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“Or maybe I’m just saying what you expect me to say and not what’s true.”
“Then what is true?”
“Google.”
“Google?” My eyebrows stitch together.
“Yeah, you know, this modern thing called the internet. You can find out just about anything you want to know about a person simply by typing their name into Google. And you don’t need any money to do it.”
“Smart ass,” I say matter of factly. “Adding it to the list.” I tap my temple.
“You’ve started a list about me?” He nibbles playfully on his bottom lip, drawing my gaze there for a short moment before I force it back up to his eyes. “Can I know what else is on it?”
“Something tells me you wouldn’t like it very much.”
“Harsh.” He scratches his chin, studying me for a long moment. “You’re not at all what I expected,” he muses. And while the idea that he even thought of me enough to expect something excites me more than it should, I don’t let it show. I would never give him that satisfaction.
“Well, considering the type of women you surround yourself with, I’ll take unexpected as a compliment.” I smooth the front of my ivory dress, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Clarke Hamilton.” He fights a smile.
Before I can even form a sentence in my head, let alone speak it, he spins on his heel and heads inside, disappearing around the corner moments later.
I take a deep breath in, trying to wrap my head around what the hell just happened. I’ve had some pretty unbelievable encounters with celebrities over the years, but never have I been left feeling so utterly speechless and confused.
Did Treyton Tyler really just force me into agreeing to have dinner with him?
Did I really just let him?
Regret pools in my stomach and even though every fiber of me is dead set on backing out, deep down I know that I won’t. Because I need the money, as pathetic as that sounds. Maybe he’s right… Maybe everyone does have a price… Including me.
I shake off the thought.
Agreeing to dinner to close a deal that I’ve worked really hard for does not mean I can be bought. It simply means that I’m smart enough not to walk away from a half million dollars simply because I don’t want to bethatgirl. You know the one. The one foolish enough to be swept up in someone else’s glamourous life. The one that loses herself in their light and forgets how to shine on her own. The one who ends up heartbroken and alone when it all falls apart around her.
I don’t want that life. I’ve witnessed that life up close and personal and to this day, I still wish I could scrub the memory of it from my brain.
Taking another deep breath, I slowly blow it out, refusing to let my mind go there right now. This is not the same. I’m not a married woman having an affair with a famous client. No, I’m a single, grown ass woman, who is making a smart financial decision. That is all.
But no matter how much I tell myself that, I can’t help but feel like this is exactly something my mother would have done. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
I wait until the front door alarm announces Treyton’s departure before heading inside, my heeled feet clicking against the marble flooring as I make my way through the expansive house, flipping off lights and checking the doors and windows. It’s not necessary, as houses like this are equipped with so much security I could leave every door open and no one would dare break in. Well, no one smart anyway. But I always do it. No matter how big or small, I have a routine with every house.
It takes me longer than usual to walk the estate, checking every bedroom to make sure it’s empty. By the time I make it back down to the kitchen, my body is more than ready for a warm bubble bath and an oversized glass of wine. After the day I’ve had, I think I deserve it.
Collecting my brochures off the counter, I nearly drop the entire stack when I see someone has written over the front of one of my business cards. And not just any someone…Treyton. In perfect black marker reads:Because I know you want it-followed by a phone number.
I pick up the card and crumble it in my fist, tossing it into the trash can before exiting through the garage entrance.Yeah buddy, that’s how bad I want it, I think to myself, shaking my head as I climb into my dark grey Honda Insight.
Seriously, what freaking nerve.Because I know you want it. Is he serious right now?
I stew the entire forty-five minute trek from Malibu back to Los Angeles, regretting that I agreed to dinner with him more and more as each mile passes. By the time I make it home, pulling into my assigned parking spot outside of my building, I’ve talked myself out of going at least a hundred times. And as much as I’d love to follow through with that option, I know I can’t.
I can tolerate almost anything for one evening. Though I will admit, this might be one of the more difficult things I’ve had to endure. Not because Treyton isn’t every bit as handsome and charismatic as they make him out to be in magazines and celebrity news sites, more so because he is. But also because I hate giving someone like him any type of satisfaction.
Then again, he said I had to have dinner with him. He didn’t say I had to like it…
It’s seven o’clock on the dot when the buzzer inside my condo rings. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, trying to convince myself that my knee length, red dress and bright matching lips aren’t to impress Treyton, but rather to give him a big middle finger.
