Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

During the soft launch stage, I could count the number of times my and Henry’s eyes had met on one hand. He was stubborn enough to barely look at me, and I barely wanted to look at him.

And now, with two hours until my first lecture, here I was. Being stood up by my fake boyfriend, on our first fake date. Wasn’t life just marvelous?

Wren had said this was a bad idea. And I didn’t want to admit it, but doubts had started to dig away at my brilliant plan in the last few days, too. McCarthy was unreliable, selfish, arrogant—not great qualities to have in a business partner. Less in a boyfriend.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The sinking feeling of my own humiliation got replaced quickly. Instead, I was just annoyed, now that McCarthy’s voice drawled through the air. As carefree as ever, he took a seat on the other side of the small table, right by the window. My gaze moved toward him slowly.

“You’re late.” I dropped the spoon that had just been stirring my coffee in aggravation back into the cup. His brown hair was still damp as he shrugged his jacket off, revealing the compression shirt underneath like a second skin, clinging to his outline. My eyes flicked back up, twitching into a glare, ignoring the tight fit around his arms before I could accidentally linger.

“You’re early,” he corrected quickly, eyeing my cup. “We agreed on 9:30.”

“9:15.” I thought my nose might have twitched at the excuse. I was sure I’d said 9:15, and I was sure he’d agreed to 9:15. Why else would I be sitting in Daisy’s Coffee at 9:15—

“You said 9:15,” he confirmed. Unfortunately, he went on, “I said I won’t make it for 9:15, suggested 9:30 and you shrugged. Which, in my world, means you agreed.” His smirk was unbearable, even before he added, “To 9:30.”

I sighed more in annoyance than defeat. In my defense, that conversation had taken place in the same Statistics lecture he had told me to pay more attention to. And I had felt Shaw’s eyes on us the entire time we were having it. I’d been prone to agree to anything he’d said, just so he would shut up.

“Ah, she remembers.” He smiled when my gaze met his again.

“You’re insufferable, McCarthy.”

He reached across the small table for my drink, took a long sip and placed it right in front of me again. “Just think about what you might’ve done to deserve a boyfriend as insufferable as me.”

I grimaced. “Charming,” I muttered as he wiped the whipped-cream moustache off his face. To make sure no one saw the unfiltered urge to murder him dash across my features, my eyes shifted.

Daisy’s was the only coffee shop perfectly located between my apartment and campus. Relatively modern—painted white with accents of pink here and there, tiles ran along the front of the counter to the pastry display behind a glass front. If I let my gaze wander to the right, the counter’s modern white tiles morphed into dark wooden planks. The light, clean floor was replaced by ancient-looking wood, and flowers and plants spread out across the entirety of the other side of the building. The walls were red brick, instead of white paint. Daisy’s Coffee and Daisy’s Daisies shared the space—a coffee and flower shop in one.

It’s what was charming about the place. Two entirely different concepts—clashing, yet somehow working together so incredibly well.

And on sunny days like this one, Henry preferred to walk to class, get a coffee from Daisy’s on the way instead of a cup from his machine at home, before heading into the nightmare we called: Accounting. That little habit of his was the only reason I was still sitting here, surrounded by flowers, fresh pastries, and a guy I wasn’t sure would come out of this alive, if I had it my way.

“So you’ve been studying?”

My eyes fell on him again, gaze catching his as the question slipped past his mouth. Right away, I knew this wasn’t about Statistics. “Of course.”

To his initial email, I’d replied with a similar one.

[email protected] 9:20 AM

McCarthy,

Find attached a document of all the things my boyfriend should know about me. Should you not memorize each of these points, I, your future fake girlfriend, will be thoroughly disappointed, as well as forced to fake break up with you.

Insincerely,

A.?P.?P

To which he’d replied:

[email protected] 10:35 AM

Pressley,

Find attached my own list of fun facts my girlfriend should know. I’ll be expecting just as much commitment from you, as you are from me.

PS: Did you know your favorite animal tortures other sea creatures for fun? Thinking about it, I can see why you like them.

Worst,

D.?M.?W

It’s how we’d ended up here: full-blown quizzing each other on the content of our respective document.

“Best friend?” I asked challengingly, brows raised. I felt myself lean on the table in anticipation, waiting for an answer less confident than the last few. Although, as he’d met her just about a week ago, the surefire reply was to be expected.

“Wren Inkwood, history major. Dislikes me strongly. Mine?”

I tried to hide the disappointment at his correct answer, instead focused on the response he expected from me. “Blake Zachary, computer science.”

So far, we’d gone through full name (McCarthy Williams, Dylan), age (twenty-three), favorite color (green) and parents’ names (Natalie McCarthy and Lincoln Williams). We were moving quicker now, the next question already on his lips before his last had even been answered. He was enjoying this, hoping to make me slip up, just as much as I wanted him to.

“Hometown?” he asked, and the answer flew out of my mouth effortlessly.

“D.?C. Mine?” Determined to see him fail, I leaned closer once more.

Unfortunately, his answer was just as confident and correct. “London, Chelsea. Moved to New York when you were five, grew up there.”

I groaned at the victorious smile on his lips, watching the dimples in his cheek deepening with the sound.

“Seems much easier for you to study me than correlations and regressions,” he pointed out in amusement. By now, the lack of distance between us was apparent. Even to me, who hadn’t noticed leaning in closer in the first place. The more challenging the question, the less space there was—in the hope to intimidate, or the fear of missing anything about the other’s face when they’d get an answer wrong, I didn’t know. So far, no one had been intimidated, and no one had gotten an answer wrong.We were just competitively staring at each other in the middle of a café, not enough space between us for comfort.

“Well.” I cleared my throat, leaning back into my chair to break the tension hanging over us. “There’s few things duller than correlations and regressions.”

McCarthy huffed in amusement, his head tilting as he mirrored my action, arms crossing lazily. “Aw,” he hummed with a cruel smile. “Did you just admit I’m interesting, Pressley?”

My eyes rolled with an equal mix of amusement and disbelief. “Being more interesting than statistics is not a compliment,” I noted, adopting his lazy tone.

He shrugged. “I’d say that’s subjective. Don’t you think?” He waited for my response somewhat eagerly, as if my words were next week’s lottery numbers.

I only let my head fall back with a sigh. “Have I mentioned that you’re insufferable?”

“And yet you begged to fake-date me.”

My head shot back in his direction. He looked at me like it was the exact reaction he’d aimed for. Fuck .

“I did not beg,” I clarified despite it. “And at this point, I regret even politely asking.”

“No you don’t.”

And I would have one-hundred percent disagreed with him, if Henry hadn’t just walked through the door. Instead, my body stiffened, and my gaze stuck to my brother behind McCarthy. He noticed me immediately.

Henry’s gaze lingered on me for a fraction of a second before shifting unnaturally quickly to explore the familiar shop.

His eyes flew over the handwritten menu on the chalkboard behind the counter, despite knowing what he would order. His attention shifted onto the various bouquets of flowers on the other side of the room, even though he’d bought at least half of them for Paula at some point. And then, as if he couldn’t help himself, his gaze flicked toward me again.

If an expression could be made of steel, his was stainless. Not a twitch in the mask he was wearing for ego-preserving purposes. It was infuriating.

God, I really needed this McCarthy thing to work out.

“He’s behind me?”

I started at the reminder of his presence, attention shifting onto him. Fortunately, it was the nudge I needed to get it together and put my—no doubt risky—plan in motion.

Nodding, I smiled as if he’d just promised me the world. A quick glance behind him told me Henry had a hard time not showing interest in the guy his little sister was sitting across from. But his relatively calm expression told me he hadn’t yet recognized the back of his enemy’s head. “How good is your fake laugh?”

McCarthy didn’t reply. Instead, his lips parted in a grin, his nose crinkled, and he squinted slightly as a perfectly natural laugh filled the store.

I didn’t think anything could’ve prepared me for the sight. Or the sound. Or the way I could grow accustomed to hearing it more often. The slight rasp, the hint of a giggle bubbling in the back of his throat when he threw his head back.

Damn it.

My best bet was to focus on the recognition manifesting on Henry’s face when I sneaked a peek behind the heavenly smile in front of me.

“You do that often?” I wondered, amusement edged into the question.

He winked, and it was a shame Henry stood behind him. “Only with you.”

“You should know your girlfriend is incredibly funny,” I said with a joyous drawl. “There’s no need for fake laughs.” My eyes narrowed and I leaned across the small table to emphasize my point. To make sure Henry couldn’t interpret this any other way.

McCarthy gasped in surprise, laughed, and then shook his head. All in all, he was playing the part as if his life depended on it. And I was unironically thankful for it.

“How come my fake laugh is so well-practiced, then?” The accusatory tone in his voice made me crack a smile as he leaned on the table as well.

“Your other girlfriends must be tools.” I shrugged, making sure to break eye contact only for a second, and only because I knew the ringing of the bell above the door had announced Henry’s departure, even before I saw him walk off. No coffee cup in hand, aggravation lacing his steps.

My gaze fell back to McCarthy, a sense of accomplishment radiating through me. His brown eyes, close enough for me to make out their different shades. His face, close enough to notice the minty scent of his gum lingering in the little air left between us.

“What are your favorite flowers?” As he asked the question, he sat back into his chair leisurely. The unbothered, well-rehearsed look on his face was back on full display and I was sure he knew Henry had left without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

“Why?”

“As your boyfriend, I feel I should know.”

I huffed in amusement. “What makes you think I have favorite flowers?” I asked, relaxing into my chair as well.

“Come on,” he teased as if it was obvious. To underline the fact, he gestured up and down myself once. “You’re a billionaire’s daughter . You simply must have favorite flowers.” The concept seemed amusing to him.

“And you’re a millionaire’s son,” I challenged. “What are your favorite flowers?”

McCarthy shrugged. “My mother’s are lilies.” I took that as an and so are mine .

I threw a glance across my shoulder, eyes roaming Daisy’s bouquets for inspiration. They flew across roses, sunflowers, peonies, daisies, orchids. Eventually, I sighed as I turned back. “Tulips, I guess.”

He pondered over the fact for a moment. One look, and he probably spotted the bouquet of pale pink tulips, just like I had. “Least favorite?” His gaze shifted to me again. “Which should’ve been my first question, actually.”

I huffed with an eye roll, shook my head without really meaning to.

“Now that’s an answer I can give you.” Because picking favorites was… hard. Figuring out the pros and cons of so many good things, only to find the best . Knowing what you disliked, however, was as easy as falling asleep after pulling an all-nighter. It came naturally. Quick, like an instinct you followed. “Red roses.”