Trillion - A Fake Relationship Romance

Fifty-Six

Sophie

Present

It’s been a week since Trey pulled into my mother’s driveway and asked me to come home. I haven’t heard from him since. Not a text. Not a call. Sometimes I glance outside and picture his SUV parked with perfect clarity, but it’s always a mirage.

I tried to turn in my two-week’s notice last week, but my manager talked me out of it, reminding me of the “mental health hiatus” built into our benefits package. I can take up to six weeks, fully paid.

Maybe by then I’ll feel like coming back …

Though I can’t say it’ll be easy seeing him around.

“Oh my gosh, Sophie, come in here,” Mom calls from Emmeline’s room.

I grab my phone off the coffee table and sprint back, assuming the worst. Only when I get to the doorway, I exhale my harbored breath. Emmeline is fine.

“What?” I ask, hand over my heart, taking shallow, adrenaline-fueled breaths. “You scared me. What’s wrong?”

“Did you see this article?” She shoves her phone into my hand and I read the headline.

WESTCOTT CORPORATION TO DISMANTLE AMES OIL AND STEEL AFTER FINALIZING MERGER.

This has got to be a joke.

I check the news source—NPR.

It’s legit.

“I don’t understand,” I say, scrolling and inhaling each sentence with an impatient fervor. This makes zero sense. “It says he’s selling for pennies on the dollar. He’s losing hundreds of millions of dollars on this. Why would he do that?”

“Don’t be so dense,” she says. “He’s doing this for you.”

I furrow my brows, attention flicking from her to the screen and back. I read the article once more, ensuring I got every last detail.

“Why would he do this for me?” I ask.

After his visit, I told my mother that he knows about Ames. I also broke down and told her about the contract we had. Every last detail. She made me a cup of peppermint tea and fished my favorite fuzzy blanket from the hall closet and together we cried—for the past we couldn’t change, for the heartache of the present, and for the future that slipped out of my hands before I could grab hold of it.

She told me not to give up. And she said she’d be okay with moving if it meant I was happy. She also assured me we’d find new doctors for Emmeline, but there’s no guarantee they’ll put her on the same experimental regimen that’s given her life back.

“Shouldn’t we all be so lucky to have a man put a woman’s heart before his bank account?” Mom asks. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never met a man like that before.”

“This still doesn’t make sense …” Even if he piece-meals Nolan’s company and feeds it to sharks, it’s no guarantee he’ll get his desired outcome—me.

“You’re the one thing he can’t buy,” Mom says. “This announcement is his way of showing you that he’s choosing you. That you matter to him more than this company ever did.”

I inhale and hand her phone back.

“Please, Sophie,” she says. “For once in your life, do something that benefits you. You’ve put our happiness before yours for your entire life. We’ll be fine. We’ll figure something out. I promise. Go to him.”

Fifty-Seven

Trey

Present

“Mr. Westcott,” my housekeeper, Eulalia, calls from phone near the foyer. “Ms. Bristol is here to see you. Shall I direct her to the study?”

I rise from my grandfather’s chair, heart ricocheting in my chest, certain I’m imagining this. The article on the sell-off went public two hours ago. I’d hoped I’d get something from her … a text or call at the least.

But a visit in person is a pleasant surprise.

“Is this true?” She storms into my study, her eyes maelstrom-blue, phone in hand and today’s press release pulled up.

“Every word of it.” I meet her halfway.

“Why would you do this?” Her voice holds anger with a side of confusion. “I thought you wanted this company?”

“I want you more.”

“Ames is going to retaliate. You know that, right?”

“Then I’ll give it back to him tenfold,” I say, wishing we could get this over with so I can take her into my arms already. If she’s come this far, it’s only a matter of time. Minutes, perhaps. “I’ve got a team of lawyers that’ll have him pissing his pants by the time they’re done with him.”

“What about Sasha?”

“What about Sasha?” I answer her question with a question. “He’s not going to do anything to hurt her. And I got the impression his wife has no idea he fathered her. At lunch the other week she said he found some pregnant teenage girl waiting tables and offered to adopt her baby. Didn’t sound like she was aware of your relationship, and I doubt he’d like that information to get out.”

She’s silent as she slides her phone into her back pocket.

“Have you read the comments?” she asks. “The whole world thinks you’re insane for doing this?”