“That’s right. I had to let myself in. I hope you appreciate the work I had to do to get here undercover.”
“Ummm…”
Asher’s granny has a matching gold clutch in her hand. Of course she does. Because it’s okay to wear evening wear first thing in the morning if you’re Julie Louise Paris.
“I’m going to ask you again. Where is my grandson?”
My eyes dart surreptitiously to the rumpled covers on the other side of the bed. How does she know he was here? Does she have paid spies watching us? I’d really like to know where Asher is too, but I’m not going to dignify her question with a response because it’s private information. For me. And Asher. I’d like to know where he is too. I know he was here as of six this morning because I woke up for a few minutes, decided it was early as hell, turned over, and went back to sleep right next to him.
Asher’s granny pulls a piece of paper out of her clutch and waves it around. A cheque, I realize. Jesus, did she seriously come here just to give me that? Nope. I bet she didn’t. I can tell by the way her lips purse that she’s not nearly done. This isn’t just about a cheque at all. She could have easily deposited the money, but no. That cheque is symbolic, and at the moment, it makes my stomach feel twisted and sour.
“I was paying you to fake date my grandson. To help him get settled. To show him that life is more than just…well…” She waves a hand over the bed and mussed sheets. Me. Over me. “I wasn’t paying you to fall into bed and one night stand him. I know his charms are potent, but I expected more from you.”
Ouch. Nothing like a granny tongue lashing first thing in the morning to stab me straight to the heart. And the gut. “That’s not what happened,” I blurt but then stop. No. I am not going there. I am not having this conversation.
Julie Louise Paris gives me that look. That granny look where one eyeball gets squinty and the other eye gets huge, and those lips purse more than ever. “I know,” she whispers.
And I know she does. I can feel the heat crawling up my neck—heat of mortification, of anger, of…of wondering where the hell Asher is and how he could have left me to face his granny alone. God, if anything is potent, it’s her.
“It’s…it’s your own fault,” I stammer. “You blackmailed me into this in the first place.” I swallow thickly. There really isn’t any point in lying now. It’s pretty obvious Asher’s granny knows everything, which isn’t at all creepy, and of course, that is thought with the heaviest sarcasm. “What we did, uh, was real. That wasn’t…I wasn’t…it’s not a one-night stand.”
Now Julie Louise Paris has this other granny look. The kind, sappy granny look that says she feels utterly sorry for me. The sort of look that says she knows her grandson a heck of a lot better than I do, and I’m being very stupid, though she wouldn’t use the word stupid. Naïve is a better word. A nicer word.
My heart stops, and my stomach twists sickeningly again. I ball the quilt up in hands that are suddenly damp.
“I came to discuss something with you, but I can see that you get it. Now that I’m here, I’m going to surprise Asher. He’ll want to have a family dinner, and he’ll want to invite you so I can meet you. For appearances. You have to act surprised.”
Right. Because the only reason Asher would ever invite me to dinner with his granny would be for show. Because this is what he does. This is how he dates women. Why did I think I was any different? Just because the lines between fake and um, well, you know, got crossed doesn’t mean what Asher feels is real. It doesn’t mean he’s going to want to date me for real. And even if he did, his granny thinks that is one step below the faking it thing.
I don’t want to feel like this. Used, chewed up, and just another conquest, as nasty as that word is. Is this what Asher does? I know he’s dated a lot of women, but is this how he made all of them feel? That they were different? Special? Treasured?
Fuckstack, I am an IDIOT. I can’t believe it took his granny ninjaing her way into my place to make me understand that.
“I’m tired of acting,” I snap as the wounded ache in my chest turns into brutal anger. “I’m tired of all of it. I wish I could just up and move, but I was here first. It was my company before it was yours, and it was my city first.”