Chapter 7 #2
I glance over at Grayson, who remains suspiciously silent throughout this entire grilling session. He raises an eyebrow at me, and there's a flicker of amusement and retribution in his gaze, as though to say, You asked for this.
He's right, of course. But I'd had no idea it would be this bad.
The interrogation continues in the same vein, relentless and invasive, and he watches the whole time, not making a single comment, not even a token attempt to intervene.
Eventually, though, I've had enough. She cuts me off in the middle of explaining how my parents moved to New York from Minnesota, tossing off some remark about how that explains my "agricultural look," and that's when I finally snap.
"If you're not going to fucking let me finish my thought, then I'm just going to stop answering your questions," I say sharply.
She smirks like she enjoys getting under my skin. "Ooh, feisty."
"And you're disrespectful and dismissive, just like your brother. It must run in the family." I sigh, roll my eyes, grab my wine glass, and mutter under my breath, "Rich brats, I swear."
Both her eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, do I have to explain it further?
" I lean in, my voice cool but biting. "Did you not realize how absolutely bitchy you've been since the beginning of our conversation?
At first, I thought maybe I was just being sensitive.
But then I realized this is a game to you.
You're just another rich asshole. You actually enjoy making others uncomfortable.
You enjoy thinking you're better than them, which is interesting because nothing you've bragged about so far has been accomplished by your own merit.
Try graduating college with only two hundred dollars in the bank and a mountain of student-loan debt and see where you get.
If you manage to make something of yourself on that start in life, then maybe I'll be impressed.
But right now, you've not earned any kind of right to talk down to people as though you're better than them. "
"Sounds like you're jealous," she shoots back.
I don't even dignify it with a response. I just glare at her, refusing to look away, not prepared to back down.
After my rant, I'd expected her to be furious enough to say something vile back, and that last line was meant to provoke. Instead, she grins disarmingly, eyes gleaming with something like approval.
"Oh, my mother is definitely going to hate you. Whereas with me, well, I'm growing to love you more and more every moment. In fact, I think you're perfect, darling. Truly perfect."
I sip my drink. "I'm not sure I'm going to like her very much either."
"No, perhaps not," she says lightly. "But like I said, you're perfect for little Grayson here. For what it's worth, I was being rude on purpose. Well, even ruder than normal anyway. But now we can become the very best of friends. Go on — tell me you forgive me, and let's be friends."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not a total bitch, though it may seem that way."
"No, I mean, why were you being ruder than normal to me?"
"Oh." She mulls it over, then shrugs. "It's… preparation. It's hard to explain. You'll understand when you meet my mother."
After that, the meal finally becomes more pleasant, Steph revealing the more entertaining side of her character.
She tones down her attitude and genuinely listens when I answer her questions.
She shows interest in the things that interest me, and she tells genuinely funny, sometimes outrageous anecdotes about her and Grayson's childhood — stories that offer a fascinating glimpse into the insulated world of this billionaire family.
The time slips by quickly, and before I realize it, it's gone two in the afternoon and Steph is rising to depart. Though I'm still not letting her off the hook, she leans in and gives me a hug before she goes.
"I have to take off now," she says brightly. "But I'll see you at the family dinner, right?"
I'm not sure what to say to that. How long is Grayson planning on keeping this ridiculous plot going? "Er… I guess."
"Of course I will." She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a sleek business card, and slides it across the table. "Call me. You can't carry on wearing this stuff. I want to take you shopping and buy you some real clothes."
"I don't want you to buy anything for me."
"I know, but I want to."
"I don't need designer-label clothing." I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger with a big bank account barging into my life and turning me into her personal charity case for her own amusement.
"Oh, but you absolutely do need these clothes — and you know it.
It's what your clients expect to see you wearing, and if they don't trust your clothes, they won't trust you.
Anyway, like you said, Daddy's a billionaire.
I can afford it, so what are you worrying about?
Besides, it'll be a fun girl's afternoon out. "
She laughs a tinkling, high-society laugh, kisses first Grayson and then me on the cheek, and flounces off, still talking loudly on her cellphone as she heads for the exit.
"She's weird," I murmur as I watch her leave. Then I glance at Grayson, who's giving me an odd look.
"Right, Mr. Grayson fucking Wolfe." I level a stern gaze at him, and he has the grace to look a little contrite — though nowhere near as much as he should, by rights.
"Now spill. What the hell is going on here?
What on earth gives you the right to think you can go around announcing I'm your girlfriend to your sister?
Why am I supposed to meet your parents, for crying out loud?
And what's this dinner event that your sister was talking about? "
Grayson opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
"One final thing, Grayson. Don't think I've forgotten about my money either.
I want to hear some answers — and they'd better be damned good ones, and they'd better include an agreement to pay what you owe.
Because if not, you will regret this morning's fiasco very much indeed, and that, sir, is a promise. "