Apparently, I’m horny for Barrett’s hands. They are sexy. They’re large, yet elegant. Can hands be elegant? Maybe it’s his long fingers or the way they look so fucking capable, and capable of fucking. Oh, shit. Do not think that. He might also be a mind reader. That could be why he’s silent a lot. He’s keeping the pathway open to be able to read other people’s thoughts. My cheeks heat and I wish I had my paper back so I could fold it into a fan. The accordion style you’d make at summer camp in arts and crafts.
I’m so distracted with calming myself down that when Barrett hands me back the paper I’m confused at what I’m looking at.
Barrett has added some language at the top that reads like a contract. It states that I will continue to pretend to be his girlfriend for business purposes until his deal with Fred is signed or for six weeks, whichever comes first, and in return he will grant me six conditions that can be added at any time. Below, there are six lines that Barrett has drawn on the page.
“Six weeks,” I say, noting the timeline. “Do you really think you’ll be able to close a deal with Fred in that time frame?”
“That’s not your concern, but yes. I know what I want and I know how to get it.”
“They can be anything?” I ask.
“No conditions on your conditions, with the exception of getting rid of the contract that requires you to be my girlfriend for business purposes. Other than that, it is up to you, but there are only six, so use them wisely.”
“You sound like a genie in a lamp.” I pause to think for a moment. “Why six?”
“One per week. Or you can use them as you choose.”
The waiter returns to take our order, but I’m confused when he sets down a bag on the table.
“Here is that order for you, sir.” The waiter turns to me, “Miss, what can I get for you?”
“What is that?” I ask.
Barrett stands, his chair scraping loudly on the cement patio.
“I can’t stay. I’ve got a meeting downtown.” He turns to the waiter, “Put her meal on my card.” Barrett hands him a fifty-dollar bill, then slides his gaze back to me to add, “I’ll be in touch.”
The waiter is excited about his tip, but when he reads my annoyance, his face turns guilty.
“Your boyfriend is super-hot,” he smiles, obviously thinking the compliment about Barrett’s looks will make me feel better about being ditched at lunch, then tucks the bill into his apron, “and generous.”
The playfulness I felt for a half second between us vanishes with Barrett’s abrupt departure. I need to remind myself of the situation. Barrett and I have a contract for me to be his fake girlfriend. He’s in it for himself. The very fact that he couldn’t take thirty minutes to eat a meal with me is evidence of that. Next time I start ogling his hands, I’ll need to remember that.
“He’s something all right,” I respond, before placing my order.
Thursday afternoon I’m finishing up notes on a manuscript that I pulled from the slush pile. It’s got real potential and I’m going to pitch it to JoAnna at our next editorial meeting. My phone vibrates from its place on my desk.
Barrett: I need your girlfriend services. Marcus will be picking you up in ten minutes.
I glance at the clock. It’s three thirty in the afternoon. What the hell? I can’t just leave work.
I type out my response.
Me: I’m working.
His response is quick.
Barrett: Your job depends on it.
Ugh. God, I hate that he has this over my head. I could tell JoAnna and blow up his business deal. That would show him. But that would blow up my life, too.
My stomach churns at Barrett’s reminder that I’d be jobless, possibly ousted from the entire industry if every publishing house knew I was fired from St. Clair Press. I glance down at the manuscript I’ve been reading and I instantly know I’ll have to go along with his demands.
I text back a thumbs up, which is really a giant fuck you, but I doubt Barrett knows that, then start gathering my things.
On my way out, I stop by JoAnna’s office to let her know that I’m leaving. Fake relationship with her son aside, ever since the party at her apartment, I’m determined to be on my best behavior. After this deal with Barrett ends, the slate will be wiped clean and I don’t want to give her any other reason to fire me. It’s only honesty from here on out.
I’ve never left work early before. While I do tend to work from home in the evenings, reading manuscripts and checking emails, I hate that I’m cutting out early.