A Not So Meet Cute(28)
“Tell me why you don’t want to do it,” I say. In order for her to go through with this, she has to admit to whatever is holding her back.
“Just feels . . . wrong. I know I was the one who crazily sought out a rich husband to solve all my problems, but now that it’s halfway true, it just feels wrong. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve earned; this feels like a freebie, and it doesn’t settle well with me.”
I can understand that feeling. If it weren’t for my dad, we wouldn’t have the business we have today.
“I understand the pride you have in working for everything you’ve earned in life. I understand that all too well. But do you know how we started our business?”
She shakes her head. “I honestly know nothing about you.”
“Well, it was with an idea and insurance money from my dad’s passing. Without that insurance money, there’s no way we would be where we are today. Yes, hard work, hustle, and well-thought-out decisions made that money grow, but we needed that boost, that assistance. That starting point. Everyone needs both a strong start and a boost from time to time. Don’t look at this as a freebie, Lottie, look at it as a boost.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Her eyes flash to mine. “You might be offering me the deal of a lifetime, but I need you to know something.” She stands from her bed, and even though she’s a foot shorter than me, she still walks up to me and attempts to be intimidating. “I owe you nothing other than what I signed up for, and this little stunt you pulled today—it’s deceiving and it won’t happen again. Blackmailing, holding my truth against me, that’s bullshit, and I don’t like you very much for it.”
“Fair,” I say. “But I refuse to apologize for what I did.” Her gaze focuses on me. “I don’t apologize unless I regret something I did. I don’t regret this. As a businessman, I make the best decisions to help close in on my goal.”
“So that’s what this is—a business transaction?”
“Nothing more than that.”
“Good,” she says and then points to the door. “You can leave now.”
I shake my head. “Nice try, Lottie, but I’m going to need some information from you before I leave, and those things include your phone number, sister’s address, dress size, and shoe size.”
“Why do you need those things?”
I take a step closer and tug on her old rock band T-shirt. “Not that this isn’t sexy on you, but you’re going to need something a little more . . . expensive . . . if you’re going to be attached to me.” I lift her chin up with my index finger. “I’m also going to need your ring size. My fiancée will be properly adorned with a ring.”
She swallows hard. “Fine, but I’m going to need to know your dick size before you leave.”
“Why do you need to know that?” I ask.
“Because,” she says with a smile, “I need to know if I have to act like a happy fiancée, or a truly satisfied fiancée.”
Fuck, the ovaries on this girl. When was the last time I had such an honest, forthright conversation with a woman?
The back of my neck heats up as I say, “Trust me, you’re fucking satisfied.”
She shrugs. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
She walks over to her nightstand and pulls out a pen and a piece of paper and starts writing things down. I move around her messy room and say, “If your sister specializes in organization, how come your room is a disaster?”
“She’s tried to help me, but I’m a lost cause. Be happy you’re not living with me.”
You might be a lost cause to your sister, but you could be my victory.
Chapter Six
LOTTIE
Mom: [picture] Here’s a picture of Jeff and me, naked, in the living room. Spared you with a pic from the neck up. But we’re living a free, breezy life.
“Why, Mom? Why?” I ask as I cringe and set down my phone.
“What?” Kelsey asks, fumbling with one of my boxes.
“Two hours after I moved out and they’re already naked in the living room.”
Kelsey makes a gagging sound. “I’m all for expressing your true self, but there are things she doesn’t need to share with her two daughters.”
“Agreed,” I say, while leaning against the wall of Kelsey’s small studio apartment. “And we still have to sit on that furniture when we go to visit her.”
“I’ll be standing from now on,” Kelsey says, grunting as she shoves one box on top of another.
The space here is, let’s just say . . . lacking. “Kels, I’m starting to get anxious.”
“Because of the dinner you have to go to tonight, the contract you just signed, or the fact that we’re going to have to make a box castle in order for you to live here too?”
Yup, that’s right, I signed a contract, binding myself to Huxley Cane until all contractual obligations are fulfilled.
And, yes, I’ll be acting like the doting fiancée tonight.
Not to mention, there’s absolutely zero walking space in Kelsey’s apartment. Why did I think it was bigger? Why did I think this was big enough for two people?