Marshmallow swings a look at me, and I can’t tell if he’s thinking I’m an idiot to consider this, or if I’d be an idiot to walk away.
I study Hayes, looking for any sign he’s having the time of his life yanking my chain here. “There aren’t any details about us dating before I was divorced, because we just met.”
“Once again, darling, you are so na?ve in the ways of the world.”
It’s probably wrong to get a little thrill every time he implies I’m ignorant in how the rich operate. It’s like I can’t wait for him to educate me. “Just how terrifying is your mother, boo-berry? She always seems so nice on talk shows and during red carpet interviews.”
I’m rewarded with a nose twitch. “My mother is a menace. She wants me married. I’m uninterested. So you’ll run interference, I’ll have peace and quiet, and I won’t tell her what happened to the statue of my grandfather.”
“Why does she want you married?”
Well. Would you look at that? The have you been living under a rock? look is apparently universal across all socioeconomic statuses. “Do you read the news, Begonia?”
“Been a little busy getting divorced here, Hayes. Also, I gave up celebrity gossip around the time Violet Quinn checked into rehab and every channel had a live newsfeed of the clinic she was supposedly staying at. It felt like such a violation of her privacy when she was in such a low place, not to mention everyone else who could’ve been exposed on national TV for being near the place, and it made my stomach hurt.”
He studies me briefly like he’s trying to decide if I’m for real before sighing and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Eleven minutes, Ms. Fairchild. If you intend to reject my settlement offer, I suggest using your eleven minutes to gather what you can of your belongings before I forcibly throw you out.”
“I can’t really be the best partner in crime if I don’t know why we’re committing the heist. Why does your mother want you married? Is it like, normal mother stuff, with her insisting you’ve waited long enough to give her grandbabies? Does she still do your laundry and she’s tired of it and wants another woman to take over raising you instead? Oh my god. If you tell me you’re gay and your family won’t accept that, I’m sorry, I won’t be your fake girlfriend, but I will one thousand percent be the person who gets arrested for telling every last one of them off. Is that it? Are you in love with a man? Oh my god. Razzle Dazzle has never done a film with main characters who aren’t straight, have they? Oh my god.”
Marshmallow growls.
He knows what’s up.
And Hayes—Hayes looks amused.
God help me.
He’s rakishly handsome when he smiles, and that is not helping things. “My mother knows better than to insist I raise a child merely to satisfy her urges to hold a baby. I’m well aware of how to send my laundry out for cleaning without needing any assistance, along with conducting every other chore and task necessary to be a fully-functioning adult. And I am not in love with a man, but you’re still welcome to give my mother an earful about the homogeny of Razzle Dazzle’s films. Congratulations, Ms. Fairchild. You’ve just convinced me more than ever that you’re the right woman for the job.”
My heart squeezes. So does my vagina, which is like, hello, what? That hasn’t happened in months. “Did you just call me attractive?”
“Dear god, no. Rather annoying, actually. Which is perfect. My mother will have her hands so full trying to get rid of you that she’ll leave me alone completely. Add in her fear that I’ll find someone even worse after you if she doesn’t back off, and this is perfect. The document, Ms. Fairchild. Last chance. Are we doing this the easy way, or shall I get my attorney and the sheriff on the phone?”
7
Hayes
Begonia Fairchild might have passed an initial background check and signed the contract to play my fake girlfriend while never giving anyone the details under threat of financial ruination, but she’s also a tenacious pain in the ass.
Perfect for when my mother gets here.
Right now?
When I’d prefer to find a bed that her dog hasn’t shed all over so that I can sleep without waking up covered in hives and unable to breathe?
Right now, I’m considering the idea that a prison sentence for murder would also get me out of being attractive to the majority of the segment of the world’s single women who would like to snag the world’s last eligible heterosexual male billionaire.