15. Ariella
FIFTEEN
ARIELLA
“DID HE JUST SEND YOU TWO GRAND? HE’S LIKE A SUGAR DADDY! FORGET WORKING, LET HIM PAY FOR SHIT.”
“ Mamá, esta bien. Ugh, I have to go, Ariella just got home,” Gracie said, standing in the kitchen with her phone pulled away from her ear and a finger gun to her temple. Even from the door, I could hear my aunt rattling on, and it wasn’t on speaker. Gracie returned the phone to her ear, hurrying out a final, “ adiós, Mamá. Te quiero. ”
“What did my aunt want?” I asked, tossing my gym bag by the couch and hopping up on one of the two counter stools in our little kitchen.
“ Ay . She’s pissed at me because I’m not adding water to my dish soap.” Gracie huffed. “ Me dijo que soy wasteful. It’s not even like she’s the one buying the soap.”
Her irritation made me laugh. There were some things a Mexican mother would argue about ‘til her grave. Diluting your soap, shampoo, and conditioner with water was one of those things.
“Wait ‘til she finds out that you put your tortillas in the microwave sometimes. ”
Graciella spun so fast that her jaw-length hair managed to slap her in the face. “That was one time, and it was because I was drunk and didn’t want to burn down the fucking building.” I shrugged a shoulder, popping a grape into my mouth with a sly smile while she continued her rant. “Anyway, enough about me, how was your first day? Are they hot? Can I come watch them all sweaty? Do they wear slutty shorts?” Her eyes widened. “Do any of them have thigh tattoos?”
Damn it. I knew her interrogation was coming, but somehow I still wasn’t prepared for it. She’d managed to ask all those questions in a single breath. If she wasn’t in marketing, she could pursue a career as an auctioneer.
“You know how I went out with that guy the other night?” I peeked through my lashes at my cousin, who was practically crawling across the top of the counter to get closer to the chisme .
“The mystery man you refused to get any more details on.”
“Yup,” I said, popping the p . “Turns out, he’s the captain of the Dallas Desperad–”
A loud squeal that probably broke the sound barrier cut me off. “Shut the fuck up, Ari. Hottie is from the team you’re coaching?”
“Oh, it gets worse. They tried to fire me because there’s apparently a tabloid photo of us, and they didn’t want the owner’s son working with an ex.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening to a comical size. “Wait, what do you mean tried to fire you?”
My cheeks heated, embarrassment crawling up my neck. “I may or may not have told HR that we’re currently dating, since there was no policy against that. Which,” I winced, “ended with me storming into the men’s locker room and telling Dalton he better go along with it until I find a better solution.”
Gracie let out another shriek, dancing around in a circle chanting holy shit. “This is totally like a romance movie.”
Regret about telling her was already setting in. She always was the romantic—even if, weirdly enough, she was adamantly against relationships. We’d tried getting into the details of that once, but it hadn’t gone well.
“What are you talking about? It’s nothing like a romance movie. He’s just helping me keep my job. Or did you miss the part about me nearly getting fired because of some asinine rule made by his father ?” I added some extra emphasis on that part to really drive it home for her, but it didn’t dim the hearts in her eyes. “A man who’s also my boss, and who I’ll have to pretend not to be pissed at when we finally meet…shit. I hadn’t thought about how that’s gonna go.”
Gracie finally had an appropriate reaction and grimaced. “Maybe he’s always wanted a Mexican daughter-in-law.”
Her face wasn’t all that convincing.
I shrugged, fiddling with the pop holder on my phone, trying to avoid thinking too hard about what I’d gotten myself into. Spiraling wouldn’t help, but the uncertainty was already knotting in my stomach.
Cha-ching .
“What was that?” Gracie asked.
I flipped my phone over, ignoring her question as the noise sounded a second time. I knew exactly what that noise was for, but that didn’t prepare me for the numbers flashing on my screen.
CashPay:
$1000 from Dalton55
Ari, no one is going to believe this if I don’t at least have your number…
CashPay:
$1000 from Dalton55
If you don’t text me back I’m going to start sending higher dollar amounts. Which, weirdly enough, would only entice others not to respond…but I have a feeling you’d be pissed. (214)601-3330
“ Dios mío ,” Gracie said from beside me.
My cousin was loud ninety-nine percent of the time, but the other one percent she went into CIA mode and would pop up where you least expected. Like over my shoulder, trying to sneak a peek. I pulled my phone away, but it was too late.
“Did he just send you two grand? He’s like a sugar daddy! Forget working, let him pay for shit.”
“Graciella.” I shot her a look, but she just smirked and started listing off all the things I should let Dalton buy me. Most of them being food.
“Wait.” She stopped mid-kitchen pace. “Why is he messaging you over a payment app? ”
She had CIA-level observational skills, too, apparently.
“Because I didn’t give him my phone number,” I mumbled, picking at the callouses on my palm to avoid eye contact. There was a slight pause before Gracie busted up in laughter.
She dropped onto the couch, her legs kicking up as she gasped for air. “?A la verga! Ariella.” Sitting up, she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “That’s the definition of if he wanted to, he would . How many times has he sent you messages on there?”
I could feel the beads of sweat above my upper lip; they appeared when I was nervous or embarrassed. “I don’t know, like six or seven…or more.”
“Have you answered him?”
“No. I told you it was supposed to be a one-night thing, Gracie. I don’t have time for boys.”
A second later, a blur of pale pink smacked me in the side of the head. “Did you just throw a pillow at me?” I yelled, tossing it back.
She signed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “ Porque eres una idiota , Ariella. Text that man back before you do lose your job. How long do you think he will be nice to you if you ignore him?”
I groaned, staring down at my phone. Dammit, she was right.
Before I could chicken out, I opened my texts and typed a quick message.
Me:
Let’s meet up and go over our story and, you know, set some ground rules for this whole…situation.
He responded almost immediately.
Dalton:
Please tell me this is you Ari.
Me:
And if it wasn’t?
Dalton:
Then I’d keep sending you a thousand dollars until you responded.
Me:
You’re insane and I am sending back your money
Dalton:
Don’t bother sending it back. I’ll reject it
Dalton:
How about I pick you up for work tomorrow?
“You’re smiling at your screen,” Gracie said, sounding far too smug, so I made a point to frown. It was going to be my next facial expression anyway because I did not like his answers.
Me:
First of all, absolutely not. I am not keeping TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS. And isn’t picking me up a bit much? I mean I don’t need a chauffeur and I can handle getting there on my own.
A few seconds later, his reply popped up.
Dalton:
I’m not doubting your capabilities. But the team’s already seen me with a girlfriend before and trust me they know what to expect. If we’re going to sell this we can’t give them a reason to think something’s off.
Me:
Fine. But we are quickly letting them know that I can get myself to work and it doesn’t mean anything suspicious.
Dalton:
Noted. Just an honest boyfriend letting his independent girlfriend do what she pleases. Nothing to see here.
A smile crept onto my face despite myself, and I quickly typed back a simple, “See you tomorrow,” before locking my phone.
Gracie was practically hanging over my shoulder, her eyes glinting with excitement. “ Ay , that man is totally into you, y no te hagas —you like it,” she teased, giving me a playful nudge.
I clucked my tongue, making a noise of disapproval. “Please. This is just for work. He’s only acting interested, so we can make this look real.”
“ Mmhmm , sure. And what about the other night, Ari? Those feelings fake too? Tú sabes que te gusta ,” she called out over her shoulder, headed for the bathroom.
Her words lingered.
“It’s just a crush—infatuation really. It’ll go away after I spend time with him,” I said even though she’d shut the door, pushing away from the counter. “Then he’ll feel like every other guy I’ve met—a distraction from my goals, something that’ll just get in the way.”
Why did that feel like a lie?