Reluctantly Yours(15)

“What does it look like, Chloe?” Barrett asks casually.

“That I’m having a party at your mother’s apartment.”

“I’m imagining all those women in the living room? Women that think I’m a male stripper here to perform?”

I can’t help the nervous laughter that escapes.

“No, that’s all true. But, I didn’t plan this. I wasn’t intending to have the party here. There was a mix up at the restaurant.”

“What kind of mix up?” he asks and I hate that I can’t tell what he’s thinking. What he’s going to do with this knowledge.

“I forgot to confirm the reservation so they canceled it and gave it to someone else. The party is for my childhood friend, Lauren.” I motion back toward the living room. “She’s getting married in a few months. Everyone flew out to New York for the party. I mean everyone. Even her Aunt Clara. She’s the one who asked if you were taking requests. And we all know that Aunt Clara doesn’t travel. She’s probably still wasted from all the vodka it took to get her on the plane. There’s no way I could cancel.

“Maybe I should have told them the truth, but everyone was so excited to come to New York. They think it’s so amazing that I live this glamorous life here.” I don’t mention my hole-in-the-wall apartment or the lack of dating that I’ve done during my short time living in New York. The only thing giving me any credit at all is my job at St. Clair Press. “Your mother called me to have boxes of books brought up. I came over to do that and then I just stayed.”

I hate how it sounds.

“We weren’t going to stay here all night. Just for food and drinks and some party games. A strip tease from a man off the street.” I wave my hand in his direction, but he doesn’t even crack a smile. “We’re going to Bounce later. Not like we’re going to bounce,” I make an awkward movement with my body, “but the nightclub, Bounce.”

I’d ask if he was familiar with that dance club but Barrett doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be caught dead anywhere named Bounce.

“I see.” That’s all Barrett says. For a moment, I have a glimmer of hope that he’ll understand my dilemma and turn a blind eye to this evening. Am I too hopeful to think that living underneath that designer suit might be a beating heart that could understand my predicament?

“Are you going to tell JoAnna?” I ask, my lower lip getting the brunt of my teeth while I wait on pins and needles for his reply.

“No.” He shakes his head, and relief immediately floods my body, only to be replaced by panic a second later when he continues. “You’re going to tell her.”

“Shit. You’re right. I have to tell her. It’s the right thing to do.” I nod, knowing it’s right but still hating it, knowing it will undoubtedly change my life.

Barrett is the last person I want to be vulnerable with, but he knows his mom best and will likely be able to predict my fate.

“Do you think she’s going to fire me?” I ask.

Barrett’s mouth opens, ready to deliver his answer like a guillotine, swift and sharp, but it closes without response. I watch as his fingertips trace over the shelf absently. He lifts them again, rubbing his fingers together, as if there could be a speck of dust on JoAnna’s pantry shelves.

Waiting for his answer, I’m imagining the worst.

“It’s highly likely,” he finally responds.

“Yeah.” I sigh, expecting that response, but wishing it were different all the same.

“Okay.” I nod, certain of my fate. An image of me on my knees begging Barrett to not tell JoAnna, to keep this indiscretion between the two of us emerges, but I quickly cast it aside. There’s no way he would grant me that favor, so I might as well save myself the embarrassment. “Can you please not mention it to the group and give me an hour to clear everything out?”

He doesn’t respond for a minute. I sigh.

“Did you hear—”

“I heard you.” He runs his hand through his hair, an action I’ve never seen him do before. His dark, perfectly-styled mane never has a hair out of place. I was starting to wonder if it was a wig he took off at night and returned to his titanium skull every morning. It’s too perfect. I want to push my hands into it and mess it up. Leave the ends tangled and askew. Barrett St. Clair with bed head, that would be a sight to behold.

“I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

“What is it?” I ask with a glimmer of hope that we can settle this just between us.

“I need a date for a business dinner tomorrow evening.”

“You can’t get a date?” The moment I say it, I realize analyzing Barrett’s personal life should not be at the forefront of my thoughts right now, but I’m intrigued. While I know JoAnna has arranged dates for him on occasion, the latest being the lunch with Tessa Green this week, and Barrett is part-robot, it has been determined that many women are willing to overlook his reptilian disposition in order to snag a billionaire. And he is gorgeous, I’ll admit it begrudgingly, so really any woman could be ensnared in his web as long as he doesn’t do a lot of talking.

He ignores my question.

“I’m having dinner with a business associate. I need a companion for the evening.”