I hesitantly hover my finger over Maisie's apartment doorbell before finally pressing it, then step back and glance down at myself.

It's been one of those days. Between the traffic getting here and my hectic day at work, I'm running late—juggling two projects with overlapping deadlines, authors requesting extensions, not to mention the concierge desk here refusing to let me up because I wasn't on the list of approved guests.

The gel in my hair has lost its hold, and I keep having to brush it back. My light blue dress shirt is wrinkled from hours at my desk, and the crease between my brows is extra creasy today.

I quickly roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt before the door swings open. I smile but instead of Maisie, I'm greeted by her manager's assistant—whose name escapes me. With so many people in Maisie's circle, it's easy to forget who's who.

"August, hi," she says with a warm smile as she opens the door wider.

"Yes, hi," I say, smiling back. "And you're Andrea's assistant...?"

"Rachel. Come in." She gestures for me to step through the door. The moment I enter Maisie's apartment, voices and music drift down from the hallway. "They're all in the living room."

"They?"

"Maisie is still doing her fitting for the tour."

"Oh, right."

"Can I get you anything?" Rachel asks as I follow her through the apartment Maisie is renting out for the next six weeks. It's on the top floor of a high-rise, with gray marble floors, stark white walls, and harsh lines—everything feels so not Maisie. It's ultra-modern and far too sleek for anything I could imagine her choosing. "Water? Coffee? Beer? Maisie has a fully stocked fridge."

"Oh, um." I rub the crease between my brows. "Water would be great, actually."

"I'll grab one for you. You can head in," she says, gesturing to the doorway leading to the living room. "Everyone is just through there."

I nod, stepping into the doorway to the living room, where I find myself surrounded by a half dozen people bustling around the room. The air is filled with pop music, something that's not Maisie's, blending with the sound of rustling fabrics and the murmur of people laughing and chatting. No one's even noticed I've walked in, and I have to dodge out of the way as a garment rack is rolled by.

In the center of it all stands Maisie, flanked by two stylists positioned in front of the mirror. One is helping her slip into her boots while the other focuses as he zips up the back of Maisie's outfit.

She's clad in one of the concert outfits for her tour—a lilac purple bodysuit with little slits on both sides, revealing the tiniest bit of skin on her waist. It's form-fitting, highlighting every little curve of hers, while delicate bits of fringe and tassels sway with every movement. And then the fucking fishnet stockings — they cling to her legs, all the way down to high platform knee-high boots.

I swallow hard.

"It just... feels snug right here," Maisie murmurs, tracing the curve of her waist where the fabric meets her skin. "Like, I'm not sure if I can dance in it."

"Right here?" the stylist questions, tugging on the pieces of fabric.

Maisie nods.

"Mace, why not give part of the routine a try?" Andrea's voice drifts across the room from where she's perched on the cream-colored armchair looking up from her laptop. "See if it bothers you once you start moving"

"Yeah, okay." She steps off the small pedestal in front of the mirror and moves into the center of the room. "Could you play the second chorus from 'Shimmer'?"

Someone in the room pauses the music and scrubs through her song to cue it up, the entire room falls silent, and everyone's attention falls on Maisie. She takes a moment to listen, and then, like a switch flipped, her whole demeanor changes. It's like she's instantly transported to the stage. With the most sass I've ever seen from her, she struts towards me like she's a goddamn goddess on a runway, stopping about four feet from me. With a spin, she twirls in a circle before working her hips in a washing machine motion, swaying back and forth.

And my mind just runs wild. I want to feel the fringe on her bodysuit slip through my fingers. I want to twist her around and fist her long wavy blonde hair until I can tilt her head back and guide my mouth to the hollow of her throat. Jesus, I bet she'd taste like strawberry donuts or cinnamon sugar from that oat milk latte resting on the table in the corner.

I have to veer my thoughts sharply away and force my eyes off the hollow of her throat before any more heat rushes south. Instead, I fixate my eyes on the tassels swaying along the seam where the bodysuit meets the skin of her hip. It doesn't help.

This is not the kind of relationship Maisie wants with me, I remind myself. This is supposed to be fake. This is all fake to her.

But when has that ever stopped me from thinking about her?

It's only when she dips into a squat that she notices me standing in the doorway. Her watery blue eyes lock onto mine, widening slightly. And as she attempts to rise, a wince crosses her face, and instead of standing back up, she tumbles backward, landing on the floor with a thud.

"Ouch," she mutters, and everyone in the room takes a step forward, including me. My feet move without my consent—two steps forward, faster than anyone else, until I'm kneeling in front of her.

"You okay?" I ask gently.

"Mmhmm." She rolls her lips together, the hazy sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows making her glow. She pats the floor twice. "Just wanted to see what the carpet felt like."

I snort out a laugh, and she looks up at me, biting down on the side of her lip, a little smile tucked at the corner. I offer her my hand as I stand. She takes it, and I help her up, pulling her close until the toes of her boots meet mine.

She tips her head back to look at me, whispering softly, "Hi."

"Hey." It comes out hoarse. I clear my throat as I squeeze her hand gently. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nods, breathing out a shuddered breath, probably from the pain. She presses her free hand against the side of her bodysuit. "Just a pinch here."

"Excuse me," one of the stylists to the side says to me, "are you the one sent to pick up the rest of the garment bags?"

"Hmm?" I respond, confused by the question. Maisie covers her mouth with her hand as she snickers behind it.

"No," Andrea shouts from across the room, immediately standing from her chair. "God no. Everyone, this is August Williams. Maisie's... boyfriend." I watch the color of Maisie's cheeks bloom into a light dusting of pink as she blinks away from me.

My brain seems to be moving a little slower than usual because of it— standing this close to her, holding her hand— but I can hear murmurs rippling through the room.

As Andrea approaches, Maisie gently tugs her hand free from mine. She then reaches for me, quickly wrapping her arms around my middle and pulling me in hard, making an umph escape my chest before hastily letting go in what might be the world's most awkward hug.

Andrea's eyes widen slightly, her expression clearly saying, that going to need some workshopping, before she turns to one of the stylists.

"Roberto, are we done here? Maisie has another meeting," she pauses, glancing at her Apple Watch, "about an hour ago."

"Of course," Roberto responds, clapping his hands together. "Let's get this off you, Maisie, and I'll loosen this side up a bit for you and have it ready for you in a few days."

"Thanks, Roberto," Maisie says with a faint smile, taking a step back from me. Her eyes dip once over my body— very quickly — and then nods her head over to the couch. "Sit. I just need to change out of this."

I nod, adjust the collar of my shirt, and set my brown leather messenger bag on the floor next to the plush white couch before taking a seat.

"August," Andrea greets me, settling into the cream armchair across from me, "thanks for coming."

"Of course."

Maisie is now behind the dressing curtain, getting undressed with the help of one of the stylists. I can only catch a glimpse of her eyes, sparkling as she laughs at something they've said. When her eyes dart over to mine, catching me staring, I quickly avert my gaze, feeling heat rise to the tips of my ears. I turn my attention back to Andrea, who is closely watching me from across the room.

Her posture is flawless, legs elegantly crossed, head resting on her hand with a pen between her fingers. I consider myself a put-together person—punctual, organized, and tidy. But Andrea looks more composed than I could ever hope to be in my entire life.

She's been Maisie's manager since the start of her career, and she's nothing short of amazing. Andrea is a no-nonsense woman and has made a name for herself as a manager just by getting Maisie to where she is today—princess of pop. Maisie claims she's all bark and no bite, but I'm not so sure, especially with the way she sits across from me, her head tilting to the side.

She studies me for a moment, then glances back to where I was just looking at Maisie getting dressed before turning her gaze back to me. Her eyes narrow until I can only see slivers of brown.

"Here's that water," Rachel whispers from the side, interrupting Andrea's one-woman staring contest, and handing me a chilled glass bottle of Acqua Panna.

"Thanks," I say to Rachel before she disappears into the next room. I turn back to Andrea, who's still staring. I offer her a small smile as I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a sip, hiding behind it.

It's about another twenty minutes before the room finally clears out, and Maisie flops down onto the couch beside me. She's swapped her bodysuit for gray sweats and a bright blue tank top, a shade of blue that makes her eyes look like the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean.

Andrea's hands come together in a light clap, drawing my attention away from Maisie. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her, elbows resting on the armrest of the chair. "Alright, since everyone's time is precious and," she glances at her Apple Watch again, "we're already over an hour behind, let's get right to it. We have a lot to cover. First, we'll go over the dates you need to block off for travel, then we'll dive into the fake dates I've arranged. August, I'll share Maisie's calendar with you, but you'll probably want to jot down some notes."

I pull out my phone and start taking notes, inputting all the dates that Andrea lists off as Maisie sits and listens, absorbing information that I assume she already knows. I knew she was busy traveling and getting ready for her tour, but I had no idea it was this much. From traveling to New York to Los Angeles for studio recordings, all while rehearsing for her tour six days a week. When I talk to Maisie, she never mentions how busy she is; she just talks about everything else.

I can feel her looking at me, and I glance over at her from the corner of my eye. She's seated a cushion over from me, twisting her necklace around her finger, and her blue eyes narrow slightly, like she's silently asking, Are you okay?

I give her the smallest shrug, silently replying, Yeah, I'm alright. Long day.

Her eyes narrow a bit more, searching my face, before landing on the crease between my brows. I reach up to smooth it out. Are you sure?

"I'm sorry," Andrea suddenly says, prompting both of us to turn our heads toward her. There's a smirk hidden behind her fingers, which are steepled in front of her mouth. "Am I interrupting this little silent conversation you two are having?"

We both just stumble words over each other.

"What I–"

"Oh, we were just–"

"–paying attention!"

"And, um, she's got some glitter on her cheek."

"It looked like he had a long day!" She winces as she says it, then turns to me. "Sorry, but it does."

I blow out a breath as I rake my hands through my hair, then let my arm rest on the back of the couch behind Maisie.

"Allow me to spare you both the trouble. I don't care. I just need you both listening," Andrea says, shaking her head listlessly. She then flashes a smug smirk down at her laptop. "Because if you were paying attention, Maisie, you would have heard that I secured the Vogue contract at the exact rate you specified."

Maisie's head whips to Andrea. "Vogue?"

"Yes, for the cover," Andrea replies, looking rather proud of herself. Maisie, on the other hand, has lost all color in her face.

"I—" Maisie shakes her head, sitting up straighter. "But that wasn't even a realistic rate."

"I know. They want you that badly—"

"Andrea, that was an astronomical number. You said they never agree to it. That's why we sent it to them."

"I understand. But they've been really eager to have you on the cover. That's why they agreed to pay whatever the amount was."

Maisie sinks back into her seat, inadvertently leaning against the hand I've stretched out across the back of the couch. She glances over at me from the corner of her eye.

"You don't want to be on the cover of Vogue?" I ask, even though my mind is entirely fixated on the fact that she hasn't moved away from my hand like she normally would. She's probably so focused on what Andrea is telling her that she doesn't even realize it.

She shakes her head. "Not really. No."

"Well, you are going to be, so deal with it," Andrea says and Maisie rolls her eyes at her. I imagine if Maisie and her step-sister were close, they'd argue the same way she does with Andrea. "We set the minimum threshold, and they agreed to it. In fact, they offered more and even said they'd work around your schedule. So, get ready to head to New York in two weeks.

"That's enough time for you to get a comfortable public outing where you can be spotted and photographed looking couple-ish. I've even got tickets for the Red Sox game. August, you like baseball, right? You're always wearing that Red Sox hat."

I nod. "I do, yeah."

"Perfect. I have tickets for next Saturday's game. It will be a good 'we are together' statement. But in the meantime," Andrea says, looking between the two of us, "practice."

"Practice?" Maisie sits up, tilting her ear towards Andrea as if she didn't hear her correctly. "What do you mean, practice?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Before your official fake date, practice. Spend some time together, grab coffee, just hang out. I know you both have been friends for a long time, but you need to get used to acting like you're an actual couple. It'll make the whole charade more believable. Because whatever that awkward hug you gave August earlier is not going to cut it."

Maisie stiffens beside me, a rosy blush spreading across her cheeks as she quickly looks away.

"And after all this—the six weeks?" I ask after a moment, catching a tiny sideways glance from Maisie. "What do we tell everyone?"

"That things just didn't work out. A mutual breakup. You both ended up being better as friends. We'll come up with something. Maisie's tour will be what everyone's talking about, so the breakup won't be a big deal." Andrea pauses, eyeing my arm stretched across the couch. "Or, you know, get married, buy a house, have kids. Whatever. It's up to you guys."

"Andrea Cortés," Maisie scolds, unfolding her arms from her chest. Andrea tries to suppress an eye roll, but I catch it anyway.

"Look, I don't care what you both do after the six weeks. You just need to make it believable during them, so practice." She pauses and tilts her head toward Maisie. "Unless you don't think you can pretend?"

"What?" Maisie's eyes widen, and she shifts in her seat, blinking rapidly. "I can totally pretend. And you're right! We should practice. How hard can it be?"

"We can practice this weekend at my parents' dinner," I shoot out before I even process what I'm saying.

"Your parents' dinner?" They both say at the same time. Andrea tilts her head, appearing puzzled as to why she wasn't informed that Maisie was coming over for dinner, while Maisie's tone is implying I can't believe you'd even suggest practicing there.

"Yeah," I nod, brushing a thumb over my bottom lip. "We're supposed to have dinner at my parents'. Sunday night, remember?"

"Perfect," Andrea clasps her hands together, grinning at both of us. "Use visiting August's family this weekend as a test run. Act like you are really dating. It will be the perfect opportunity."

"The perfect opportunity," I repeat, smiling back at Maisie. She lets out that laugh she does when she's nervous, but she's trying to mask it.

"Right, perfect."

——————

So, I rewrote this chapter four different times because I just couldn't get it right 🙃. It was supposed to be a short chapter, but it ended up being anything but – story of my life. So you'll have to let me know if it feels too long.

I know it's only chapter 7, but I feel like things are finally starting to heat up. The fake dating is officially kicking off in the next chapter!

tysm for reading, commenting, and voting ❤️