Chapter 10
?
This isn’t a romcom, and we are not fake dating in it.
Mirabelle
It’s actually way too early for this.
After everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours, I am not managing my expressions well, so when Damion Anders says something very stupid to me while I’m serving him breakfast, there is a chance I say something very impolite back.
Something like:
“Are you out of your gourd?”
His fork freezes above his serving of oven pancakes, topped with fruit and homemade cream, with extra eggs on the side.
I continue, “You want us to fake date?”
He sets his fork down and has the decency to meet my eyes. “Well… I wouldn’t call it—”
“You said to me, three seconds ago, I’ve given this situation with the media some thought, and I think it would be a good idea for us to pretend to date for a little while. How is that not calling it fake dating?”
“I just…didn’t use those words.”
Yeah, or your brain.
Crossing my arms, I take advantage of the fact I am standing and he is sitting.
It gives me approximately four inches of superiority.
“I’m going to let you explain yourself. Because there simply must be a good reason for you to have come out here and told me that you’d like to take the lie we had nothing to do with and begin a career as liars together. ”
He winces. “If we push back against the accusations, the media will make a bigger story out of it. If we peacefully have a boring relationship then amicably break up in public at some holiday event I’ll no doubt be invited to over the next few months, the media won’t have much reason to spend their energy on us. ”
My nostrils flare when I inhale, and I take a moment to find my aptitude for empathy. He’s given this thought. He’s made a plan.
It’s just stupid.
And he’s stupid.
And I think it’s very clear that I really do not much care for him.
I bite my cheek before I get the impulse to say such a thing out loud to my boss who pays me well and creates a very calm work environment, all things considered.
All things considered, he could be treating me like a moron right now.
He could be looking me dead in the eyes and asking where I missed the fact he’s a billionaire.
Overnight, security and a whole entire brick wall showed up around this place.
Scandals should have been calculated into my decision to take this position. And he could be telling me that.
But he isn’t.
So, he’s not a bad person.
I just don’t like him.
Lifting my chin, I say, “I am not interested in perpetuating these falsehoods, and I will not become your accomplice in the matter.”
“There’s a good chance you’ll be approached in public by someone wanting a story.”
“I will tell them the truth. About how there isn’t a story.”
“The truth doesn’t exactly imply you have my protection.”
“It also doesn’t imply that I’d be worth anything if kidnapped and held for ransom, because it implies that you don’t care about me, because I will say, out loud, with my words, I’m just his housekeeper, not his girlfriend, and he doesn’t care about me.”
If they don’t believe me because of their own assumptions, that’s really not my problem, now is it?
His fist cracks when it clenches against the table. “I’d feel more comfortable if I went with you the next time you need to go out.”
“What?”
“But, inevitably, seeing us together in any capacity will result in more fuel for this fire.”
“What?”
“So, I say we just let the assumptions simmer until they grow dull, then we can peacefully bring it all to a mundane close.”
“Huh?”
He huffs, pushes his chair back, and rises—eliminating my superiority as his arms cross, too. “What?” he grumps. “Where did I lose you?”
“At the beginning, but also at the part where you said you—a billionaire with a million and one things to do—would feel more comfortable following your housekeeper around on her errands instead of just, I don’t know, putting a security guard on me or something.”
“I’m plenty secure,” he grumbles.
My eyes fly down his broad chest to his massive crossed arms. They could eliminate me via gentle hug.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Untangling my own arms, I take a step back and plant my hands on my hips.
“The bottom line is: no, I am not comfortable pretending to date you. If I’m approached by anyone, I will tell them the truth.
If they persist in making up lies, I will hate it, but at least they won’t be my fault. ”
For the first time in the years I have interacted with this man, he ignores my personal space to step in close…and uses my given name. Leaning over me, he murmurs, “Is there something about me that’s repulsive to you, Mirabelle?”
Since I’m not in a good mental space right now, I forget myself, my position, and my senses. Because what do I say in response to that question?
Obviously, the full, unencumbered, impolite, and honest…truth.
“Yes.”
?
I’m not fired.
In case you were wondering.
I don’t know how I’ve not been fired after blatantly telling my boss that I do, in fact, find him repulsive, but here I am, still employed.
Now that I’ve had some time to calm down, I recognize I was attempting to communicate that I find his willingness to lie repulsive, but in the moment I did not exactly clarify.
And I didn’t exactly get a chance to explain myself, because his expression settled into something distant…and a little haunted, perhaps…before he muttered, I see, picked up his plate, and returned to his office.
He’s been there ever since, and he didn’t look at me when I brought him his other meals. He merely grunted acknowledgement and kept working.
Now, curled up in the center of my new living room, I stare at the shag carpet beneath me while Fawn sprawls on the couch, scrolling on her phone.
Blinking at and running my hands through the soft blues of the rug, I review the day’s events.
After this morning, Mr. Anders hasn’t said another word to me. He took his pre-workout, but he never left his office to spend his usual hour in the gym. He remained stoic, distant, and simmering with a collection of emotions I still can’t figure out.
“Maybe I am fired,” I whisper.
Fawn lowers her phone and stares at me. “What?”
I meet her eyes.
“We just got settled in. Why would you be fired all of a sudden? You’re the best worker I’ve ever met. You’ve created a meal plan down to the gram of the nutrients Damion needs. Anyone who’d fire you is a total moron.”
“I may have called him repulsive this morning.”
Fawn swings her legs off the couch and drops her phone onto the cushion beside her. “Are you a total moron?”
I cross my arms. “He wanted me to lie.”
“When a billionaire needs you to lie…” She stops. “No, wait. That doesn’t sound like good life advice at all actually. What did he want you to lie about?”
“Being in a relationship with him.” My stomach twists, and I slump. “Oh, it’s horrible, Fawn. There’s a picture of us online, and the internet says we’re dating. But we aren’t. And then instead of agreeing to tell people that we aren’t, he suggested that instead we pretend to for a little while.”
Fawn’s mouth drops open. “The billionaire asked you to fake date? And you said no?”
“Of course I said no! I don’t like him, and that’s dishonest.”
“Couldn’t you have said you’d date-date him for a bit? It’d have had the same result! Without dishonesty!”
“But I don’t like him!”
Fawn slides to the floor, meets me in the center of the rug, takes my shoulders, and shakes me. “What’s not to like about him! He’s handsome! He’s rich! He can probably bench press a freight train! He might be Batman!”
“He’s like nine years older than me and doesn’t smile.
I have no idea how to read him, and when I stop policing myself in front of him, my first inclination is to confirm that I find him repulsive.
So that’s not really the greatest place for a real relationship to start.
Also, muscles are creepy, and bulgy, and I bet he’s all veiny because of them. ”
She shakes me more violently, practically crying, “How can you tell beneath all the hot tattoos, Miraaa?”
That is an excellent question, and the answer is: I don’t know. In other news, I’m starting to get dizzy. “Please stop shaking me.”
“I’m attempting to shake some brain cells to life. Once it works, I will stop.”
“Please stop shaking me before I throw up on you.”
That gets through to her, so she releases me to pout.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t see why it matters so much to you.”
“Well, for starters, if you’ve gotten yourself fired, we have to move again.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Right.”
“You forgot that part?”
I forgot that part. I cut my eyes off my dear friend and attempt to squash the anxiety now building in my gut.
I really don’t want to move again. It was so much work in such a short amount of time, and if we’re getting kicked out, I’m sure the timeframe will be even shorter.
Not to mention that we haven’t even been here long enough for me to feel settled.
There are still boxes to unpack in my closet.
Fawn releases a long-suffering sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
My shoulders sag. “Do you…think I should go talk to him? It’s not too late, is it?” I turn my attention toward the window and find that there’s still a little brightness to the sky, making it sunset and navy.
“Do you think you can talk to him without making it worse?”
I have no idea. But trying is probably the decent thing to do. And trying before it’s completely dark out is probably not the worst idea either.
Despondent, I drag myself to my feet.
“Oh boy,” Fawn murmurs, looking up at my hung head. “It’ll be okay. Probably. You just…apologize and better communicate why you’re unwilling to date a billionaire, because surely you hate things like money and perks, not your very nice boss.”
“He’s not nice. He’s a grump.”
“And you’re a sunshine—so really it was all doomed from the start, because that kind of opposites attract? Never happens.”
I find myself rolling my eyes again before fortifying myself and heading toward the door.
This is going to go terribly; I just know it.
Because being myself—being blatantly honest—always does.