The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Ripley

“Hey, Waffles, my man!” Tate crouches, catching my puppy mid-leap. “Did you get a new collar? You’re looking good. The red makes you look ferocious.”

The red makes you look ferocious? Whatever, Tate. I march past the love fest and head straight for my brother’s office.

“Bad day?” Tate asks.

“Oh, you could say that.”

I fling open his liquor cabinet and find his most expensive bottle of bourbon. Two fingers are poured into a glass before Tate and Waffles find me.

My body is hot, and I can’t decide if my blood is actually boiling, or if I was so distracted on the drive over that I forgot to turn on the air-conditioning. Pain emits from my jaw from clenching my teeth, and I struggle to keep my breathing under control. How did this happen?

Since leaving the Canoodle office this afternoon, I’ve replayed Saturday’s conversation with Jonah a hundred times. It was straightforward. He explained that a production he felt could be the next big thing for his company was in limbo. He suspected this could happen, and when he reached out to Tate initially, it was to gauge interest. Would any of us be interested should Jonah need a backup?

Jonah contacted our family because we owed him a favor and because he knew we could use the boost in public opinion. Word travels fast, and Jonah would definitely be saying lots of good things about us if we help him out.

Both were true. There was no way I could say no.

But there was no mention of Georgia; it was simply a note that his team was in the process of securing the female lead.

No one ever said that I would be fake-dating her.

“I’m not judging you when I say this,” Tate says. “But isn’t it a little too early on a non-holiday Monday evening to pour bourbon?”

The liquor is sweet and smoky as it goes down. I pray that its effects hit me hard and quick.

“Or not,” Tate says, setting Waffles on the floor. “I’m guessing the meeting with Jonah today didn’t go well?”

“Oh, my meeting with Jonah went fine. It was the rest of the afternoon that was suspect.”

Tate’s brows pull together. He doesn’t have a clue.

“So I get to the Canoodle building and go inside,” I say, recounting the day before it went to shit. “I meet with Jonah. He thanks me for helping them out of a bind, and we review the show’s details again. My attorney calls and clears me to sign the documents, and we’re good to go.”

Well, as good to go as one can possibly be when they’re told they’ll be fake-dating a stranger in front of a camera. I’ve studied hours of footage of athletes moving to work on their gait, batting positions, and range of motion—all the things for work. I’m excellent on that side of the camera. But in front of it? Not my forte.

My brother pulls out a bag of beef jerky from his desk.

“Jonah sends me to a conference room to get started, and that, my guy, is where it all fell apart,” I say, watching him offer Waffles a piece of jerky. “Hey, don’t give him that.”

“Why not? It’s meat. Dogs eat meat.”

“Because it’s not for dogs. What is it—teriyaki flavored?”

Tate nods.

“He can’t have that shit. Think about it. It’ll hurt his stomach.”

Tate rolls his eyes, tossing the bag on his desk again.

I pause long enough to give him a look so he knows I’m serious and won’t sneak a piece to Waffles behind my back.

“Guess who was in the conference room?” I ask, my heartbeat picking up.

“I have no idea.”

I tip back the rest of the bourbon and let it settle in my stomach before responding. Licking my lips, I feel the burn sweep through my gut and sigh. “Georgia.”

“Georgia?” He blinks. “Georgia Hayes?”

“How many fucking Georgias do you know?”

Tate freezes. He grabs the back of a chair, his eyes widening as he blinks. His surprise is obviously genuine as his mouth drops open.

Then, suddenly, he bursts into a fit of laughter. “No way.”

I stare at him as he revels in my pain.

“Your empathy is appreciated,” I deadpan.

“I’m sorry.” He cackles. “I just … you’re serious?”

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to joke about this?”

He clears his throat, choking back his amusement. “No. No, you don’t.”

Waffles paws at my leg, so I bend down and pick him up.

“You’re the only person I like today, Waffles,” I say. “It’s you and me against the world.”

He licks my hand before twisting in my grasp until he gets his face nestled against my shoulder.

“So …” Tate says, choosing his words carefully. “You and Georgia are pretending to date for a reality show?”

My insides tighten so hard I grimace.

“How did this happen?” he asks. “What are the odds?”

“From what I can tell, Jonah had floated the idea to you early last week just in case something fell through. Then it did fall through. They lost both actors or characters or whatever you want to call them.” I sigh, my surge of anger starting to wane thanks to the bourbon. “He returned my call on Saturday night, and we discussed it in theory. Shortly after we hung up, he called again, saying they had found a female lead and wanted to know if I would sign on. At some point between his calls, Sutton must’ve talked to Georgia.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

Waffles begins to snore on my shoulder.

“So what now?” Tate adds a finger of liquor to my glass before pouring himself one. “How did it go when this all came to light today?”

I chuckle in disbelief. “Not well. We had a pissing match, both of us trying to get the other one to quit. She wouldn’t walk away because of Sutton, and you know how much we owe Jonah.” And I can finally do something to help our family.

“And you’re both hardheaded as hell.”

“Well … that, too.” I sigh heavily. “She just drives me crazy, Tate. Her smart little mouth. Her temper. The way she stomps her size six shoe and expects me to bow to her. Fuck. That.”

I turn to my brother and catch him smirking.

“What?” I ask, unamused.

“Not a thing.”

I pace Tate’s office, my mind reeling.

Georgia’s going into this not only trying to make Sutton look good but also trying to make me look bad. I know her—too well. She will strap on her angel wings, flutter her thick lashes, and try to make everyone fall in love with her. And they will because they don’t know her like I do.

The thought alone eats through me.

“Do you two have a plan?” Tate asks.

“For what?” Waffles jumps at the sound of my voice. I pet the top of his head until he falls asleep again. When I speak again, it’s quieter. “Do we have a plan for what?”

He grins. “How not to kill each other primarily.”

“No, but we need one.” I need one.

How am I going to navigate this and come out unscathed?

Our exchange echoes through my brain as I gaze out the window.

“Better be sure you can handle this, big girl.”

“Oh, little boy, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

It’s like a light goes off—a big, bright light that shines directly on the path I need to travel.

A slow smile splits my cheeks. “I know what I’m going to do.”

“I thought I wanted to know, but by the sound of your voice, maybe I don’t.”

I turn to him. “I’m going to beat her at her own damn game.”

“Meaning …”

“If Georgia’s anything, she’s predictable,” I say, still working out the details in my head. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s good at what she does.”

Tate lifts a brow.

“Not like that.” Probably like that, but I wouldn’t know. “I mean that when the cameras are on, she will play her role to a T. She’ll think in her pretty little head that she’s getting to me and making me fall for her. She’s just arrogant enough to believe that.”

“And you won’t be falling for her?”

I scoff at his question. “Are you serious?”

“I’m just saying that while I don’t know what all this entails, if the idea is seeing if two people will fall in love, then I imagine there will be some talking, touching—maybe a little kissing.”

My pulse quickens, but I ignore it. “Tate, I take offense to your suggestion that I would be weak enough to actually fall for her.”

“I apologize.”

“No, you don’t.”

He laughs. “Okay, so you’re impervious to her. You’re just arrogant enough to believe she’ll fall for you.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass, giving my words back to me.”

“Did I do that?” He plays oblivious. “I had no idea. I was calling it as I see it.”

I roll my eyes. “Listen, I don’t have a choice in this situation. I’ve given Jonah my word, and I will see that through. I might as well have some fun with it and establish the upper hand with Georgia once and for all.”

His chest shakes as he struggles not to laugh again.

“What?” I ask, sighing.

“I just hope you win.”

“Asshole.”

He glances at his phone. “I need to take this. I’ll be back.”

“Sure.”

As Tate leaves, Waffles wakes up and squirms out of my hands. He follows my brother out the door and down the hall.

My body vibrates with energy, still pumped with adrenaline from earlier. But unlike before, I’m finally starting to see things clearly. My emotions are falling by the wayside, and reality is easier to untangle.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and find Myla’s email with the filming schedule. We’re set to film our first date on Thursday night.

I slide out of my email and to my text app. Then I find Georgia’s name with the peach emoji beside it.

Me: First date is Thursday.

Georgia: I’ll file this under Texts I Never Thought I’d Get From Ripley.

Me: It’s a dream come true, isn’t it?

Georgia: Keep telling yourself that. Is there a point to this communication? I might have agreed to do Sutton a favor and pretend to date you, but I never agreed to random texts.

I roll my eyes.

Me: We need to lay out some ground rules.

Georgia: Do we, though?

Me: Think about it …

I stare at the screen for a minute and then two. Finally, her message pops up.

Georgia: Fine. Ground rules meeting tomorrow night at The Swill?

Me: Seven?

Georgia: Fine.

Me: Fine.

Georgia: You’re paying.

Me: Fine.

I almost expect her to text fine again just to get in the last word, but she doesn’t.

Tate waltzes back into his office with a tennis ball, and Waffles jumps high, trying to take it from him.

“I promised Waffles I’d take him outside and throw the ball around,” Tate says.

“You hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“All right. I’ll order a pizza and meet you outside.”

Tate opens the door to the back patio, nearly tripping over my dog, who is entirely too excited to go outside and play. I meander through Tate’s house and stare at my text exchange with Georgia.

“I imagine there will be some talking, touching—maybe a little kissing.”

My muscles tighten as I hear Tate’s voice repeatedly in my head.

“Touching—maybe a little kissing.”

A slow, mischievous smile slips across my lips.

I might have been wrong to focus on the inconvenience of this setup. Because this? This might just be a hell of a lot of fun.

Georgia Hayes is going down.

I chuckle.

Better keep that visual out of my head.