“That’s correct.”
We stare at each other, barely blinking.
“And how do you want me to help you?”
I swallow hard. I can never be prepared for this part, so I might as well shoot it out and hope it hits the bull’s-eye.
“Tuesday last week was the first event of my group.”
He doesn’t nod, just waits patiently. Cold, solid, and still—like a marble statue in a museum. There is still anger in his eyes. I remind myself the feeling is not aimed at me.
“We ate tapas...and people started talking about their relationships and...” I babble out, barely breathing between words. “And then people asked about my relationship status. I panicked and said I have a Danish boyfriend.”
Erik blinks a few times to make sense of my jumble of words. When he speaks, it’s in the most boring, disdainful tone one can use. Like his remark when he saw I didn’t have a bed. “You lied about having a boyfriend.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Danish. A Danish boyfriend.”
Erik rubs his face, looking exhausted. And disappointed in me.
This incites my urge to defend myself, even though I agree I did something extremely stupid. “It’s done, and now I can’t tell Lars I made it up. I need to impress him, remember?” I wait for sympathy, but none comes. “And, look, the next event is a trivia night.” I shiver at the thought. “I suck at quiz games, Erik. If I’m bad at trivia questions about Brazilian things, I can’t imagine how I’ll perform in a game designed for Europeans.”
My cheeks heat up. Here I am, admitting more embarrassing things in front of this Norse god look-alike who has the habit of making me feel idiotic. I can’t stop my mouth, however, driven by the pipe dream that he’ll understand my predicament—and care.
“If I say that we broke up or I lied, I’ll be put in Martin’s ‘happy singles’ team—ugh—or I’ll be alone as a complete loser. That will not help me win against the bastard now, will it?” I glare at Erik with the sternness he reserves for me. “Besides, I have to seem like I have roots in Den—”
“Stop.” Erik raises a hand. “I don’t care about any of that. Sorry, but this is your problem. You lied. Now you fix the situation.”
He is getting up. I hold his wrist, and he sits back down, sighing as if to say, What now?
“Please, Erik. You’re my last hope.” He opens his mouth, but I speak first. “I know this sounds very familiar, but listen, it’s different this time. You need my help.”
“I need your help?” He does the eyebrow thing again.
I nod with vigor. “I’m an expert in dating apps. Besides, are you forgetting that I’m a designer? I have artistic skills too. I can help you with anything you need. Game design, level design, graphic design, UI design... Name anything design, and I’m there!”
He stares at me, silent, and my chest trembles with the hope that he is considering the proposition.
“I know that Scorpio being your previous workplace makes you hesitant. But you don’t have to be. It will be a familiar place, which means you can be in control.” I lean forward, stressing the words. “You’ll show them you’re not lying in bed feeling sorry for yourself. You’ll show Martin you’re so much better than him.”
A vein trembles in Erik’s neck, and I watch him swallow slowly. He’s not breaking eye contact. I see that as a reason to continue.
“Also, I’ll sign a contract of confidentiality if you need. I’ll never steal your idea or talk about it with anyone else. It will still be your app. I’ll just assist you.”
He looks down, blinking rapidly. I sense his stress, but I also sense his hesitation. It’s not a quick no. He’s thoroughly considering the idea.
I interlace my fingers on the table and lean even closer. “If we work hard enough, we’ll have a publishable build by the end of this year, and we can put it in the app store before Lars decides who gets the promotion. That way, even if I fail and Martin ends up becoming the new game director, it won’t be his idea because it will already be out in the world. You know that’s what you need to do, right?” I look at Erik with intent, not giving him time to answer. “When you’re done with the code, you copyright it. You trademark the title and logo. Ideas and game mechanics can’t be copyrighted, and patents are murky in this industry. People will still copy your idea later, but that’s all right if you’re the first one to publish it. You’ll be known for inventing that app, not Martin. But only if you act now.”
I’m starting to believe Erik has indeed frozen into a statue. I touch his arm, triggering an electric tingle that runs from my fingers all the way up to my neck. His fist loosens with a jerk, and he glances at me before staring down at the table again.
“Erik,” I say, watching him bite his lower lip in a thinking expression that was not meant to make my hormones overload with a warm flush of anticipation. “I know it’s a lot to ask. Being my fake boyfriend to impress your former boss and take down your nemesis? Phew.” A new wrinkle appears in his forehead, and I instantly regret my arrangement of words. “All I’m saying is, I get that this will be hard for you but—”
“It won’t.” Erik wakes up from his trance, the corners of his lips quirking up. “It will be a lot of fun.”
I lean back, wary. “Are you joking now?”
He shakes his head with the subtlest smirk I’ve ever seen. My heart thumps in response.
“Same conditions apply,” he says, offering me his right hand. “It will all be fake and never, ever real. Deal?”
I shake his hand enthusiastically. “Deal.”
Nine
The sun is shining on the lakes, and despite the cold breeze, it’s a nice morning. When you live in Denmark, you learn to appreciate even the shiest sunrays.
Erik and I had breakfast together while studying trivia cards from the quiz games he owns. I wanted to prepare for tonight, but we realized we could be using our time better—questioning each other about ourselves, for instance, since we’ll be pretending to be a couple—so we decided to go for a walk.
I stop at the fence separating our building from the bike lane parallel to the sidewalk bordering the lakes. Closing my eyes for a second, I turn my face up to enjoy the modest heat on my skin. Erik touches my shoulder and chuckles, for once not in a scornful way. I turn my head to see his smile.
“You’re becoming a Dane already,” he says.
“No... I’m just a Brazilian who desperately misses the sun.”
He laughs and puts a hand on my back, urging me onward. We wait for bikes to pass before crossing, then we climb down the little steps to the paved way surrounding Søerne—three artificial rectangular lakes next to each other housing ducks and swans.
“So, how did we meet?” he asks, and I look at him, puzzled. “In our fake story,” he clarifies.
“Oh. Eh... Okay.” I straighten up, ready with an answer. “We matched on Cinder. Let’s use as much of the truth as possible to keep it simple.” I give him an uncertain smile, and as he doesn’t say anything, I continue, “But we can say it was two months after I arrived, so we’ve been dating for four months, which is not a long time but better than only a few weeks.”
