The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(28)

Gwen pushed her glasses up her nose so that she could rub at her eyes. What have I gotten myself into?

There were more stipulations, but she moved onto the next page. This one pleased her more. It was about Aiden's obligations and restrictions regarding her. Everything she'd specified was laid down there in that overblown legal language, from no open-mouthed kissing to absolutely no sexual contact.

Reading that one actually left her somewhat disappointed. Even the powerfully boring word choices of the lawyer who'd written the contract couldn't quite wipe that incredibly vivid dream from her mind.

And, much to her shock, was another statement. She was to receive additional payments from Aiden every month. All of them never to drop below the level of her initial payment.

Now that really gave her a case of cotton mouth. She trembled a little. I'm getting paid more? Here she'd been thinking that Aiden got a helluva deal (a long-term girlfriend for the low-low price of $5000). Perhaps this wasn't such a bad deal after all.

Sure, there was Henry Manning to deal with. But that guy ran a huge international corporation. Wouldn't he be spending most of his time browbeating foreign governments into graciously accepting Carbide Solutions' business, and not accusing her of being a well-paid prostitute?

And I'm not a prostitute, she told herself, Aiden's not buying sex. He's buying a relationship.

The contract's wordiness and circular language (all to try and prevent her from finding any loopholes, she was sure) began giving her a headache. She leaned back in her chair, swiveling it a little from side to side. She looked at the puppy calendar tacked to the bristle board pane mounted along the wall in front of her desk. She had two essays due within three weeks, as well as a midterm to study for. Lots of stuff to keep her busy.

And now she didn't feel nervous about school. Well, there were still the usual nerves that went along with being a serial procrastinator (Can I write this 8-page essay the night before it's due?) but none of the nerves she'd felt earlier. None of those feelings wondering whether she'd even be here to put off writing those papers and studying for that exam in the first place.

She leaned forward to try and get back to the contract when her stomach growled. The coffee perked her up, but didn't get rid of her appetite.

She got up to go and make herself a PB&J sandwich. Just as she left her bedroom, the intercom buzzed.

Wondering just what Aiden wanted from her now, she walked over to the apartment door and pushed the little black nub down, putting her mouth close to the speaker. "Hello?" she said.

"Hey, baby, it's me!"

The speaker crackled and spat. It had to almost as old as the building. She and Janice had needed the maintenance guy in to repair it at least four or five times now. The bird's nest of wiring behind the panel just had to be a fire hazard.

Still, she managed to recognize her father's voice, despite the distortions. "Oh, hey dad," she replied, hoping that the sound down there hid her confusion. Why was he here now? Shouldn't he be at work or something?

"Gonna let me up? Or should I just spend some more time with this interesting homeless fellow down here?"

She let go of the button and sighed. First Aiden's dad and his accusations, now her own father showing up at her apartment building? She honestly considered telling him she wasn't feeling well, or had a project to finish, before realizing how ridiculous that was. She wasn't like Aiden; she loved her father. Of course it was nice to have him visit!

"Come right up, dad. Remember which apartment it is?" she said.

"Yep," he replied. She held the buzzer down for a few seconds, then waited to make sure he got inside.

A minute later, he knocked on the door. She was in the bathroom, checking to make sure she looked okay. A little warn out, maybe, she thought as she looked at her reflection. But honestly, what could someone expect after a dream like that one?

"Coming!" she said, scurrying to the door and pulling it open.

Her father stood outside, hands in his pockets. He wore a pair of old jeans and a polo shirt. In the past couple years, his hair had receded pretty far, leaving him with a prodigious forehead that wrinkled whenever he smiled, or whenever someone mentioned Gwen's mother. It wrinkled then as he grinned down at her. They hugged.

"Come on in, dad," she said. They wound up in the kitchen, her dad leaning against the fridge, Gwen against the counter in front of the sink.

"Place looks good," he said.

"Yeah, it's okay. Hey, dad, not that I'm not happy you came or anything, but..."

"Why am I here?" he finished.

"Bingo."

He took one of his hands out of his pocket to rub at the broad expanse of forehead. "You're in trouble. I can't just leave my little girl when she's in trouble."

It at once annoyed her that he still called her "my little girl" despite her being pretty close to finishing her Bachelor's and endeared her that he'd actually showed up when she asked for help. She knew it was at least partly so he could rub it in her mom's face the next time they sat down with their lawyers, but it still felt nice to have someone care, to have someone offer help and not want anything in return.

"That's sweet, dad," she said.

"Yeah, I was just on my way to go rent a moving van, then I figured we could grab some lunch and then come back here and start packing..." he said.