Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (30 page)

Marcy was starting to get excited about all this, even though she still refused to smile. Libby knew she’d won when Marcy ignored her and turned to the assistant. “Okay. The first thing we have to do is get her out of the ’Bowl.” She began to fire bullet items at her assistant. “Kesha, get someone to pack Lissa’s—damn it, Libby’s stuff. Get Kai back from the Holding Tank. Tell the driver nothing. The fewer people who know what’s going on the better. Book a room for this one,” indicating Libby with a flick of a wrist, “and get her a disguise so no one will recognize her. Check her in as Elizabeth Pembroke. Once you’re in the hotel, you can’t go anywhere or talk to anyone.”

Libby guessed this was a direction for her. She nodded.

“Get the sister on the next flight here from Alaska. I want her in Makeup no later than ten tomorrow morning. Get Jeremy and set up the interview. Call him now and tell him to stop whatever he’s doing—drugs, girls, I don’t care—he needs to be sober and clear-eyed tomorrow morning. Should we try to break the news on the morning show? That would be five a.m. here—can we get the sister here in time? Find out. Call Legal again and get them to check the paperwork. Sorry, but I don’t trust you,” Marcy explained to no one in particular.

Libby got that it was for her benefit.

The list of instructions went on for a few more minutes, but Libby zoned it out. It was done. Her surreal summer was finally coming to a close. She felt exhausted all of a sudden, as though she’d taken back-to-back law school exams. She’d been lying for so long to so many people. It might have been fun at one time, but now it was a huge relief to stop.

Except for Rand’s reaction. Where was this going to leave her with him? She looked at him, but he was staring at the floor.

She’d lied to him about who she was, something so fundamental as her actual name. She’d let him call her Lissa for weeks now, on the show and in private. He had seen her naked but he hadn’t known who she was.

She rubbed her hand over her face. It probably wasn’t that late, but she felt wrung out and needed desperately to be alone. She shifted closer to the door with the assistant still in the shadows, taking notes on her hand-held. Libby stopped herself. She wasn’t supposed to know she’d be leaving through that door. It never ended, did it? The list of things she couldn’t let people know about her.

“I think that’s it,” Marcy said finally. “Go. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said to the room. Libby could tell Marcy had banished her, which suited her just fine. Rand was still standing there with his back against the smoked window. She glanced at him. He was doing something with his hand-held. And anyway, the whole idea was not to reveal that she knew him beyond their contact in the spring. She sighed and followed the diminutive Kesha along the now-familiar route to the parking lot.

Was that the last time she’d be in the same room with him?

He couldn’t breathe. That was all Rand could focus on after Marcy walked in and took over. He couldn’t catch his breath. He concentrated on that. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out.

When his shock receded, Rand heard Marcy threaten Lissa with legal action.

But then Lissa—no
, Libby
took control of the situation. Rand watched as she morphed from the Ditz—a sweet Philly bartender—to an impressive negotiator. She knew she had Marcy over a barrel. She even knew which cards to play. He’d certainly never mentioned the background checks they did on all the Fish. He wasn’t surprised she was so smart, but he was impressed.

It was going to be a great twist for his screenplay. Then he remembered. He’d decided to ditch the idea of making the movie so that he could have a shot with Lissa. Only she wasn’t Lissa. She had lied to
him
. Then again, they’d lied to each other. That had to be better, right?

Rand had crafted a possible future for him and Lis—Libby. Maybe have her move out to L.A. to be with him after the show was over. He’d figured that she didn’t have any ties to Philadelphia other than her sister. He’d thought she might be willing to move in with him.

As a plan, it made sense. Assuming he didn’t get fired—and Libby was right, this could be a ratings bonanza, so maybe Marcy would let him keep his job—he could work a few more months while he got his résumé out. After the season wrapped, his hours went back to being fairly sane. His salary was very good for the industry. They’d have six months to get to know each other. Then next year he could quit the show and find something else. Rand even considered how to make the apartment more hospitable for her.

None of it was going to happen the way he’d imagined.

It wasn’t Lissa he’d fallen for, it was Libby. A law student who wasn’t free to leave Philadelphia. She had to finish school and start her career. Based on what Phil had gone through after Stanford, the hours for a newly minted lawyer were as bad or worse than Rand’s schedule while
The Fishbowl
was taping. She might not have time for a relationship with him. So toss all those living-together-in-L.A. plans out the window.

Marcy was droning on, not even making eye contact with him or Kesha. Rand looked up briefly. Libby looked fearless. Even without paying attention to what she’d been saying, he could tell she was more than Marcy’s equal. Rand was pleased that she’d fooled Marcy in particular, and proud of her for pulling it off. This thing—the twin switch—was bigger even than their managing an affair right under Marcy’s nose.

Little things started to fall into place. Her confusion at the Cork, which he’d taken as evidence of her ditziness, had been actual confusion. Her smart choices while playing the game, all while answering to the wrong name. And—he sucked in a breath—and especially their conversation after Dylan’s attack.

No wonder she hadn’t wanted to talk about what they should do next. He understood why she’d written that note before Marcy had gotten there.
Didn’t want U to lose yr job by knowing any sooner.
That’s why she hadn’t told him then that she was really Libby. If he’d known, Marcy would have assumed he’d helped Libby pull off the masquerade and fire him.

He tried to recall that conversation in more detail. He’d been so focused on his own bullshit, he hadn’t noticed her reluctance on the subject of the future. But the clues had been there. She’d talked about being confused by a lot of things, even about who she was.

He stared at Libby for a moment. How much of the summer had been true? Any of it? She had feelings for him, but in the middle of switching places with her sister, who knew what anything meant.

He looked back at his text messages, not seeing any of them.

At least Libby had done something. She had been helping out her sister and their friends at the bar. What had he done? Here he was, in a job he hated but couldn’t be bothered to leave, watching his talent and dreams drift away on the wind. Wasn’t this more evidence that Dad was right?

Marcy entered her machine-gun mode where she peppered everyone with orders. Well, he wasn’t paying attention. If she barked an order at him, she’d just have to repeat herself. He was having trouble keeping his face impassive when he looked again at Libby. She was the same woman, he saw that. She was the woman he’d met in March, and kissed in April. She was the woman he’d spent hours talking to. He’d even smuggled her off the set, a surprisingly intimate endeavor. Maybe he’d had some of the details wrong, but he knew her. He knew her intimately, better perhaps than he knew himself.

Lord, what a summer. What had started as a challenge—sneaking some time getting to know a Fish—had ended up being a vital part of his life. No wonder he’d shown up nearly every day since the show started. Marcy had complimented him on his commitment to the show. She had no idea why he’d been so much more enthusiastic this season…whose voice and smile and skin drew him back to the studio even on his days off.

He tried the name out. Libby. Elizabeth.

She was quieter, he guessed, than her sister. He’d get to meet Lissa tomorrow. They must be close to indistinguishable to have fooled Barney—Rand wondered if he’d be able to tell them apart. But of course he would. He loved Libby. He knew her. He just hadn’t known her name.

He should be angry at her deception, he supposed. She’d lied to him even when they were alone, letting him use the wrong name during sex. But he had lied to her too. He hadn’t been honest about who he was. He trusted her completely, so why hadn’t he told her the whole story?

His phone vibrated in his hand. It was Debbie, texting him to ask what the hell was going on, that there were rumors about Lissa getting kicked off the show. Did Marcy know what they’d pulled off? He texted back,
Yes off the show but No not cuz of what we did. Explain later.
When he looked up, Libby and Kesha were gone. Marcy was staring at him.

“Did you know about this?”

He shook his head wearily. “Of course not. She was working at the bar when I got there, everyone called her Lissa. Were there clues? I mean, did I miss something? I don’t know. Maybe that’s why we all thought she seemed ditzy,” he said with a shrug.

“I hate the feeling she pulled a fast one on us,” Marcy grumbled.

Libby had spiked Marcy’s guns before she could even aim them. “I believe her explanation. She was subbing for her sister and things got out of hand.”

“Oh, just get the sister lined up, will you? Tell Kesha you’re on that.”

Rand took off, found Kesha tearing her hair out with frustration trying to reach Jeremy, told her that he was taking over the job of locating Lissa Pembroke in Alaska, and headed off to his desk. It was tidy enough, but with the slightly dusty look of neglect. Yet another sign of how odd this summer had been—he’d done most of his work near a window from which he could watch Li—Libby interacting with the other Fish.

His first call was to The County Cork in Philly. He asked for the owner, and when Barney picked up, Rand explained who he was.

“Ah, right, from that Fishy place. We’ve been watching Lissa—she seems quiet but hey, she’s still in the game,” Barney said.

“She still is. Look, I need Duke’s last name, or failing that, a number where I can reach Li—her parents.”

“Don’t remember Duke’s last name, sorry,” Barney said, then recited the Pembrokes’ telephone number.

Rand called them next and introduced himself to Mrs. Pembroke. “I’m sorry to be calling so late but we need to contact Lissa’s boyfriend in Alaska.”

“Is there a problem?” she asked anxiously.

“Not anything you need to worry about,” he tried to reassure her. “We were trying to pull together some people from the remaining contestants’ lives.” He had a sudden thought. “Might I have her sister Libby’s cell phone number as well?”

Mrs. Pembroke got quiet for a moment. “Who did you say you were again? My daughter didn’t mention you when she signed on for this show.” She sounded suspicious.

Rand swallowed his frustration. “Very sensible, Mrs. Pembroke. Tell you what—go to the Internet and look up the production company that puts on
The Fishbowl
. Get a phone number—it should be this one,” he rattled off the main number, “then you call that number and ask for me. My name’s on the credits for the show, so if you have an episode recorded you can double-check that I’m legitimate.”

While he was waiting for her to call back, he texted Kesha for the number “Lissa” had given them on her application. Who knew where it would ring—the apartment in Philly, he guessed—but it was worth a try.

“Hello?” The voice was Lissa’s—the real Lissa’s—but it sounded so much like his Lissa, it made his heart race to hear it.

“This is Rand Jennings. I’m a producer on
The Fishbowl
. Is this—” Oh, lord, who should he ask for? He didn’t want to freak her out and have her hang up on him, so he started over. “Your sister is one of our contestants, correct?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay, here’s the thing. Your sister has confessed that she’s Libby. She explained why she was pretending to be you at the bar and how you didn’t want to be on the show after all. But we need to get this sorted out, and Libby suggested that you would be willing to appear on TV with her—you know, to be interviewed by Jeremy.”

There was a pause, and someone handed Rand a note. “Oh, Lissa—look, that’s your mother on the other line. I called her for your telephone number. I haven’t told her about the switch, but I need to speak to her. Would you hold?”

As soon as she said yes, he clicked over to the other line.

“Okay, so you are a producer for
The Fishbowl
. Is my daughter all right?”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Pembroke. We were just thinking of getting her sister here for a special bit we’re doing.”

There was a hesitation, then she told him Libby’s cell phone number, the same one he had already called. “Mr. Jennings, when you speak to my daughter, ask her where my gardening gloves are,” she said firmly, then hung up.

He went back to Lissa. “Uh, I don’t know why, but your mother told me to ask her where her gardening gloves are. What’s that about?”

Lissa gasped. “Oh, lord, she knows,” she said, as if to herself.

“Knows?”

“That Lib and I switched. It was a childish prank we pulled on her years ago. I made it look like only Libby could have done it, but she knew it was me nonetheless. So ‘hiding the gardening gloves’ is now family shorthand for any sort of twin-switching.”

Rand smiled. “She knows you better than you guys realize. I’m fairly sure Libby thinks she’s got everyone fooled.”

Another pause. What was it with the Pembroke women not wanting to talk to him?

Then, finally, Lissa spoke again, “You’re the guy from the Cork this past spring, aren’t you?”

Rand wasn’t sure what this was about, but he said yes.

“Yeah, okay, I think I get it,” Lissa said. But before he could ask her to explain, she changed the subject. “So what do you want me to do?”

He checked his hand-held. “We’ve booked a ticket for you flying out tonight. We’d like you to appear on the morning program with your sister, so you’ll need to leave now. Can you do that?”