The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(12)

Beatrice put her arm over Gwen's shoulders and pulled her close. "Well, I guess after we get this rent thing all sorted out you're going to have to invest in an espresso machine. Momma needs her caffeine, you know. Needs it bad. And I don't think tea is going to cut it."

"You addict," Gwen said, always grateful for her friend's ubiquitous sense of humor. She sniffled one last time as the final vestiges of that awful meeting with Aiden left her system. I have more important things to worry about than some rich jerk with more money than sense.

So Beatrice and Gwen had their tea, and even caught the last half of Ellen on TV.

But all good things must come to an end, Gwen knew. This rule apparently went double for her. Beatrice begged off, citing a trip into the city to meet one of the guys from the party.

"Mr. Number Two, actually," Beatrice said as they hugged at the front door. "You just concentrate on finding a way out of all this, and remember, I'll help any way I can."

After Beatrice left, Gwen went back to the couch. She poured herself another cup of tea, but it was cold.

That just made her think of the cup of water she'd thrown in Aiden's face. And that just made her think of his offer.

"I don't need your money," she said, watching the tea slosh around in her cup.

It really did hurt to think about him. And she realized she must have really begun to actually like him for that to be true.

But apparently, she was a poor judge of character. After all, she'd thought Janice was a good person. And look where that's gotten me, she thought.

The blame game circled around to her for other reasons, too. She thought about how she'd already wasted most of yesterday, and all of the current day, on stupid things that got her no closer to finding that money.

But it was also clear that unless money literally fell from the sky into her hands, there were only two real solutions, and they were called mom and dad. It was time to swallow down her pride and call them.

Remembering coming clean to her father on the ice cream carpet debacle, and the way he'd handled that, she decided to get in touch with him first.

"I thought you said you wanted to try and make it on your own? Isn't school going well?" her dad said. She'd caught him on his lunch break at work.

"School's going just fine, dad. It's not that. I could really use your help here. I'm not sure what else to do."

Her dad paused on the other end of the line. In the background, she could hear the voices of his coworkers in the office. He'd been at the same place for 21 years now, pretty much as long as Gwen had been alive.

Then came a question she'd been expecting. "Have you talked to your mother yet?"

Which really meant: "Have you asked her for help? Did you really go to her first before me, your one and only father?"

"No, I haven't," she answered.

It was a toss-up whether this would be a good or bad thing. He might feel gratified that she came to him first. But then again, he might have felt more gratified being able to rub this in her mom's face, about being able to help their daughter out when she needed it.

"Well, I'm glad. It's good to know at least one of the women in my life thinks I'm good enough for them."

Gwen remained non-committal on that point. She loved both her parents, and it really tore her up inside to be the go-between for their little jabs at each other. Sometimes, whenever they ramped up the divorce proceedings, she felt like the rope in a game of tug-of-war between them and their lawyers.

"So you need some money then, or what?" her dad said.

She finally let out the breath she'd been holding. Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned back into the comforting give of the couch cushion.

"Yes, if you don't mind..." Gwen said.

"Mind? You're my daughter! How could I possibly mind? No, it makes me feel good to help you out. I wish you'd let me do it more often. So how much do you need?"

"$5000 should cover it."

Something caught in her dad's throat. He stopped breathing. That wasn't the type of reaction she'd been hoping for. A chill went down Gwen's back.

"Five... thousand?" he said, "Gwen, are you in some kind of trouble? Do you owe money to bad people?"

"No, it's not that at all, it's..." and Gwen related the story of Janice again. She noticed how during each subsequent iteration, she painted her former roommate in even poorer light.

"I'm sorry, baby, really. But I can't. I just don't have that kind of money anymore. Your mother's sucked me dry. She always did know how to hit a man square in the wallet."

"Please, dad? They're going to evict me next week if I can't come up with it!" Gwen sat up straight, those knots in her muscles tightening again, her eyes searching around the living room as though they might light upon something that could convince him to change his mind.

"I'm sorry. I really can't. Hey, if you like, I'll come up there this weekend and help you pack. You can stay with me. I'd love to offer you your old bedroom, but your mother and I just closed escrow on the house. Can you believe she made me sell it?"

"I really can't move back, dad; I'd have to leave school. Thanks for listening. I'm going to give mom a call," Gwen said.

It was a low, calculated blow. She hated playing them off each other like this, but she was getting desperate.