The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(20)

"Tell me about it! I've already gone through Mr. Number Four. Four rich men, and not one of them willing to follow through, can you believe it?"

"And Aiden is the worst of them all..." Gwen started, then someone knocked on the door, "Speak of the devil!"

She sprang from her seat, nearly upending the coffee table on which sat their alcohol and the now hours-cold strong black tea.

Beatrice followed her out, mumbling something about giving that jerk a piece of her mind.

But of course it wasn't Aiden standing at the door when Gwen opened it, as she realized it wouldn't be just as she got there. No, it was a tall, gangly teenager in a brown shirt one size too big and wearing a matching brown baseball cap with Express Courier stitched into it over his forehead.

"Gwen Browning?" he said.

Gwen put one hand on the door frame to steady herself. That sudden rush for the door left her dizzy and lightheaded. Definitely too much vodka, she thought. "Yes. I mean, that's me."

He handed her a large manila envelope, the kind closed with a bit of string wrapped around a small hook. "Thanks," she said, starting to close the door. This was going to have to wait until tomorrow.


But the courier didn't leave. "Umm, Miss Browning? I'm supposed to return that to Mr. Manning tonight."

She frowned at him. Or at least, she hoped it was a frown. The alcohol started to numb her, so she couldn't be quite certain of her exact expression on her face. The courier smiled politely, clearly aware of her inebriation but doing his best not to mention it.

"Just give me a few minutes," Gwen said. Then she did close the door. She went into her room and put the folder down on the desk, then carefully sat down in her chair.

Beatrice followed her in. "Manning? As in Aiden Manning? What'd he send you? Is that paperwork?"

She couldn't just hide the folder away. Not with the courier waiting outside her door. Besides, Beatrice had the annoying habit of remembering things, no matter how drunk she got. She would ask questions, being nosy like she was.

Trying to dispel suspicion, Gwen started unwinding the string. She took out the papers and tapped them against her desk to straighten them out. Is that my heart pounding so loud? she wondered. Could Beatrice hear it? She hoped not.

"Yes, it's from Aiden Manning. You're not gonna believe this, but hear me out..." Gwen said, wetting her lips, "He got a hold of me today, wanting to apologize. I didn't want to hear it at first, but he convinced me to go meet him for lunch... Well, we got to talking, and it turns out we have a lot in common..." she didn't mention that their primary commonality was a mutual need of certain services, "And he asked me out. I said sure."

Beatrice blinked a few times, absorbing this as she swayed with her hands gripping the back of Gwen's chair. "Okay, sure. But why the paperwork?"

Gwen laughed, "That's the crazy part! Apparently, if I want to go out with him, I need to sign this non-disclosure agreement because of the company he works for and who his dad is."

Gwen glanced at the papers, hoping they would have some legal mumbo jumbo along those lines. To her delight, the bolded words NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT appeared at the top of the very first page in the packet.

"See?" Gwen said, pointing triumphantly. B squinted blearily at them.

"What a weirdo. Hey, just get this stuff signed. I can hear the TV; the commercials are over and I want to watch the movie again."

She knew that she should really read every single page before signing and dating, but she also had to pretend that all this entailed was an agreement not to talk about anything she overheard about the Mannings and their business. And B wouldn't leave the room. So she got out a pen and scrawled her signature and the date at all the little X marks on all thirty pages. By the time she finished, her fingers hurt. And she'd also managed to rub her hand over the ink a few times, leaving little black blotches on the side of her hand.

Sliding the papers back into the envelope, she wound the string around the hook while she walked back to the door. All that effort to keep the story straight did wonders to sober her up, and worry pinged in her stomach when she opened the door again to give it back to the courier.

He'd been leaning against the opposite wall in that perfectly cultivated expression of boredom and disdain all teens seemed to develop.

"Here you go. All in order. Ts crossed and Is dotted," she said, still feeling like she had to put on a show for Beatrice.

The courier shrugged. He accepted the packet, then handed her another.

"What's this?"

"Your copy. I'm supposed to give it to you when you returned the first one signed and dated."

"Oh, thanks." So it wasn't all bad news, then. At least she got to read exactly what she'd put her signature to. Hadn't Aiden said she also had certain obligations and responsibilities? It would be good to know what those were, and also whether he'd bothered to have his lawyers include her own stipulations.

"Sure. Have a nice night, okay?" the courier said, walking away before he even finished.

She put the papers in her desk drawer and went to finish the movie with Beatrice. She didn't drink anymore, wanting the alcoholic fuzz lifted from her brain before she did something else she knew she would regret.

About an hour later, her phone rang. Private Number, the screen said. She answered.