What If I Lived a Lie? [You Me at Six]

Chapter Six: The Deal.

“Pretend? I could fucking punch you.”

“Just hear me out, first.”

“What the fuck could you possibly have to say to me that could make this sound any better?”

“I can help your business get traction.”

She was silent for a moment, then. She wanted so, so badly for the bakery to succeed, for her and Hunter to succeed, and she would do anything for that dream—right?

“How could you…”

“I hate to toot my own horn,” he started, his own hands shoved into his pockets, “but I’m friends with quite a few bands who record in LA. I could just easily tell them about your bakery, get them to swing by; they tell their friends, those friends tell their friends… next thing you know, you’re one of the most successful bakeries in the area.”

“How are you so sure this will work?”

“To be honest, I’m not,” he started, chewing at his lower lip, almost nervously, his expression seemingly upset—what the hell did he have to be nervous or upset about?

“How about we do a trial run?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Kerrang! Awards are coming up, you go with me, be my date, and I refer five people to your bakery. If your business improves, that proves that my theory is true.”

“Mhm,” she responded, forcing faux cheerfulness into her voice, “And have you considered what you’ll do if I say go fuck yourself and break your fucking jaw?”

“Uhh… no,” he responded, swallowing thickly and taking a step back, “Olivia, I need your help.”

”Why me? Don’t you know any other girl who’d pretend to be your girlfriend for a night?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be for a night, exactly.”

“Then how long would it be for?”

“I don’t know, like, a month or two.”

“A month or two, for what?!”

“Just so that it’s long enough that it’s believable that we’re actually together.”

“Jesus, you’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?!” she almost laughed, but stopped herself, of course he had, “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? That’s why you kissed me.”

“If by all along you mean when I first met you, then, no,” he said, once more taking his lower lip between his teeth as he thought, “It dawned on me last night that you’d be perfect for this.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“No, no, I… You’re gorgeous, and I’m insanely attracted to you. But, we’d never work.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, god, yes,” he laughed, his head tipping back with the action, “I mean, you’re hot-headed, you’ve got such a potty mouth, you’re crass, you’re unconvincingly apathetic, closed-off, you’re reckless, probably irrational, overly-emotional, dramatic. Oh, and you wear way too many rings and bracelets, it drives me nuts. I mean, god, did you know that people can hear you like jingling and jangling from like ten miles away? It’s infuriating, I mean they don’t even—”

“And you’re conceited, egotistical, sarcastic, rude, pushy, over-analytical, condescending and patronizing, overconfident, immature, you dress like a teenage hipster—I mean for fuck’s sake, who wears mid-calf socks with fucking sneakers and shorts? Oh, and, by the way, you’re an aggressive fucking kisser—”