“How old are you, again?” I ask, turning to face her. I’m greeted by a very angry-looking woman: arms crossed, jaw clenched, foot tapping.
Damn, the girl truly can commit murder with her eyes.
“What the actual hell are you doing here?”
“We’ll get to that in a second. I just need to know how old you are first.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, babe, I’m twenty-eight. No need to call your lawyers.” She passes me, her shoulder bumping against mine as she makes her way to her unmade bed and takes a seat. Her sheets are covered in tiny hearts, whereas her comforter is pitch black and velvety. I’m trying to gain an understanding of this girl, but I can’t seem to put my finger on her. She’s all over the place.
Rock posters. Heart sheets.
Surly attitude. Cares about her parents.
Snarls from across the table. Will gobble down whatever is placed in front of her.
“Now tell me what the hell you think you’re doing,” she says.
“Doing you a favor.” I stick my hands in my pants pockets.
“How is lying to my mom doing me a favor? She legit thinks we’re a couple.”
“Which was accomplished by my impeccable acting. You could use some adjustments.”
Her brows narrow. Cool it with the teasing, man, she’s not open to it right now.
“I thought I told you at Chipotle I wasn’t interested.”
“You were interested,” I say. “But you were spooked. Not sure what spooked you, but I saw a shift in you. I knew you weren’t through with this; you just needed some encouragement. That’s what the flowers were, encouragement.”
“Uh-huh. And what would you say today is?”
“Today is a kick in the ass.”
“I don’t need a kick in the ass. You’re the one who needs this more than I do.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, feeling cocky now with knowledge. “Because from what it seems like, your mom is counting down the seconds until you leave this house. She also seems to believe you will be receiving a promotion soon, when, in fact, you’re out of a job. Care to tell me why she thinks that?”
Lottie moves her jaw back and forth but doesn’t answer me.
I thumb toward the door. “Or should I go ask her myself?” I move to leave and she quickly springs from the bed and grabs my hand, pulling me back.
“Don’t say a GD thing to my mom.” She sits on the bed and then flops backwards. “God, why is this such a nightmare?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say. “It could be really simple. We can help each other out, but for some reason, you’re not allowing that to happen.”
“Because you’re a complete stranger,” she hisses at me. “You want me to be your fiancée, live with you apparently, and be at your beck and call? I have a life I have to live, I don’t have time to play your rich-dick game.”
“This isn’t a game for me,” I say. “This is a huge fuckup on my part, and I’m trying to make it better, for everyone. And you won’t have to be at my beck and call, just a few dinners here and there, maybe a weekend thing, just until I can secure this deal, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”
“And what do I get in return?” she asks, lifting up so she’s leaning on her elbows.
“Whatever you want,” I say, because I’m at that point. I want her to know the sky is the limit, because I’ve yet to mention the pregnancy thing. “Need a place to stay? I have a seven-bedroom home. Need a date for your reunion? I’m your man. Need me to make a phone call to this ex-boss of yours, let her know she made a huge mistake by letting you go? I’m there for you. Want a job? I can find you one.”
“I don’t want a job from you,” she says. “I really want . . .” Her voice trails off as she shakes her head and looks toward her window.
Oh, she does want something. I can see it in her far-off gaze. It’s wishful, hopeful, something behind those sultry eyes that she truly, truly wants.
I take that opportunity to sit next to her on the bed. This might be a breakthrough moment for me, where I can move past that tough exterior of hers. “What do you want, Lottie? Trust me, I can make pretty much anything happen.”
Her lips twist to the side as she avoids eye contact with me. Just from the way her brow draws together, I know she’s thinking about it, considering telling me. Instead of pushing, I wait.
And wait.
Until . . .