The Last Eligible Billionaire(15)
“Why does she want you married?”
Well. Would you look at that? The have you been living under a rock? look is apparently universal across all socioeconomic statuses. “Do you read the news, Begonia?”
“Been a little busy getting divorced here, Hayes. Also, I gave up celebrity gossip around the time Violet Quinn checked into rehab and every channel had a live newsfeed of the clinic she was supposedly staying at. It felt like such a violation of her privacy when she was in such a low place, not to mention everyone else who could’ve been exposed on national TV for being near the place, and it made my stomach hurt.”
He studies me briefly like he’s trying to decide if I’m for real before sighing and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Eleven minutes, Ms. Fairchild. If you intend to reject my settlement offer, I suggest using your eleven minutes to gather what you can of your belongings before I forcibly throw you out.”
“I can’t really be the best partner in crime if I don’t know why we’re committing the heist. Why does your mother want you married? Is it like, normal mother stuff, with her insisting you’ve waited long enough to give her grandbabies? Does she still do your laundry and she’s tired of it and wants another woman to take over raising you instead? Oh my god. If you tell me you’re gay and your family won’t accept that, I’m sorry, I won’t be your fake girlfriend, but I will one thousand percent be the person who gets arrested for telling every last one of them off. Is that it? Are you in love with a man? Oh my god. Razzle Dazzle has never done a film with main characters who aren’t straight, have they? Oh my god.”
Marshmallow growls.
He knows what’s up.
And Hayes—Hayes looks amused.
God help me.
He’s rakishly handsome when he smiles, and that is not helping things. “My mother knows better than to insist I raise a child merely to satisfy her urges to hold a baby. I’m well aware of how to send my laundry out for cleaning without needing any assistance, along with conducting every other chore and task necessary to be a fully-functioning adult. And I am not in love with a man, but you’re still welcome to give my mother an earful about the homogeny of Razzle Dazzle’s films. Congratulations, Ms. Fairchild. You’ve just convinced me more than ever that you’re the right woman for the job.”
My heart squeezes. So does my vagina, which is like, hello, what? That hasn’t happened in months. “Did you just call me attractive?”
“Dear god, no. Rather annoying, actually. Which is perfect. My mother will have her hands so full trying to get rid of you that she’ll leave me alone completely. Add in her fear that I’ll find someone even worse after you if she doesn’t back off, and this is perfect. The document, Ms. Fairchild. Last chance. Are we doing this the easy way, or shall I get my attorney and the sheriff on the phone?”
7
Hayes
Begonia Fairchild might have passed an initial background check and signed the contract to play my fake girlfriend while never giving anyone the details under threat of financial ruination, but she’s also a tenacious pain in the ass.
Perfect for when my mother gets here.
Right now?
When I’d prefer to find a bed that her dog hasn’t shed all over so that I can sleep without waking up covered in hives and unable to breathe?
Right now, I’m considering the idea that a prison sentence for murder would also get me out of being attractive to the majority of the segment of the world’s single women who would like to snag the world’s last eligible heterosexual male billionaire.
Yes, only the majority.
I’m aware it wouldn’t solve my problem completely. Conjugal visits are apparently a turn-on in some circles, which was much funnier when I suggested that as the theme of a Razzle Dazzle movie to make my brother shut up after he won his Oscar.
“So if we’ve been talking on the internet for the past six months, that means we’ll know a lot about each other,” Begonia says as she dusts the bookshelves lining the fireplace. “Moby Dick? Really? Do you read it, or is it a conversation piece? There’s nothing wrong with reading commercial fiction instead of literary classics.”
She makes air quotes around classics, and I feel my face twitching. “The only story we need is that you find cranky assholes irresistibly charming.”
“That’s the plot of half the Razzle Dazzle films. No one’s going to believe it.”
“Quite frankly, Ms. Fairchild, I don’t need my mother to believe us. I merely need her to know I’ll make the family look bad in the press if she insists on presenting me with a parade of eligible women she’d like me to marry.”
She frowns again. “I don’t—oh. Oh. It’s not about telling your mom no, is it? It’s about the time and energy it takes every time she throws another woman at you. Or is it about disappointing your mother? Do you have mommy issues? I never thought I did until I announced I was divorcing Chad, and now I’m the disappointment.”
“Congratulations, Ms. Fairchild, you have confirmed that you do, in fact, listen three percent of the time.”
“My listening skills are fine. It’s your communication skills that need work. You had two options there, and you just said I listened. That’s not answering the question.” She waves the feather duster at me, sending particles floating into the shafts of light pouring in through the east-facing windows and making me flinch.