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My teeth ground together. “You’re missing the point.”
“I think you want us to say we’re going to drop the requirements so your relationship can progress the way you want it to on a normal timeline.” Easton’s hand left my desk and went onto his lap. “We’re not going to do that. We can’t. And I wish you could understand that.”
“This is fucked up.”
I knew I’d said that multiple times this morning, but each instance was with more emphasis.
Couldn’t they fathom how this was going to put pressure on Jovana and me?
How being forced to take things to all these new levels would have us moving at a speed that was so far from typical?
That this could ruin one of the biggest things to ever happen in my life?
“Grayson, the international launch is a milestone we’ve strived to achieve for a long-ass time,” Easton said. “The numbers are only just turning around, and we have no way to determine or control where they’ll go from here. All it takes is one more article scrutinizing your wicked, philandering ways, and everything will blow the hell up. That’s why we can’t just let this play out.”
“Again, this is fucked up,” I repeated.
“I’m sorry,” Holden said softly. “We want you to be with her. We want you happy. Hell, I’ve been waiting more years than I can count to see you in love.”
That word caught me off guard and I hissed, “Holden ...”
“But we won’t change the plans just because the two of you are together now,” he continued. “You’re going to have to just keep going, my man. See where this all takes you. And at the end of the twelve months, you’re either going to thank us or you’re going to fucking hate us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jovana
Me: Guess what I’m doing right now ...
Sloane: My guess would be having sex, but if you’re texting me while you’re doing that, then you’re not working hard enough or screaming loud enough. Lol.
Sloane: I have no other guesses.
Me: Driving with Grayson to Brockton. He’s meeting the parents today. *insert every emoji*
Sloane: You two are shacking up. I’d hope he’d be meeting the rents soon, so it’s about time, girl.
Me: They don’t know about that part. You know, they’re a little old school when it comes to stuff like that. Baby steps. I feel like they’d want me to at least be engaged before I moved into his place.
Sloane: Maybe that’s coming soon?!?
Sloane’s comment came from a place of honesty. She had no idea about the contract—I was sure of that. She thought our relationship was purely organic, and she based that on all the things I’d told her, along with my social media posts and the times she’d seen us together, most recently last night, when we’d stopped by the bar for a drink.
But I wanted to at least mention the word to prep her a little. I didn’t want my best friend to be so thrown off, she would think an engagement came out of nowhere. Yet it sounded like she didn’t need the prepping, that the thought had already been in her head.
Me: You think?
Sloane: Have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s the same way I look at chocolate. With all the love and adoration and sentiment that’s possible for someone with a charred, stone-cold heart.
Me: Stop, you’re the queen of warm and fuzzy.
Sloane: Then the queen of warm and fuzzy says Grayson is positively obsessed with you.
Me: Good. The feeling is mutual. But hopefully, the love will still be there after he comes home with me ...
Sloane: You say that like your parents aren’t shining examples of happily ever after.
Me: No, it’s not that. It’s just that he’s the first guy I’ve ever brought home. He’s going to see where I grew up and meet my role models and—come on, that’s epic.
