Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)
My mental gymnastics went on and on and Grant took the opportunity to play with my hair again. When he touched me, I couldn’t think, so I pushed his hand away. Unfortunately, I didn’t push it hard enough and all I accomplished was dropping it onto my seashell bra.
“Shoot, I didn’t mean to do that!” I whispered a little frantically.
He made a sound that might have been a growl before pulling his hand slowly, seductively away. “I need an answer by tomorrow,” he said. “So I have time to find someone else if your answer is no.”
Hello.
Wait a second.
Someone else?
Well, that had never occurred to me. Of course he would hire someone else if he didn’t hire me because he wasn’t going to jeopardize losing his position. That was the whole point. I was, predictably and painfully, jealous of the idea that another woman would be Grant’s fake girlfriend. Kissing on him and sharing a bed with him.
Who would Grant hire? Someone taller than me, and thinner than me. Blonde. I bet she would be Swedish or Ukrainian, with a sexy low voice. She would drape herself over his chest and give him smoldering looks. Maybe she would have sex with him.
Screw that.
If he was having a fake girlfriend it was going to be me.
“Yes,” I said, betraying all my prior convictions and acting on the dangerous duo of poverty and jealousy. Not a great combination but I spoke with zero regret and ringing conviction. “My answer is yes.”
Grant gave a smile. The kind of smile that spoke to why he was successful and how I had so easily wound up naked beneath him. I shivered and told myself it was because the theater was cold. Which was a total lie. Not like a sort of tiny, baby lie, but what my grandmother would call a whopper.
Because, really, I was shivering from picturing lying in a fluffy white bed next to Grant and not having sex with him. That would be like falling into a ball pit of fresh French bread loaves and not being allowed to eat it. Temptation everywhere you turned. I was going to want to eat Grant.
“That’s fantastic, Leah. I really appreciate it. I’ll send over more information later tonight.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek the way you’d kiss your grandmother.
Well, that sucked.
Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been kissing a lot more exciting parts than my cheek. What a difference a day made. Today he was all business and I basically hated it.
“Sure.”
“I won’t keep you from rehearsal then. Have a great evening.”
Blah, blah, blah. So polite. It reminded me of before, in the diner, when he’d been an aggressive chewer and I couldn’t get him to say anything other than platitude nothings.
It felt like going backwards and I have to say, I didn’t like it.
Wrinkling my nose, I said, “Bye, Grant.”
He stood up. But then he bent over and murmured in my ear. “I promise to keep my hands off of you. But just so you know, I feel like I’m making the ultimate sacrifice.”
Then he was gone and I was left to debate how I was going to get time off from the diner and what I should pack for a weekend party in the Hamptons.
I realized I’d forgotten to give him the bracelet back. I texted him, hoping to catch him. God knows I wasn’t going to be able to chase after him with a mermaid dress on and a bum ankle. Besides, I had a bad track record running him down.
He answered right away.
Keep it and wear it next weekend.
Now I was picturing wearing nothing but the bracelet and Grant eyeing me like he had the day before in my twin bed.
This was going to be even harder than I thought.
I was going home on the train when I got another text from Grant with a document attached. No explanation. Just a document that when I opened, I saw was a questionnaire.
It was things like my full name, where I had grown up, what my preferred fake occupation would be, what my family dynamic was, and my favorite childhood memory.