Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“You know, if it pains you that badly to pretend to like me, you need to rethink this,” I say, clenching my jaw. “If you walk away now, little time and money has been spent. If you wait and let this blow up in your face, it will be expensive. That’ll make Sutton look even worse.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I fire back.
“Don’t try to talk me out of this. Yes, it will pain me to be nice to you—even if it’s fake. But I signed a contract, didn’t I?”
I shrug. “You signed a contract to be professional about this, but you’re acting like an asshole.”
“Coming from you, that’s rich.”
We sit across from one another, each holding a proverbial white flag under the table. We both know we can’t do this and make our agreement work. Yet neither of us is willing to raise the flag first and surrender.
I fold my hands on the table. “I’m no happier about this than you are, Peaches.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’d rather listen to Gannon talk about stocks and bonds than do this with you,” I say. “And, if you want me to be honest, I don’t know that you can do this.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” I pin her to the seat. “You’re too busy pretending to be a bad bitch to even allow me to be remotely nice to you. Why is that, Georgia? Are you scared it’ll taint whatever fucked-up version of yourself that lives in your head?”
She leans against the table, anger rolling off her in waves. “Fuck you, Ripley.”
“Does the truth hurt?”
“It hurts about as much as your ego is going to hurt when you realize that I’m not melting at your feet when we’re alone, and I sure as hell won’t believe every word that comes out of your mouth.”
I withdraw a bit, studying the guard that just slid across her eyes. I’m unsure if this is a new thing or if I’m only noticing it now. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t have time—or the energy, or the desire—to figure it out.
“I’m approaching this like I would any business contract,” I say, my voice unwavering.
“Same.”
We’re not getting anywhere … I sigh.
“So ground rules?” she asks. “You go first.”
I glance at a table of men in suits by the bar who keep glancing at Georgia. “We shouldn’t date other people until our contract is up. It’s just to maintain the integrity of the job.”
That doesn’t even really make sense, but that’s what I get for thinking on the fly.
“What happens if I fall madly in love with someone mid-shoot?” she asks.
My teeth grind against each other. I know she’s just fucking with me—her lips pressed together in a faux pout give her away. Still, I can’t give in.
“We’ll address it if it happens,” I say. “I want to keep my options open in case I meet the future Mrs. Brewer, too. But even though we’re fake-dating and this is just a job, I think having a real-life significant other could cause problems, and we’re both dedicated to helping our friends succeed.”
“Fine. Deal.” She flashes me a fake-ass smile. “I also have a demand of my own.”
“What is it?”
“I know this is supposed to look as real as possible when we’re filming, but I don’t want anyone to think we’re actually dating in real life.”
“You think I want people to think I’m dating you? Funny.”
Her features sober, and all levity has left the building. She picks up a small amethyst stone hanging from a chain around her neck and toys with it between her fingers.
I can’t help but notice how vulnerable she is at this moment. Her caramel-colored eyes shine with a soft defenselessness that changes everything about her. I’ve only seen her like this once before, which was so long ago that I forgot about it until now.
“I mean it, Ripley. It’s important that no one thinks this is really happening, okay? And if for some reason you’re picking me up and I tell you not to come to my house, you can’t. All right?”
Huh? “Fine, but why?”
My mind races, coming up with a multitude of reasons she wouldn’t want me to come to her house unannounced. Not that I would’ve anyway, but her determination about this single point makes me curious.
She takes a long drink and then licks her pink lips. Her glass touches the table with a soft thud.
“I don’t know why I feel awkward talking to you about this, because it’s not like I did anything wrong, and you might know already, anyway,” she says.
“I might already know what?”
She sits tall in her seat. “After my parents divorced, my mother dated your father.”
What?
“And, if you do the math, which is what you’re probably doing right now, your father was married to your mother at that time,” she says.
“That motherfucker,” I say in disbelief. “Are you serious? How do you know this?” I shake my head. Why am I shocked that the sonofabitch could surprise me from inside a prison?