Ainsley #2
“Because of that, right there, Ainsley.”
Oh, shit. He’s thinking of fucking me on a couch, too? I lift my head and warily meet his eyes again to keep myself from looking at the smooth expanse of skin below his neck. For once, he’s not smiling, he’s dead serious, and his intensely blue eyes bore into me through the screen.
“Because of what?” I ask hesitantly, keeping a frown on my face to discourage any sexual thoughts on his side of the call.
“You actually show true emotion and let the real you peek through when you’re exasperated. The real emotion, good or bad, is better than this prickly persona that you’re trying on for size like it’ll fit one day. It doesn’t suit you.”
I bite my lip, my nostrils flaring as I huff out a breath, relieved he wasn’t thinking about sex but frustrated he’s so damn good at reading me when I’m normally so much better at projecting whatever I want people to see.
I can’t respond to his comment without giving him exactly what he wants—a heated denial that would serve to prove his point, or me admitting he’s right, which would also prove his point. I just shake my head.
“Why did you text me tonight?” I ask instead. I pull my knees up and rest my arms on top.
“I wanted to see what you’re up to.”
I give him an incredulous look. “You don’t have a life, do you?
First, you spent your Saturday morning at the Unicorn Café bothering me and meeting your sister-in-law, and now you’re spending your Saturday night calling a stranger because you have nothing better to do.
” A genuine smile lifts my cheeks. “And here I thought fancy billionaire businessmen had more important things to do with their time.” I laugh.
It feels good to be making fun of him, finally, after he’s been laughing at me for the majority of our exchanges today.
“Ah, that’s better. Just keep laughing, Spitfire, even if it’s at my expense.”
My laughter dies. Is he serious? He’s still smiling, which is something, and he doesn’t look pissed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You don’t have a life,” I say, gentler.
“I have my work and my boats on the coast and at the lake. But you’re completely right.
I haven’t given myself much of a life over the last year and a half.
Today was the first Saturday I didn't spend working at least part of the day in…damn, I don't know how long it’s been. I texted you because it gave me something to do other than turn back to work.”
My face softens at his admission, but I don’t let him off that easily. “You really have to get a life. How depressing. God, I wouldn’t want to end up like you in ten years.”
“You were working today, so you’re already on your way to becoming me,” he says, arching a dark eyebrow.
“That’s not the same thing,” I protest. “I had a last-minute story to write. I don't work every weekend.”
“And what were you up to tonight? Looks like you’re home, just like me.
Again, your odds aren’t looking good. You’re definitely going to end up a workaholic without a life at thirty-five just like me.
” His smile is devilish, popping the slightest hint of dimples into his cheeks that are far too enticing and I hate the way they look.
They’re lickable, and that’s ridiculous on a grown man without a life. Payton is ridiculous.
“I’m not home every Saturday night. I have a life.”
“You’re just being contrary now. Prove you have a life. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“What? No. I don’t date. Why would you even ask me that?
I don’t have to prove anything to you,” I snap, my defenses rising higher as I grow flustered.
“You’re annoying. Has anyone ever told you that, or does everyone try to kiss your ass because you have more money than God and they want to ride your coattails or get something out of you? ”
He laughs. “Fuck, I like you. I’m going to keep you around. Can you say more mean things to me?”
My mouth pops open in shock, not at all expecting that response. Is he serious? Is that why he’s been so persistent today? Should I have fawned over him instead, and he wouldn’t have paid me a second thought?
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, not sure how to take his comments. He’s not normal. There’s no way to anticipate his next move or comment, and that freaks me the hell out.
“You’re doing a decent job of creating a list of what’s wrong with me. I’m weird for smiling so much. I'm annoying. I don’t have a life. I have a stupid face. I’m sure given time, the list will grow.”
I feel a twinge of remorse for being such a bitch to him. “The list would grow slower if you left me alone like I asked.”
“Where’s the fun in that? And why? You’ve engaged with me every time I’ve talked to you. You secretly like it, even if you want to hate it or hate me, for whatever reason. You would’ve shut me down and not answered if you didn’t want to talk to me.”
I blink incredulously at his last words and my cheeks heat with outrage. “You told me if I didn’t answer your calls or texts, you'd show up at my house or work.” I fume, realizing I had a choice.
I could have ignored him, but then I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know more about Olympus and his family.
Not that he’s been very forthcoming on any details.
He’s been more intent on asking me questions and digging into my history than allowing me any opportunity to get to know what makes him tick or how Olympus runs internally.
Goddammit, I’ve let him distract me so thoroughly, that I’m not even doing my job right!
“Only when I plan on calling in my fake girlfriend favor,” he explains patiently, bringing me back to our conversation.
“How am I supposed to know when that’ll be?” Exasperation has my brows climbing higher.
“I’ll tell you. But we’ll need to know each other really well before we appear publicly as a couple to pull this off convincingly. So consider this me starting our friendship. Be my friend, Ainsley.”
“Are you so hard up for friends that you have to resort to asking women who don’t even like you to be your friends?” I sputter.
“Ah, but I think you do like me. You’re just telling yourself you don’t.
Why else would you have stayed on the phone with me for this long?
You enjoy sparring with me intellectually.
I stimulate you. It’s giving you the release you need because you’re wound so tight.
You like all the verbal back and forth and the mental gymnastics of saying I’m annoying and you hate how smiley I am while you bend over backward to make me smile more. It’s cute.”
“You’re impossible,” I spit as I look for a way to refute everything he’s said.
Am I enjoying this? I mean, maybe, a little bit.
But it’s not stimulating me or giving me a release.
Goddamn, that sounds way too sexual. “This isn’t going to work.
I can't pretend to date you when I don't even like you.”
“Of course you can. That makes it even better. There’s no risk of actually falling for me when you don't like me. It’s perfect.
I just need you to show up in public with me and look like we get along so Harlowe will buy it.
You did great this morning. Give me six months of that so she thinks it’s serious enough that she’ll let her guard down. ”
“Six months? Hell no, that’s way too long. I just met you today. There’s no way I’m tying myself to you for that long. You could be a sociopath.” I rub my forehead as I wonder how I got here. I’m arguing with a billionaire about the length of time I’m going to fake date him. This can’t be my life.
“I’m not a sociopath. I was tested when I was younger. It turns out I’m just a genius. And you agree, but for less time? Three months. Ninety-day fiancée style.”
“What the actual fuck? No. This is insane. No fiancée talk.” I shake my head and look back at the screen where Payton appears far too calm and collected.
“You were tested to see if you were a sociopath? Were you a weird kid? There are levels here that I need to know about. Did you have trouble connecting, or did you kill small animals? I have so many questions.”
He smirks and levels those gorgeous blue eyes at me.
“I was too literal and had trouble connecting. I was smarter than my peers and I electrocuted Zander once when we were kids. My mom wanted to make sure I didn’t do it on purpose and made it look accidental.
To be fair, kids can’t be sociopaths, which would actually be a diagnosis of Antisocial Personality Disorder, but they can have Conduct Disorder.
You have to meet certain criteria. They asked me a lot of questions and we looked at pictures of facial expressions, checked to see if I understood empathy, and stuff like that.
I didn’t have that either. Besides, I really like animals.
I would never kill them. My favorite animals are dolphins and sea turtles. What are yours?”
“Octopuses and seahorses,” I mutter, holding my head. This fucking man.
“We both chose marine animals. I love that for us. So ninety days work?”
My head warps at his persistent back and forth. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” I whisper, pinching my temples between my fingers.
“I’m glad you agree. I’ll work out the details of our fake relationship and get them drawn up in a contract. This is our little secret. No one else can know it’s fake, so we have to sell it well. Now I’ll say good night to my amazing fake girlfriend. Sleep tight and talk to you tomorrow, Muffin.”
He ends the call before I can get another word in.
I’m left holding my phone, my mouth gaping in shock.
He’s really the genius mastermind I thought, manipulating every situation to his advantage and leaving others three steps behind.
My overwhelmed mind spins for hours after, wondering how life could have turned upside down so thoroughly in a matter of hours from one chance encounter with the billionaire I’m now somehow tied to, as a fake girlfriend for ninety days.