When It's Real. Erin Watt
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in California. I live in El Segundo. My parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen.
Or maybe he wants trivia-type stuff? My favorite color is green. I’m scared of butterflies. I hate cats.
My confusion must show on my face, because Jim gives me a few prompts. “What are your interests? What do you aspire to do after high school?”
“Oh, I’m done with high school already,” I admit.
“Are you in college?” Claudia, the publicist, twists and frowns at Paisley. “She may need to miss classes. How old are you again?”
“Seventeen.”
“Age of consent in California is eighteen.” This reminder comes from the end of the table, where the lawyers, plural, are sitting.
Claudia waves her hand dismissively. “They’re dating. Nothing more. Besides, Oakley’s audience is mostly young girls. Anyone older and it won’t have the same impact.” She turns to me. “What are you currently doing?”
“I’m working. I took the year off to work to help our family.” I’ve said it so many times, but even the passing mention of Mom and Dad being gone still makes my heart clench.
“Paisley and Vaughn’s parents died a couple of years ago,” Jim explains.
Paisley and I cringe as the entire table gives us pitying looks, except for Claudia, who beams. “Wonderful. An intelligent, plucky orphan,” she says, and her voice is so high and squeaky it hurts my ears. “This backstory gets better and better. She’s just what we’re looking for.”
We? I’m even more confused. I thought this was about me pretending to be Oakley Ford’s girlfriend, so why am I in a conference room filled with strangers? Shouldn’t my soon-to-be fake boyfriend be here, too?
“Do you plan on attending college?” Jim asks.
I nod. “I got into USC and Cal State, but I deferred until next fall.” I wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans as I trot out my practiced speech about wanting to have real life experience before school but how I eventually plan to go into teaching.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Claudia’s “team” taking diligent notes. My confession that I like to draw triggers several interested looks from the PR section.
“Are you good?” Claudia asks bluntly.
I shrug. “I’m okay, I guess. I mostly do pencil sketches. Usually just faces.”
“She’s being modest,” Paisley speaks up, her voice firm. “Vaughn’s drawings are amazing.”
Claudia’s blue eyes shine with excitement as she turns to her team, and then four voices chime out, “Fan art!”
“I’m sorry...what?” I say in bewilderment.
“That’s how we’ll make first contact. We’ve been brainstorming various online meet-cutes, but they all felt so contrived. But this has potential. Picture this—you Tweet a gorgeous sketch you drew of Oakley, and he’s so blown away he Tweets you back!” Oakley’s high-voiced publicist begins to make rapid hand gestures as she gets more and more excited by the picture she’s painting. “And his followers will take notice, because he so rarely replies to Tweets. Oakley tells you how your piece touched him. It brought tears to his eyes. You Tweet back and forth a few times, and then...” She pauses for effect. “He follows you.”
This prompts simultaneous gasps from her three assistants.
“Yes,” one of them says with a vigorous nod of her head.
“But,” another speaks up hesitantly, “we need to address the sister issue.”
“Right,” Claudia agrees. “Hmmm. Yes.”
Paisley and I exchange flabbergasted looks. It’s like these people are speaking a different language.
Jim sees our faces and quickly clarifies. “The fact that Paisley works for this agency will no doubt come out. Once the press digs that up, they’ll start concocting wild theories about how the relationship is a scam arranged by Oakley’s manager—”
I can’t help but snort.
Jim doesn’t seem to be as amused by the truth as I am. “—who just so happens to be related to the head of this agency. So we need to provide a plausible reason why a Diamond employee’s sister is suddenly involved with one of the agency’s clients.”
“We’ll blame it on coincidence,” Claudia says with total confidence. “One of Vaughn’s Tweets to Oakley will be this—” She moves her fingers through the air like she’s conveying a headline “‘Oh-em-gee! I just realized my big sis works at the same agency that reps you! How cool is that!’”
I try not to roll my eyes.
“That could work,” Jim says thoughtfully. “And then we’ll get Paisley—” he glances at my sister “—to give a short interview about her role in the relationship.”
“My role?” Paisley sounds uncertain.
Claudia can obviously read Jim’s mind, because she starts nodding again. I’m surprised her head is still attached to her neck at this rate. “Yes, you’ll give a statement about how you could not believe it when Oakley’s manager called you into his brother’s office and told you that Oakley wanted your sister’s phone number.”
Paisley starts nodding, too, and I almost reach over to smack her. Why is she feeding into these people’s craziness?
“I have a few more questions for Vaughn,” Jim says. “Your sister said you were dating someone?”
I don’t miss the way Paisley’s lips curl slightly at the reminder of W. Ugh. One of these days she’s going to have to suck it up and accept that I’m in love with the guy.
“Yeah, I have a boyfriend,” I reply awkwardly. “And actually, my Twitter and Instagram have lots of pictures of the two of us.”
Jim turns to Claudia, who falls silent. I can see the wheels in her bouncy head turning and turning.
“You’ll announce a breakup on your social media,” she decides. “We’ll spend two—no, three, weeks focusing on the split. First will be your despondent post announcing the end of the relationship, then we’ll document your grieving process, how you’re so upset and—”
“Listening to Oakley Ford’s albums on repeat,” one of the assistants finishes animatedly.
Claudia’s eyes light up. “Yes!” She claps her hands together. “Oakley’s music pulls you from the dark abyss of heartache.”
I almost gag.
“And that’s what inspires you to draw his face, which leads to our social media meet-cute.” She glances at Jim. “It still works.”
He looks pleased. “All right. What about Vaughn’s appearance? How do we feel about that?”
Everyone at the table swings their heads toward me. Their gazes pierce me, assessing me like I’m a specimen under a microscope. My cheeks heat up, and Paisley squeezes my hand again.
All of a sudden, the critiques start pouring in.
“The bangs are too long,” Claudia chirps. “We’ll trim them.”
“Hair itself needs a trim, too. And that shade of brown looks too fake.”
“It’s my real hair color!” I protest, but nobody’s listening to me.
“The honey-brown eyes are nice. I like the gold flecks. We’ll forgo colored contacts.”
“Shirt’s a little too baggy. Are your shirts always this baggy, Vaughn?”
“Isn’t normal what we are going for?” someone disagrees. “If we make her pretty, then the fans won’t be able