for my house before we send them to the builders and start purchasing materials.
That right there might be one thing I regret.
That damn lair on a secluded stretch of beach.
I don’t need that much space. Even if I wasn’t living alone.
But Mina and Benjamin are ecstatic about the build, and he swears it’s going to be the thing that gets their business noticed. If that’s true—and I think it might be—then I can’t regret it. Not if it’s the first step to Mina realizing her dreams.
Satisfied, I check my phone.
Fuck.
Not a text from Mina.
It’s another alert on my name. Another article by Fallon fucking Mae. I read the headline and my heart trips, stumbles, and falls flat on its face.
It’s Fake Folks. Nathan West Strikes Again, and Buckle Up, This One is a Doozy.
It’s fake?
It’s fake?
There’s only one thing that article could be about. My relationship with Mina.
Which is not only exceptionally real, thank you very fucking much, but there’s no way Fallon should know about it. Not unless she’s some kind of super sleuth or paid off Mina’s ridiculously good-looking assistant for weekly updates.
Maybe there’s some other part of my life Fallon’s grossly misrepresenting. Unlikely, but a man can hope.
I scan the article and there it is. Laid out in black and white. Everything from the fact that Mina is my interior designer, to the twenty percent increase in payment she negotiated before she agreed to the whole thing in the first place. There’s speculation I bought the dress for the gala because I was embarrassed for Mina to show up in what she could afford followed by innuendo about our dressing room antics. As if that isn’t bad enough, Fallon doubles down on douchebaggery and outright says I’ve been taking advantage of my fame and fortune to cajole Mina into bed, all while keeping my heart at a distance so I can get out of paying her for the fake relationship.
I’m dumbfounded.
The only person who would know so many details is Mina, but this didn’t come from her. There’s no way, especially considering that last part, a gross mistruth if I’ve ever seen one. Maybe someone hacked her diary or eavesdropped on a phone call or…something.
There has to be something.
I refuse to believe Mina would tell anyone this much about our life together. Specifically, a someone she knows I despise.
That’s a Blossom move, and Mina is not Blossom.
“Fuck.” I stand and pace, fists clenching. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I’m going to ruin Fallon Mae. I’m going to find her and make her personally apologize to Mina for spreading lies, then to my family for making them believe something that isn’t true.
I mean it was true.
It isn’t anymore.
There is nothing fake about the way I feel when I’m with Mina. Nothing fake about what I feel for Mina. Nothing at all.
Damn it. This doesn’t help me believe the trust I’m rebuilding in the world is justified. When I find out who’s responsible—
My phone buzzes with a call from Dad and I hurl curse words at the screen.
I can’t talk to him right now. I’m too pissed off. Too confused. Too ready to blow. How in the fuck does Fallon know what she knows? Who’s to blame? Where can I direct my anger? Maybe it’s Dom feeding her information…
I entertain the idea for a minute or two, but no, that’s too despicable, even for him.
The call goes to voicemail and I take half a breath of relief before my phone starts ringing again.
