Chapter 26
Ugh. I hate this. I hate everything about this, and now, he wants my help to get me my money? This isn’t right. I should walk away.
But I want my fucking money.
“Fine. I’m listening.”
“So, you’ll help?”
I laugh and sip my drink. I’ve already decided he’s probably not lying. If he was, it would have been a more fanciful lie. Something far more interesting than his dad, wallet-blocking him. But I’m going to make him sweat it out a little. He more than deserves that.
“I will listen. Whether I help depends on this plan of yours.”
“My father has this thing about me settling down. He thinks that if I’ve committed to a woman, then clients will see me as commitment-worthy. It’s some old school bullshit, but he clings to it.”
“Not a bad theory, I guess. People like stability—wait.” He’s not about to suggest what I think he’s about to suggest, is he?
“That’s where you come in.”
Panic clutches at my throat, and it goes raspy. This cannot be happening. “Anderson?—”
He puts his hands up to cut me off. “I know you’re gonna say no, but hear me out.”
I laugh and realize there is not enough alcohol in the bar for what he’s about to say. “You’re insane.”
“And you were willing to fuck me for this money. Are you saying you won’t do a little role-playing for it, too?”
“I mean, fair enough, but low blow.”
“Didn’t mean it as an insult, I promise. Just that, if you’re willing to go to one extreme?—
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But lying to your family? This is a lot, even for you.”
He nods once. “If you pretend to be my fiancée at Sunday supper with my parents, then I can all but guarantee he will unfreeze my accounts. What he needs is for me to feel stable. That’s it. And when he unfreezes them, I pay you.”
“That’s it? I show up for one family dinner, and,” I snap my fingers, “poof, the money?”
He takes a stiff breath. “Not entirely. My father is not easy to impress. I’ve been trying my whole life and only managed the feat a handful of times. This will take you, at the top of your game. He will try to trip you up, to make you say or do the wrong thing. My mom is easier—she just wants to see me happy. But Dad is a beast. He will want to know what clubs you belong to?—
“None.”
“What books you read?—”
“Do romance novels count?”
“No. He will want to know about your breeding.”
I laugh so hard, I’m convinced whisky will burn a tunnel through my sinus cavity. My eyes burn, but I don’t care, because that was funny as hell. “My breeding? Am I a cocker spaniel?”
“It just means he’ll want to know about your family, June. Who your parents are, your grandparents. He wants to know how stable you are, too. If you were pedigreed, he would have heard of you by now. This is good and bad. The thing you have over him is that you’re an unknown entity, so you can be whatever he wants.”
That sounds suspiciously like what Cesar and Camille had said about my fateful night. He can’t possibly mean it that way … but I have to ask. “Are you saying you want me to sleep with your dad?”
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?”