Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” Tate says, nodding slowly. “That’s how it works.”
“Okay. Then we’re getting married,” I say. “We stay married for half a year from the date we say I do, and then you pay me fifty thousand dollars and donate the other half to whatever charity Jason chooses. Deal?”
Tate’s shoulders settle back, and he faces me like he does men in business meetings. If I wasn’t on the verge of losing everything I have and gaining a mental breakdown, I might find it funny.
“This has to be a real marriage,” he says, his voice higher.
“Define that.” I look him in the eye. “What constitutes a real marriage?”
“You can’t just put a ring on your finger and go through the motions. You must actually marry my brother.”
“Who is sitting right here,” Jason says from across the room.
We both ignore him.
“This wager was to prove that Jason can’t …” He throws his head back and laughs. “Hell, I don’t even remember what it was for now, but I want to see this play out.”
“Fine,” I say. “It’ll be a real marriage.”
“You have to live with him,” Tate says, glancing at Jason quickly.
“Fine,” I say again. Not sure how I’ll convince Jason of that, but one battle at a time …
“You have to do things together. Spend time together. Wind your lives together and make a real go at this.”
“What else?” I ask.
Tate’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Then I got nothing. Game on.”
I hold out my hand, and Tate shakes it. His palm is softer and smaller than Jason’s, but I don’t comment. Not when I’m this close to miraculously solving my problems.
“Okay. Great,” Tate says, walking backward toward the door. “I’ll be awaiting my invitation.”
The door swings shut with a crisp smack.
“What the hell just happened?” Jason asks, making me jump.
“I forgot you were here,” I say, turning to him.
He laughs as if he’s in shock. “You forgot I was here as you just made a deal with my brother to marry me? What am I? A piece of meat?”
“You could be, but that’s not the point.” I move to his desk and stand across from him. My gaze levels with his. “You’re marrying me. I already shook on it.”
“I saw that. May I ask why?”
I hold my breath, deciding how much to tell him. But as I war with where to start and what to divulge, I realize I’m too tired to hold back. And I don’t have a lot of time to work with, either.
“The letter I got today during your impromptu visit was a notice that the Pliny Building is condemned. I have forty-eight hours to vacate the property.”
Jason’s brows shoot to the ceiling.
“If I can even find a cheap apartment in two days, I might be able to afford the security deposit and first month’s rent, but my funds are already low thanks to car problems, bills, and loan repayments.” I take a shaky breath. “When my mom died, I got myself in a hole, and I’m still climbing out of it. Interest is a real thing.”
His features sober. The vein near his temple pulses, and the sight of his jaw clenching makes my heart pound.
“Why haven’t you asked me for help?” he asks.
My throat constricts as his green eyes shine. “Because this isn’t your problem.”
“What you really mean is that you aren’t my problem, isn’t it?”
The lump grows, nearly sealing off my ability to breathe. I become lightheaded as I watch him fight with his emotions. I hope I didn’t just make a massive mistake.
“It hurts me that you’ve been struggling all this time and have never said a word,” he says.
“I don’t want you to think I’m incompetent, lazy, or needy.”
“But you’d rather me think you’re a fool for not coming to me? I have resources, and I care about you, dammit.”
Tears fill my eyes, and no amount of praying will keep them from falling.
“The last thing I want to do is sully our friendship over money,” I say. “I don’t want to owe you, Jason, because I don’t know if I can ever repay you. And everyone that’s ever tried to help me in the past has used that as an invitation to judge me, direct me—to give me ultimatums. And I’d rather live on the street and have a tarp to cover up Mimi with at night than to send her to a nursing home where no one gives a fuck about her. Where they don’t know the life she’s lived and don’t give a shit about how much respect she deserves. I won’t worry that she’s lying there lonely or cold and no one is there to give her a blanket just so I can live in a better place …”
My voice cracks as the floodgates open. The saltiness of my tears splashes against my lips.