Free Heat Of The Moment (Brooklyn Heat) by Locklyn Marx Page A

over to the breakfast bar and poured syrup onto the French toast. She took a bite and considered what he was saying. “So basically, if you don’t tell them I’m your girlfriend, they think you’re some kind of male whore, and the deal’s dead. But if you do tell them I’m your girlfriend, it makes it okay that I was leaving your hotel room, and you become the new face of Expera.”
    He nodded. “Exactly.”
    She shrugged. “Well, looks like you lost yourself a deal.”
    “That’s fine,” he said, setting his plate down and sitting across from her at the bar.
    “But if I loose the deal then they’re going to publish the pictures.”
    She almost choked on her French toast. “The pictures of us together?”
    “Well, yeah.” He picked up a paper napkin from the holder and spread it across his lap. He grinned at her. “Bon Appétit!”
    “Why would they do that?”
    “Let the pictures go to press?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, if they’re not doing a deal with me, then they have no reason to pay the money to keep them out of the papers. What do they care if America thinks I’m some kind of male slut?”
    “Doesn’t America already think that?” she shot back.
    “I’m rehabbing my image.” He grinned at her again.
    “So this is your proposition?” she said, as everything fell into place in her mind.
    “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
    He nodded. She laughed, and threw her head back. That was ridiculous. “That’s ridiculous.” She forked up another piece of French toast.
    “How come? You don’t think I’m cute enough for you?”
    “First, no one would believe it.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because! How did we meet?”
    “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “We could concoct some kind of story.”
    “And what would I have to do?”
    “Spend time with me,” he said, shrugging. “Just long enough for us to be seen out together, for some other photographs of us to end up in the tabloids.”
    “No.” She shook her head. “No way. I don’t want to end up in some tabloid with you.”
    “You do realize that if you don’t do it, you’re going to end up in some tabloid anyway.”
    “But it’s not true!”
    “What’s not true? That you made out with me in my hotel room just an hour after meeting me, and then a paparazzi caught a snapshot of you leaving? Yes, that’s very true.”
    “I’ll sue them.”
    “For what?”
    “I don’t know.” There had to be something. Defamation of character or libel or something. Celebrities were always suing tabloids for things that were really true. Of course, in order to do that you probably needed lots of big name lawyers. And in order to get lots of big name lawyers, you probably needed lots of money.
    “Well, whatever.” Chad had finished his French toast, and he reached over and forked up a piece of hers without asking. “I tried.”
    She looked at him, thinking about it. He was trying to act like this whole situation didn’t mean that much to him, like it didn’t matter if he signed the deal with Expera or not. And from a financial standpoint, it was probably true. When you were making ten million dollars a year, another ten million on top of it was nice, but definitely not necessary. He didn’t seem like he was hurting for money, like some of those professional athletes who ended up blowing their fortunes and filing for bankruptcy. But still. He wanted that deal with Expera. And he wanted it badly enough to bring her here, to ask her if she would pretend to be his girlfriend. He needed something from her, and he was trying to pretend that he didn’t, that he was doing her a favor by keeping her picture out of the newspaper.
    “What’s it worth to you?” she asked suddenly, the wheels in her head turning.
    He stopped eating. “What’s it worth to me?”
    “Yeah.” She nodded. “How long until you sign the deal?”
    “A few days.”
    “And then we can break up?”
    “Yes.”
    “So like I said, what’s it worth to