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He freezes for a moment like a deer in headlights, then bursts into a laugh with his very soul. When he catches his breath, he shakes his head. “Fuck no!”
“Okay. Look, it’s not that funny, considering everything. This whole situation has been a roller coaster for me, so I’m not out of pocket for asking that.”
He wipes his eyes. “I don’t mean to laugh so much at that, but if he ever touched you like that, I will end him.”
That’s oddly touching to hear, and I can’t put my finger on why. “Good to know.”
“I want you to pretend to be my fiancée so I can get control of my fortune. Nothing more than that. The second I get my money, you get paid. That’s the takeaway.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair, and I remember doing that when we were together that night. The feel of his hair. It’s softer than it looks. Touching him like that was a strange and wonderful thing. Makes it hard to hang onto my anger, but a minute ago, I thought he might sell me to his dad, so the anger comes right back.
Sharply, I ask, “So be an impressive fiancée, and I get my money. That’s the deal?”
He nods.
To be clear, I tell him, “You know I’m not sleeping with you, either, right?”
His eye pinches at the corner like my words struck something. “I’d expect nothing less, June. Not after what you’ve been through on my behalf.”
It’s funny. Saying the words out loud to him struck something in me, too. Maybe it’s the finality of it. Like I’ve closed a door I might have wanted to remain open. I’m not sure. But now that I’ve told him, I have the urge to take it back. Strange, that.
But the only reason it stings a little is the obvious. I mean, he is easily the hottest guy I’ve ever been with, and the sex? Oof. That was something. A memory that’s inspired me to burn out the motor on my best vibrator. It’s replacement will be the first thing I buy with my money when it comes in.
If. If it comes in.
I still want him sweating this out. “You realize this is a big ask, right?”
“Without question, and as such, I’ll tack on another ten grand for whatever playacting you will do to accomplish our goal. Consider it a consultant’s fee. It will top you off at an even four hundred thousand. It’s always bugged me that we didn’t get to even it out at the auction, but some of those bidders were too dumb to realize what was on that stage.”
A flush of heat rolls through me. Since that night, he’s only had the best things to say about me, and I’ve almost constantly thought the worst of him. Even with years of bullying behind us, I still feel guilty for thinking that way about Anderson West. Is this a weird kind of Stockholm Syndrome? Whatever it is, when he says things about me being worth more, or that he remembers everything about me, I’m taken aback. He’s either the best actor in the world, or he’s being honest.
I can’t tell which frightens me more. But if this is all a prank, then I can hang onto my anger. It’s all I’ve had for years. It’s comfortable. Anger pushed me through school. It drove me to overachieve and earn scholarships and get an excellent position at the firm I’m with now. Anger at Anderson West and Tag McAllister and all the other snobs who said I didn’t belong with them. So, I hope this is a prank. It lets me stay angry.
And if this isn’t a prank … if he means what he says about me, then I am beyond confused about every interaction we have ever had. My mouth goes dry at the thought of it, so I take another swig. “Tell me what I need to do, Anderson. Prep me for this. How can I help?”
Chapter 27
JUNE
The text came in early Sunday morning. I’d expected it to be Anderson. Something about making sure I wear the right clothes or say the right thing or use the right fork. He’s been tutoring me in etiquette lessons he’s convinced I’ve never had. He’s right about that, but a long time ago, I’d googled and YouTubed everything I could on etiquette to be able to mix with my high-end clientele. No sense in losing an account because I drank my soup the wrong way. I’m not new. But, I want to impress his dad, so I’ve put up with it for a couple of days.
Today, though, the text was from work.
One of our clients is having some sort of emotional breakdown, so it’s all hands on deck. Hoorah. Catering to whiny babies is one of the many reasons I need out of the firm. Any other day, I could lie and say I love my job. Today, though, I’m nervous enough about supper with the West parents. I do not need this on top of that.
But no one asked me. No one ever does. Which means I have to muscle through today and muscle through tonight. I can have my own personal breakdown come Monday morning.
This would all be less grating if I had my money already. Of course, it would be. That would mean I could be done with this job. I groan in my bed and fling the covers off. Staying in bed longer and wallowing in my misfortune is not going to change anything.
Today changes things. It will change everything. It has to. I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t work.
No use thinking like that. Let’s go.
I haul out of bed and get ready for work. Sunday should be a day of rest and relaxation, or in my case, it should be a day-long existential crisis about lying to a man I don’t even know so I can get my ill-gotten gains. Either way, it should not be a day of work.
But maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Going to work will keep me from freaking out all day about tonight. Can’t have an existential crisis while consoling a giant wealthy baby.
My day disproves my theory.
As I’m coaxing a man off a metaphorical ledge, I’m also wondering if he’s wrong to be on said metaphorical ledge. In fact, maybe he’s the sane one between us. Either way, I’m multitasking—work and personal crisis—all day long, and it is exhausting. Thankfully, they also brought in Callie for today, so I have her to whine to. “… it’s a lot, Cal.”
