She shakes her head and holds the speaker high, as the next line from Charlotte rings loud and far too clear. “No. That’s fine. The pretend engagement is fine.”
Emily hits stop, and I expect her to turn to me and say “caught you.”
But instead, Abe appears, walking around the edge of the makeshift bleachers to join Emily on the field. I do a double take, and point at him. He stands next to Emily, and smiles at her like a proud…teacher?
Emily stares at her dad. “Do you believe me now that I don’t want to study art at Columbia?”
Columbia. Emily’s going to the same school as the tenacious reporter. That must be how she knows him.
Mr. Offerman’s nostrils flare as he steps forward. “Emily, now is not the time to discuss your intended major. What on earth is this about?”
Yeah, I’m kind of wondering the same thing.
Especially because I thought this was about Charlotte and me—but it also seems to be about a father and a daughter.
Emily glares and parks her free hand on her hip. “I have no interest in studying art. I’ve told you that for years. You never listen to me. You never listen to what I want. I want to study business in college. Like you did. But you think business is a man’s world. You’re wrong, though, because I just saved you from selling your business to a liar. Ever since I met them, I knew something was off,” she says, gesturing wildly to me, then to Charlotte. “So I talked to Abe at dinner at McCoy’s, since we realized I’m going to the same college he attends. And guess what? He felt the same way about the happy couple, and we decided to work on it together to get to the bottom of this business deal, and the heart of the story. And it’s this, Daddy.”
She points at me, the accused. “Spencer Holiday faked his engagement to Charlotte Rhodes so you’d buy Katharine’s, thinking it would appear like the family friendly and wholesome business you want it to be, not something associated with someone best known for discussing dick pics in the business trades.” Her feet are planted wide, her hands on her hips, determination in her eyes. “How does that sound for a story that Abe can run tomorrow? Got an official press comment?”
Abe and Emily both stare at us with smug delight, but I zero in on Emily.
Mostly, I want to laugh and claim she’s making all this up because the little pathological liar is off her meds. But some small part of me wants to applaud the girl for her guts. I don’t like being the target of her underhanded tactics, but holy fucking balls. Emily has some big gonads, and she’s sticking it to her father for being a sexist pig. She’s also been playing all of us—that flirting at dinner was never flirting. She was playing me, trying to get to the bottom of the lie she sniffed out.
“Is this true?”
The question doesn’t come from Mr. Offerman. It comes from my father. The man I admire. The man I respect. The man who taught me to be better than I’ve been for the last week. Shame washes over me as Dad sidesteps Mr. Offerman. He’s not looking at the man on the other side of the business deal. He’s looking at his son.
His flesh and blood who lied to him. Who embarrassed him. Who hoodwinked everyone here.
My face burns. The fact that my feelings for Charlotte have become real is meaningless. None of that matters. I nod and start to fashion an answer.
But the slap of flip-flops on flimsy metal interrupts me. Charlotte races down the makeshift bleachers and across the grass and dirt.
“Stop,” she says, holding up a hand. She’s twisting her ring on her finger. “The fake engagement is my fault. Don’t blame Spencer.”
My father furrows his brow, and turns to her. “What do you mean?”
“It was my idea,” she says, contrition in her tone, guilt in her eyes. “I asked Spencer if he’d pretend to be engaged to me so my ex would stop bothering me so much.” Her voice is heavy. She tugs at the ring, and I grit my teeth, hating to see it come off her finger.
“That’s not true,” I say. She’s taking the fall, and I can’t let her. This is my mess, and I need to clean it up.
She raises her chin. “It is true,” she says, her tone firm and certain. Her eyes glare at me, and me alone. They say, don’t you dare interrupt me. Charlotte looks to my dad, then Mr. Offerman. “It’s all on me. I needed Spencer to pose as my fiancé so my ex would leave me alone. I live in the same building as him, and it’s been awful since the split. Everyone knows he cheated on me, and I’ve dealt with their stares and looks of pity. But when he started begging me every day to take him back, I needed to do something drastic to make it stop.”
Mrs. Offerman nods imperceptibly. Her eyes seem to say she understands Charlotte’s plight. Charlotte is so damn convincing—but then, she doesn’t have to be convincing. She just has to be honest. Nearly everything she’s said so far is the truth. Even if the initial idea came from me, the rest of her story adds up.
Unlike my ruse.
“Charlotte, you don’t have to do this,” I say softly, just to her.
She shakes her head and speaks to the group. “No, I do have to do this. I asked him to pretend to be engaged to me so I could finally have some peace where I live. But please don’t blame Spencer. The fake engagement was all my choice, and he went along with it because he’s a really great guy, and he just wanted to help me. We planned everything, every detail, including how we would end it.” She sighs, but holds her chin high. “After one week, and now it’s been a week. So, I guess this is it.” She tugs off the ring. Her eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them before. Inscrutable. She looks to the others. “It was never real, but not for the reasons you think.” She plunks the ring in my hand, and curls my fingers around it. “Thank you for pretending for me.”