Fake It ‘Til You Sleigh It

CHAPTER FOUR

Ethan

I follow Chase into her apartment, and it’s like… I walked into a sensory deprivation chamber . Everything is either white, beige, or that soul-sucking shade of gray they use in prisons. Does she have a vendetta against color? And what’s with all the minimalist furniture and decor blending in with the walls?

I venture into the kitchen, my eyes searching for any sign of life—a boyfriend, a half-dead cactus, hell, even a dirty dish would suffice. But there’s jack shit. This place takes the cake for the strangest apartment I’ve ever seen, and trust me, I’ve been in plenty of women’s places (don’t judge) .

Chase thought it best to go somewhere private to discuss what had just happened. With pictures of us already blowing up on social media, I wasn't the only one wanting answers. Although now part of me wonders if she lured me here like a sadistic serial killer because her place gives me the fucking chills.

“Jesus, Chase,” I say, running a finger along a spotless countertop. “Do you actually live here, or is this some kind of movie set?”

Chase taps away on her phone, not even looking up. “Don’t touch anything. I’m getting my laptop. We are going to handle this mess before it gets out of hand.”

She leaves the room, and that’s when I spot it—a sign of life. A stack of movie scripts are scattered across a sleek glass coffee table. Of course, the only personal touch is work-related.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t expect a dog, but my money was on a hamster or at least one of those… what do you call ’em? Those depressing fish that live in a sad little jar… A beta. You know, the type of thing that can live without mutual love or human connection.

“Ethan!” Chase shouts from her bedroom. “Shoes off, Barrett. I don’t want you tracking your ego all over my floors.”

“Sure thing, boss,” I yell back, kicking off my sneakers. “Seriously Chase, where’s all your shit?”

Chase struts out, laptop in hand. “Some of us prefer a tidy space to a hot mess. Unlike your place, which I imagine looks like the ‘lost and found’ bin at a strip club.”

For a moment, I imagine rolling in the sheets with a control freak like her. Clipboards, timers, the works. Performance reviews in bed? Pass. I swipe left on that idea faster than my last one-night stand.

I smirk playfully. “Well, the bedroom is the only room that matters—because that’s where the magic happens.”

Chase scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, maybe if you prefer your living space filled with regret and hepatitis.”

“I wouldn’t call this living. You don’t have a single photo in this place,” I say. “Surely someone must have tolerated you long enough to get a picture with you?”

A flicker in her eyes. Was that… sadness? It’s gone in a blink.

“My personal life is not your business,” she says, her voice clipped. “Or anyone else’s. I don’t feel the need to plaster my life over social media for likes.”

“Hey, my fans appreciate my openness.”

“Your fans go crazy for your shirtless selfies,” Chase fires back. “They don’t know the real you. And if they did, they wouldn’t like it.”

Damn. That’s harsh.

I’m well aware that my fangirls love the persona of Ethan Barrett—the holiday romance movie hunk who looks good in nothing but his abs and a Santa hat. And yeah, that’s part of me. I’ve spent years crafting that heartthrob image.

But the real Ethan?

Heck, these days I don’t even know if I know him.

Chase sits in her sleek, gray armchair, its sharp angles unyielding to her body. The narrow armrests are rigid and uninviting, so much so that I’m uncomfortable for her. But she seems accustomed to it as she opens her computer and types. Her fast clicks fill the stark, sterile room.

Across from her, I flop onto the rock hard sofa. Oof. It’s so stiff it makes a FWUMPF sound like it’s never been sat on. The fabric is scratchy. Definitely not comfortable enough to fuck on (just saying).

“Did you bring me here to bang me? All you had to do was ask,” I wink. “No need for elaborate schemes.”

Chase’s stare could cut the balls off a brass monkey. “In your dreams, Barrett.”

“Nah, in my dreams, you actually smile,” I quip. Then my tone turns deadly serious. “Cut the bullshit, Chase. What the hell is all this? You announced to the whole fucking world you’re my girlfriend, and my phone’s exploding with people wanting answers. Which includes me, damnit.”

She takes a deep breath. “The network is demanding we bring in one million new Cherish Channel subscribers before Christmas. But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”

“Hang on. What?” I sputter. “A million subscribers in less than two weeks? I’m popular, but I’m not freaking Santa Claus.”

“Which is why my brilliant fake relationship scheme is the answer. Just listen to my pitch. We’ll leverage your social media presence and your rabid fanbase to promote the network. Those subscriptions will be pouring in.”

“You saw how my fans reacted. It was like watching kids open socks on Christmas,” I say, leaning back with a smirk. “And remember Gail? Can you honestly picture Gail rooting for us to be together? Didn’t think so.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone could forget Gail. Seriously, Ethan, I know you’d sleep with a toaster if it had boobs, but—”

“Whoa, timeout!” I interrupt, making a T with my hands. “I have not slept with Gail. There’s ‘crazy in bed,’ and then there’s ‘might actually murder me in my sleep.’”

“Sure. Whatever,” she says, unconvinced.

“I’m not lying. No way I’d hook up with that one.”

“Well then, that’s where your charm comes in. Work your fan magic. Make them love me.”

“That’s asking the impossible. No one likes you.”

“The crew likes me,” she insists

I put a hand on her tense shoulder. It’s like trying to comfort a marble statue. “Uh no, they don’t. They all call you ‘Ice Queen’ behind your back. Though, if we’re being honest, the B-word is the top pick.”

I wince, realizing I might have gone too far. I’m about to apologize when—

“Like it or not, we’re stuck together,” she says, her voice tight. “We need to convince a million new fans to subscribe to the Cherish Channel, and I’ve come up with an elaborate PR stunt.”

Chase spins her laptop around. BAM! My face. Everywhere.

There I am, grinning from dozens of photos, each with a different stunning woman on my arm. Actresses, models, even a couple of pop stars. It’s a veritable who’s who of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelorettes.

Click. Click. Click.

Website after website. All about me… well, my love life.

“This,” Chase says, pointing at the screen. “This is a story I can write. It’s got everything the fans will be rooting for.”

I stare at the images, feeling a strange mix of pride and discomfort. It’s the Ethan Barrett brand in all its glory—the Hollywood “It Boy,” the playboy with the heart of gold.

Chase continues, “You’re the guy every woman wants to tame. The eternal bachelor. It’s classic. Cary Grant. George Clooney. Now, Ethan Barrett.

Chase opens up my Ethan Addict’s fan page. Photos of me hitting the gym, grabbing coffee, posing with nothing but a Santa hat. Then, a stream of women—one gorgeous lady after the next. Okay, maybe my dating life has gotten a little out of hand.

Click. Click. Click.

“If everyone thinks we fell head over heels during filming, they’ll be like, ‘Oh my God, I gotta see this movie!’ It’s like we’re offering a two-for-one special on romance—buy the on-screen love story, get the behind-the-scenes one free. They’ll subscribe faster than you can blink, all to peek at our supposed off-camera chemistry. And voilà! A million subscribers for the Cherish Channel.”

I shake my head. Hard. “Won’t work because A) my fans all want to bang me and B) they know me… Well, they know my type.” I look her up and down, taking in the power suit and severe ponytail. “And you’re—

“I get it. I’m not a bombshell.”

“I didn’t say that. You’re plenty…” I trail off, suddenly aware I’m navigating a minefield in flip-flops.

Beautiful? True, but I’d eat my Santa hat before giving her that kind of ammunition.

Smart? She’d probably take it as an insult to her other qualities.

My brain scrambles for a safe adjective, coming up empty.

“You’re fine,” I end up saying. I instantly regret it.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, slamming her laptop shut.

“Yes, people love me. That doesn’t mean I can make people like you. I’m not a magician.”

“Get ready to pull a rabbit out of your ass, because this is happening. We have two weeks to convince everyone we’re madly in love.”

Something’s off. Chase is wound tighter than usual, which is saying something. She’s holding back, but what?

“You have no idea what you’ve done. The media circus, the rabid fans… it’s not all autographs and selfies, you know.”

Chase scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Please. You do it. How hard can it be?”

I laugh. “It’s a full-time job. The constant updates, the carefully curated posts, dealing with the die-hard fans. Tell me, have you ever been followed into the bathroom? You think directing is stressful? Try having millions of people watching your every move, hanging on your every word.”

“I can handle it,” Chase insists, her jaw set in that stubborn way I’ve come to know all too well.

I stand up. “No. I’m not doing it. I’m not participating in some subscriber scam.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “If you don’t…”

She hesitates. Since when is she so careful with her words? I can feel it, like when a performance isn’t genuine. Chase is many things—bossy, frustratingly attractive, probably plotting my demise this very second. But indirect? Not her style. So why does this feel like she’s hiding something?

For a moment, her voice goes soft, like she’s temporarily possessed by an actual human being. “Ethan, I.. I need this or...” Then, faster than I can say “what the fuck,” she’s back to her usual bossy self. “Or you can kiss your ‘King of Christmas’ crown goodbye. The network’s drawn the line: a million subs, otherwise we’re both fired.”

What she says hits me like a gut punch. I need this job. The money, the fame—it’s not just for me. I have people who rely on me, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling Chase that.

Then again… maybe this PR nightmare is my golden ticket out of rom-com purgatory. I’ve been dying to do more than just flash my abs and dazzle old ladies with my smile. This could be my chance to go from handsome face to Hollywood heavyweight.

I shrug. “Maybe I’m done being typecast. My agent’s been pushing me to move into action flicks. Says this body’s being wasted on feel-good movies.” I flex for emphasis, enjoying the way Chase rolls her eyes. “There’s this surfing biopic that’s got me pegged for the lead.”

“Oh, please,” Chase snorts. “Christmas owns you. And you love it.”

I lean in, my voice low and cocky as fuck. “Face it, ice queen... You need me more than I need you. I’ll play along with your little scheme, but only if we do it my way.”

Chase leans back, arms crossed, holding in her rage. “I’m listening. But this better blow my mind, or I’m swapping you out for a blow-up doll. It’ll give a more convincing performance.”

“Starting with shit like that. You might be a hotshot director, but social media is my kingdom. You need me, my fans, and my brilliant fucking ideas. It takes a lot more than just pretending we’re a couple. If this is a social media campaign, we’re equal partners, sweetheart.”

“Absolutely not,” Chase fires back.

I shrug, turning towards the door. “I guess I’ll be hitting the waves. Cowabunga, dude!” I mime riding a surfboard and then wave goodbye with a hang loose sign.

Chase pinches the bridge of her nose. “Wait, okay,” she grits out. “Partners.”

I grin, dropping back onto the sofa. “Next, I want you to go to bat for me with the executives. I want to direct a movie.”

The laugh that bursts out of Chase is so sudden and loud, it echoes off the bare walls. “You? Direct? Oh… you’re serious?”

“Yeah. Why is that funny?”

“Pretty boy, you have no idea how difficult my job is. You can’t just smile your way through it. Directing is hard work.”

“Look, I’m not an idiot,” I say somberly. “But I need to level up and explore new aspects of my career. I can’t ride off my good looks forever.”

Chase studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighs. “Okay. I’ll put in a good word. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful. “One last thing.”

“There’s more?” she groans. “Seriously, do I need my lawyer present?”

“You gotta sell it as my girlfriend around my folks. I’m not kidding, Chase. You might enjoy being alone in a cabin like some kind of psycho, but I love going home for Christmas."

“Not everyone loves the holidays,” she snaps. “That doesn’t make me a fucking psycho.”

I backpedal faster than when a fan asks me to sign her chest. “Look, what I’m saying is, my family goes all out. We have a ton of traditions. I haven’t been home in a year because of work and I don’t want you to—”

“Fuck it up?” Chase finishes.

“No! I mean, yes. I mean...” I rake a hand through my hair. “I just need you to act like you’re into me and actually enjoy the damn festivities. Think you can manage that?”

Chase’s eyes widen in horror. “You mean like physical contact? Hell no.”

I chuckle. “Whoa there, Handsy McGrabby. That’s where your mind went first? I mean, I know I’m irresistible, but get a grip, woman.”

A flush creeps up Chase’s neck, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kind of adorable. “That’s not—I didn’t—Oh, go fuck yourself, Barrett.”

“Is that your way of saying we have a deal?”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” She looks up at me, resignation written all over her face. “Fine. Deal.”

“Shall we seal it with a handshake? Or would that be too much physical contact for you?”

Before she can protest, I pull out my phone and start filming for social media. “Hey there, Ethan Addicts! I’m here with my girlfriend. We are packing for Florida!”

I put my arm around Chase, who looks about as comfortable as Scrooge searching for a character witness. “Are you excited, darlin’?”

Chase grimaces, her attempt at a smile. “I-I-I’m speechless!”

Just to really get under her skin, I give her ponytail a little ruffle.

“We wanted to come on and ask for your help to make our new holiday movie, Fa La La Love , the biggest movie of the season! Let’s show the doubters that we believe in love. We need one million new subscribers to watch the movie when it premieres on Christmas Eve. What do you say, Ethan Addicts!”

Chase adds awkwardly, “Give the gift of the Cherish Channel this Christmas.”

“We love you!” I say, ending the recording.

Chase gruffly pushes me away. “Next time, warn me when you’re going to touch me!”

“Ooh, so feisty. Exactly why I fell in fake love with you.”

Chase shoots me an intense stare. “You know that feeling when you look into someone’s eyes and just know, deep down, you’re definitely not ever meant to be together? That’s us.”

“Right back at ya.” I wink. “Now, get packed. We’re taking the red-eye to Miami tonight.”

“Tonight?” Chase sputters.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I say, heading for the door. As I reach for the handle, I turn back with a grin. “Oh, and pack for the beach. Christmas in Florida is still pretty warm this time of year.”

As I close the door behind me, there’s a look of sheer panic on her face. It’s priceless, maybe even worth all the chaos about to come our way.

Chase Pemberton, the ice queen herself, pretending to be my loving girlfriend for two weeks? This is going to be one hell of a Christmas.