“Your flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere,” I say. I know it already has. I’m here entertaining this, aren’t I?

“What else?” Nathaniel redirects.

“Will anyone else know the truth? Like, I can’t let my family know, can I?”

“I’m sorry, no,” Nathaniel says directly. “I understand it’s hard to lie to family, but all it takes is one slip, one I told Sally and she won’t tell anyone and then Jase is in trouble with the judge and the whole purpose of this charade is nullified.”

“But my bandmates will know,” Jase states, causing Nathaniel to whip his head toward him. “What? They have to. They’ll see right through this bullshit if not. It’s . . . I trust them with my life.”

I don’t know the brothers well enough to make assumptions on the look between them, but if I did, it would be hurt. That those words Jase just spoke, hurt his brother.

Nathaniel gives a curt nod, but I can see him struggling to allow this.

“And you pay the taxes,” I add.

“What?” Nathaniel’s voice sounds surprised.

“My net is fifty thousand a month. You’re responsible for the taxes in however you want to cover them. This is California. That fifty would soon be twenty-five, and that’s nowhere near enough if you want me to sell this lie like the best of them.”

Nathaniel blows out a long, low whistle. “Miss Wright, you came to play.”

“No. I know my worth.” The comment is matter-of-fact and complete false bravado, but I don’t see them noticing.

“Noted, understood, and agreed to.”

I fight the gasp that wants to come out. Why was that so easy?

“Anything else?” Jase asks.

“There are a million more things that I’m sure I’m not thinking of but . . . I’m a little overwhelmed,” I say.

“So that means you need to go home and think about it?” Nathaniel asks, clearly unhappy that I didn’t just jump at the chance.

“Something like that,” I say.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jase asks.

“Of course.”

“Why would you say yes?”

I chuckle nervously. “Other than the money and you’re going to help me save my dream?”

“Yes, other than that.” Jase’s voice is quiet. Curious.

“Because . . . fuck Paul Flanders.”

“Who?” Jase snorts.

“My ex.”

“Okay.” He draws the two syllables out. “Explain.”

“You’re everything he isn’t.” Of all of the things I’ve said in this room over the past hour, that’s the most honest of all of them.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a slight,” he says.

“Neither do I,” I say quietly.

“Well shit, we’re starting this off with a bang,” he jokes.

“Don’t you believe all relationships should be based on the truth?” I fire back.