Not If I Date You First

Chapter 12

ADA

Holding my shoes in my hands, I pad across the floor, careful to avoid any creaky spots. The chill from the hardwood floors seeps through my socks, making me shiver. I can hear Aiden snoring as I pass his bedroom door. I've managed to dodge my parents since my latest run-in with Liam—mostly by camping out at Jitters and Elodie's house. I want to keep my streak alive. We're all the celebrity gossip sites are talking about, and I'm guessing Mom and Dad aren't too happy about it.

When I texted Mom to tell her I'd be home late again last night, she said it was fine but that we were going to Talk today. She actually typed 'Talk' with a capital 'T.' When most people capitalize a random word in a message, it's a typo. But not my mom. She's a super successful attorney for a reason. She's meticulous in all things, including texting. Capitals, semicolons, hyphens, my mom's texts could put Strunk and White to shame.

But Agnes wants me to go photograph a press event for Cipher this morning, so I don't have time to have it out with my parents. I'm feet away from the door when my foot slips beneath me, sending me skidding into the wall. I fling my arms out, trying to catch my balance and lose my grip on my shoe. It falls to the ground with a whump.

I freeze, listening. Please, don't wake up. Please, don't wake up. The only sound is the drone of the refrigerator.

Whew. I reach for the doorknob.

"You might not want to do that."

Shoot. I spin around, plastering on my best I-would-never-try-to-sneak-out-of-the-house smile. "Morning, Dad. I was just...um, going for a run." I hold up the sneaker like it's proof.

"Uh-huh." He's clearly not buying it. "Well, before you go for your 'run,'" he uses air quotes, "you should probably know there are paparazzi waiting outside our building."

"What?" I drop my shoe and rush over to the window, peering through the blinds. "Oh, those morons."

Chrissy and Tyler are standing on the sidewalk out front, scanning the windows.

"Those aren't paparazzi. They're my coworkers."

"And they brought their cameras with them because?"

I fidget with my necklace, trying to think of an explanation that doesn't involve telling Dad they're here to take pictures of me. My caffeine-deprived brain comes up with nothing.

"That's what I thought," Dad says. "Sit." He points at the squashy armchair across from him.

"I don't have time. I have to get to a—"

"Sit."

I flop down in the chair, glaring at my watch. This is the first actual press event I've been assigned and something tells me if I'm late, Agnes will make sure it's my last.

Mom walks into the room. She looks from my sullen expression to Dad's folded arms, and says, "I'll make some coffee."

"Thanks, Hon," Dad calls after her before turning his attention back to me. "I thought your goal was to become a photographer, not a celebutante."

"It is."

"Then why are your coworkers standing outside, waiting to take your picture? Why are there photographs all over the internet of you with that boy?" He scowls when he says 'that boy.' "And why are you calling him your boyfriend online when you keep telling us he isn't? Either you're lying to us, or you're lying to everyone else. Neither one is a good look."

The disappointment etched across his face sends a twinge of guilt through my chest. But I haven't done anything wrong. People want to believe the stories about Liam and me dating. I'm not hurting anyone.