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I clear my throat. “I didn’t realize things were so dire for your father.”
Her shoulders droop. “He just got a third notice from the bank. I don’t know what that means, exactly. But I know it can’t be good.”
“How much does your father owe, if you don’t mind me asking? Because, whether you like it or not, this necklace is yours, to do with as you please, even if that means you’re going to return it to the store for cash.”
“Oh, gosh, no, Reed. I couldn’t possibly—”
“Yes, you could. Unfortunately, the necklace probably won’t cover your dad’s full debt. It only cost me eighty grand. But it might help.”
She’s flabbergasted. “Reed. Oh my God! You’re not going to believe this, but... my father owes exactly eighty grand!”
I palm my forehead. “No.”
“Yes!”
“Holy shit.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Well, that settles it, then. You have to return it and use it to pay off the mortgage. Now, I really won’t take no for an answer. Me seeing this necklace in the window was fate!”
She chokes back a sob, and then another, but then loses her battle. She bursts into big, soggy, beautiful tears and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you, thank you,” she murmurs into my shoulder, her body wracking as she weeps.
“You’re welcome.” I pull back from our embrace, apparently struck by an idea. “Actually, you know what? I should return it for you. I have another meeting in Beverly Hills tomorrow. I’ll return it and immediately wire the money straight to his bank. The loan will get paid off more quickly this way. And it sounds like time might be of the essence here.”
It’s a pack of lies, of course. I don’t have a meeting in Beverly Hills tomorrow, any more than I had one there today. My meeting today was actually in Century City, and I left midway through to head to Tiffany’s in Beverly Hills, the minute I got my brilliant idea. But I can’t let Georgie walk into that store with a ruby necklace worth over two hundred grand, when she thinks it’s only worth eighty, and find out the truth.
Georgina pulls back from me, her face contorted with anxiety. “I just realized my dad is going to ask me how the heck I got eighty grand. And what will I say? ‘Oh, um, the CEO of River Records gave it to me as a gift, Dad!’” She scoffs. “He’ll immediately know I’m sleeping with you, Reed. And that’s not something I’m eager for him to know. I wouldn’t want him to think, even for a second, that you’ve somehow taken advantage of his precious little girl. No offense, but you’re not only rich and powerful. You’re also, you know...” She grimaces. “Thirty-four.”
“What happened to ‘Age is just a number’?”
She pulls an adorable face. “Yeah, well, that may be my philosophy, but my father doesn’t share it. At least, not when it comes to his baby girl. He thinks I’m far more naïve and inexperienced than I am. If he found out we’re sleeping together, he’d think you’ve been taking advantage of me somehow.”
“And he’d be right.”
She smiles, assuming I’m joking. But, unfortunately, I’m not. How could I not be taking advantage of this naïve, sweet, inexperienced twenty-one-year-old? I know Georgina thinks she’s seen it all, but she’s wrong about that. Adorably, amusingly wrong. I keep telling myself the end justifies the means. I tell myself I’ve helped her and her father immeasurably. That my intentions, in the beginning, weren’t solely lascivious—I also had other, parallel intentions, that were altruistic and good. All of which means I’m helping her, not taking advantage of her, even if I’ve also reaped some benefits along the way. It’s what I tell myself. But with each passing day, as Georgina’s hazel eyes increasingly fill with trust and affection toward me... I’m beginning to worry I might be barreling toward a catastrophe here. One I won’t be able to fix.
“I wouldn’t blame your father for thinking I’m too old for you,” I admit. “To be honest, I’m thinking the same thing. I’m deeply conflicted about how young you are, Georgina. A month ago, I never would have believed I’d be dating a twenty-one-year-old. And yet, here I am.”
Her face lights up. “You’re dating me, Mr. Rivers?”
Shit. What did I just commit to? And how can I get myself uncommitted, if needed, without ruining this good thing?
“I thought you said you’re merely ‘seducing me,’” she sings out happily, and the look of unadulterated joy on her face instantly shoos away my threatening anxiety, the way a shaken broom shoos away a stray cat.
“Yes, I said that,” I say. “But, at this point, I think we can both agree: seduction complete.”
She straddles me on the couch and throws her arms around my neck. “I’m glad you’re dating me.” She bats her eyelashes. “Even if it’s got to be a secret for a little while.” She gasps. “Oh! I just got a great idea! I could tell my father the money to pay off his mortgage came from that same cancer charity that paid for his medication!”
