Seriously, I didn’t know what my problem was. I mean, I should’ve been less nervous this time. After all, I knew my job was safe, and that I myself was safe. I swiped my now sweaty palms on my skirt. Gross. The last thing I needed was for Barrett to be turned off when he shook my hand.

It wasn’t so much that I was nervous about meeting Barrett because he was somewhat famous. I certainly didn’t follow celebrities on Instagram or tune into TMZ or Entertainment Tonight for the latest gossip. I really only knew about him because of doing work for Senator Callahan’s campaign.

What I was feeling was like first-date jitters amped up on meth. Of course, if you find yourself on a bad first date, you can bail, or at least know you’re not stuck with the person beyond the next few hours. With Barrett, I was in it for a long haul, and since our relationship would be lived out in front of the cameras, there would be no bailing or running away.

Absently, I brought my hand to my throat, which had tightened considerably with emotion. I was fighting not only my nerves, but also an immense pressure to make my faked feelings for Barrett believable. Every event and every rally with him would be like opening night where I had to sell it to an audience. Even the most seasoned theater performer could succumb to nerves.

When the elevator opened, I remained frozen like a statue. For the life of me, I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. “Miss Monroe?” Bernie questioned.

“Um, yeah. I’m sorry. I had a momentary zone-out moment. I’m good.” My brain screamed a message to my feet to pick their sorry asses up, and this time, they complied. We made our way through the foyer and around the living room to the dining room.

There he was—my future fake husband. He was even more handsome in person than in his pictures. He usually wore a relaxed, almost comical expression in his pictures, but today his jaw was taut with tension and worry. Amusement could not be found anywhere in his expression.

We stood there with a figurative gap the size of the Mississippi between us. We both just stared, not blinking and not moving. I wasn’t sure what I had expected was going to happen, maybe that he was going to run to greet me with open arms like some Hollywood movie or something crazy like that. I guess I hadn’t bargained on him being so unreceptive.

Senator Callahan nudged Barrett forward. After Barrett shook his head like he was shaking himself out of a trance, he closed the space between us. “You must be Addison,” he said, his voice impossibly deep.

“Yes, I am.” Extending my hand, I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

My heart flip-flopped a little when Barrett returned my smile. “I’m not so sure I like the circumstances in which we’re meeting, but yes, it’s nice to meet you.”

I tried putting myself in his shoes for a moment. I was sure the idea of marriage—even a fake one—was the last thing on his mind. There was also the fact that he hadn’t gotten to choose who to do this whole faking plan with, and for a man like him, I was sure that had been hard.

“This is a pretty crazy scheme we’ve gotten ourselves into, isn’t it?” I questioned.

Barrett laughed. “Yeah. It sure as hell is.”

“I would say it would make a funny story to tell our grandchildren one day, but then there’s that pesky NDA preventing that.”

“Even if we could, I doubt anyone would believe us. Who in their right mind would pretend to be engaged to someone?”

I laughed. “Exactly.”

“So you work for my father?”

“Yes. I’m the volunteer coordinator for the campaign.”

Barrett appeared confused. “What exactly is it that you do?”

“I recruit and organize volunteers to help with campaign activities.” I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds so boring, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Barrett replied.

“She’s doing an amazing job,” Senator Callahan piped up. “Bernie raves about her.”

“High praise indeed if Bernie is giving it,” Barrett replied.

“I’m just very grateful to get to work for your dad.”

Barrett winked. “Relax. You don’t need to suck up to him just because he’s in the room with us.”

“I’m not sucking up. I mean every word,” I countered good-naturedly.

After cocking his head at me, Barrett said, “Can I be honest with you for a minute?”

“Sure. I mean, honesty is the most important part of a relationship, and you are my fake fiancé.”

“It’s just I’m a little surprised to find you have a personality.”

“I’m sorry?” That was the G-rated version of what I actually wanted to say. What the fuck? was more what I was inwardly thinking.

“It’s just that after Dad and Bernie told me you didn’t have any skeletons in your past and you didn’t like to party, I couldn’t help worrying you were going to be a total bore, but I can actually see myself being able to tolerate being around you.”

Oh hell no. Tolerate? Did he actually have the balls to say he could tolerate being around me?

I pursed my lips at him. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “Not only that, but I was sweating bullets before I saw your picture. After hearing about what a potential bore you were, I couldn’t help thinking you had to be a hag.”

In that moment, I had a flash of a scene from the movie Clue where Madeline Kahn does the famous “Flames on the side of my face” line. That is exactly what I felt like in that moment after hearing Barrett’s disparaging remarks—fiery rage.