A Not So Meet Cute(21)
“I can go to your reunion, act as though we’re in love, whatever you need.” Desperation slips into his voice.
“I’m not even sure I’m going to that,” I say. “You know, I’m not sure this is really for me. I have student loans I have to pay off, so I don’t think I can be at someone’s beck and call when I should be finding a job.” I lean back in my chair and stare down at the table. “Jesus, what was I even thinking, coming to this meeting? A job, that’s what I need to be doing, finding a job, not worrying about what I look like at a stupid high school reunion.” I look at Huxley, whose brow is pinched together in consternation. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
I stand from the table, and Huxley says, “Wait. We can come up with something that benefits both of us.”
I shake my head. Ultimately, this is another situation where a rich person gets what they want by using a poor person. Even though I’m currently lying to my mom and Jeff, I hate lying. You have the intellect to be more, to find a job that utilizes your skills. “I know this is going to sound prideful, but I’m not sure I should be taking handouts right now. I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life.” I look at the bag of chips and snag them from the table. “But I’m not too proud to take free food.” I pat the bag. “Thanks for these and thanks for your time. Good day, sir.”
And then I turn on my heel and take off. I last only until I reach the crosswalk before I dip my hand inside the bag and pop a chip into my mouth. Lime salt is my only comfort right now.
Lottie: I’m alive.
Kelsey: Well, thank Jesus. Do I dare ask, are you engaged?
Lottie: No. It was tempting, but I really need to focus on my career. That’s what’s going to move me along from this nightmare, not some stupid fake fiancée bullshit.
Kelsey: You know . . . maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Lottie: You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Have you lost your mind?
Kelsey: I was thinking while you were eating dinner—maybe you could do this fake fiancée thing and work for me at the same time. I’m so close to expanding, I could really use your help on the business side. I’d be able to pay you soon, and you could live with me for a few weeks. We could make it work. And he could help you.
Lottie: You’ve lost it. It’s okay, sweetie. Get a good night’s rest and then call me in the morning. I love you.
Kelsey: I’m serious.
Lottie: Night night.
“Hey, honey, how was work?” Mom asks from the kitchen, where she’s preparing dinner.
Pretending to be whupped from a tough day of dealing with Angela, I say, “Same old, same old.”
“Still no news on the promotion?”
I swallow hard. “No news.” I take a seat at the island in the kitchen and watch my mom stir the pot of spaghetti sauce she claims is homemade, though I know isn’t. She says she adds her own spices, which makes it homemade, but the empty Prego jars next to the sink suggest otherwise.
“Well, I’m sure it’s coming soon. What about the apartment hunting? How’s that going?”
Yup, I get it, Mom. You want me out.
“Found a cute place near Kelsey. Thinking about it.” The lie slips past my lips flawlessly.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, you two living close to each other.”
“Yeah,” I mutter as Jeff comes through the front door from where he’d once again been tending to the landscaping in the front yard.
“Lottie, care to explain these?” he asks, holding a large bouquet of red roses.
What the actual hell?
“Are those for me?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes, they have your name on them.”
“Oh, maybe it’s Angela promoting you.”
Jesus, one-track mind, anyone?
I hop off my stool, take the bouquet from Jeff, and set it on the table. I remove the tiny white envelope from the holder and take out the card. Written in very manly handwriting—slanted, almost illegible—it says “Please reconsider. H” and then there’s a phone number beneath it.
How on earth did he know where I live?
I know rich people have access to things us peasants don’t, but the man doesn’t even know my last name, nor enough information about me to put together who I am.
“Who are they from?” Mom asks, coming up behind me.
I clutch the envelope to my chest. “No one,” I say quickly, and then I grab the flowers and run to my room. I shut the door and, once again, slide to the ground, flowers in hand.
What the actual hell?
Chapter Five
HUXLEY
“Dave Toney is on the phone,” Karla says as she knocks on the doorframe of my office door.
“Send him through,” I say before turning to JP. “Can I get some privacy, man?”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather be here for this conversation.” When he doesn’t attempt to move, I realize he’s not kidding.
Rolling my eyes, I pick up my phone. “Dave, good to hear from you,” I answer in a casual voice. “How are you?”
“Doing great. I was speaking with Ellie last night and she was adamant I find out if your fiancée has any allergies or aversions to food. Ever since Ellie got pregnant, she can’t even be in the same room as French fries. They absolutely repulse her. But potato chips are fine. I don’t get it, but I go with it.”