The Fake Girlfriend

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The next morning, I woke up at 9:30 a.m to a knock on the door. My hair in a frizzy mess, barefoot and in my cotton pajama pants, I opened the door. Behind the threshold was a woman with bright purple hair smiling at me. Walking past me, she rolled a rack of clothes in.

"Hi, I'm Lola," she beamed. "Your personal stylist." She stuck out her hand.

I lightly shook it, still a bit in shock.

She nodded her head. "I understand, you're a fashion journalist, so you know your stuff. Technically, I'm just here to deliver the clothes and tell you what kind of style to wear so you and Nick match a bit." She leaned against the rack. "Where can I put these?"

I cleared my throat. "Um, right this way." I led her to my room, her black boots clomping against our harwood floor.

I led her into my room, telling her to put it in the corner next to the door to my closet. My room had one brick wall from the outside and my four post king sized bed sat underneath an arched window. The morning sunlight hit her hair, making it look more fuschia than lilac.

"Wear a floral skirt and something with a cardigan. Preferebly in the warm color regions. You're going to a coffee shop, so... be romantic," Lola said, tucking a loose strand of colored hair behind her ear.

She walked out of my room and towards the front door. "Nick will pick you up at 11:30, be ready!" And then she closed the door behind her.

I sighed, padding back to my room and staring at the rack of new clothes. This didn't seem real.

I pulled out a highwaisted floral skirt over a loose white tank top, with a long dark red cardigan, paired with balck strapy sandals. My hair, with a lot of gel, was slicked back into a ponytail at the base of my neck, curling down to my waist. I applied a little bit of blush to my round cheeks and curled my eye lashes so I looked some what decent.

It was 11:30 when the doorbell rang exactly, I grabbed my small, round sunglasses and purse and opened the door to Nick, his hands in his pockets to his dark washed capris. And a white v-neck shirt with a square in the middle that held a black and white picture of New York- I assumed- clinging to his broad chest.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice less cold from how it had been yesterday.

I exhaled. Was I? No. "Yeah," I told him and locked the door behind me. When I slid the key from the lock, I turned to Nick who stood looking down to his shoes in the hallway.

"I wanted to apologize about yesterday," he said. " It's nothing against you- at all. It's just... Understand where I'm coming from, it's not a thrill to be pretending to be dating someone else for the world." He finally looked up to me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It's not really a thrill for me either, so I guess we're even."

His eyebrows knit together.

"What?" I asked. "You think I wanted to pretend to date you for money?"

"Well, I thought-" he started.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'll admit, I'm a hopeless romantic." I shrugged. "I wanted to meet a man in a coffee shop or at a grocery store and have him sweep me off my feet..." I shook my head. "I'm only doing this because Scarlett said that it would help me follow my dream of being a fashion journalist. Through you I can get publicity."

He nodded, slowly, assessing what I had said. "So you aren't a crazy fan?"

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. "Can't say that I am."

"Alright then. Can we start over?" he asked. "How about this. I'm Nick." He stuck out his hand- which can I say was a very lovely and strong one at that.

I put my small palm in his. "I'm Rayne."