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"Although... my father may need some extra convincing."
Oh, no. Here it comes. The final drop of the hammer, the harsh yank of the rug from under my feet, the reminder that there's a price for everything in life. With a sigh, I bite the bait, and ask the question I've been dreading all night.
"What do you want out of this?"
SIX
HAYDEN
She's exactly how I want her.
Desperate.
Judging from the look in her eyes, Juliana will agree to anything I ask. What a shame she's here, stone-cold sober, furthering her nerdy agenda by tolerating my company, and not trapped in my penthouse apartment, sprawled between Egyptian cotton sheets or lounging in a two-piece beside my private rooftop pool. Because, ohh, that would that be so—
Wrong, my annoying, typically dormant, shard of integrity interjects. So, so, so wrong. Are you stupid? She's not your little play bunny. She's your best friend's sister. Off-fucking-limits. Do you want Jeremy Brooks to murder you?
I stifle an eye roll, thoroughly aware I'm conversing with myself. No...
Good. Then stick to the scheduled program.
Fine. No matter. I bet Juliana wouldn't be so eager right now if she knew of the trickery I've slipped past my tongue for the past half hour. Since entering this lounge, I wouldn't say I've lied, per se. That's quite a strong word. Rather, I've stretched the truth and followed...
Rule #3: A playboy practices selective honesty.
For one, I'm not under my father's wing. I'd rather carve my eyes out with a plastic spoon than spend any more time with the man than absolutely necessary. But I do have plans to make that false statement a—very temporary—reality. Show him I'm really turning my life around.
As for the rest of the nonsense and well-rehearsed business jargon, Kingston Entertainment actually is moving into the gaming industry. I know this not because of some trade secrets, but because I had the misfortunate pleasure of hearing my older brother, Elias, blab on and on about it to his date during our last family gathering. How he was the genius who thought of encroaching on the gaming sector, how he pitched the plan to the board, single-handedly swaying their opinions by ways of tactical and assertive negotiations, bla, bla, bla, blaaa, blaaaaaaaaaa....
Anyhoo.
Point proven. No lies here.
And thanks to the stub of a cigarette left between my fingers, I've managed to keep my nerves in check this far. It's not that I'm a bad truth-stretcher. Quite the contrary, seeing as that's all I did growing up, about where I was and where I wasn't, the type of people I hung around and didn't, that kind of stuff. But this? The conversation I'm intricately weaving under the scrutiny of a woman who knows me better than any other? That's pushing it, even for a pro like me.
So, it's time to rip the bandage clean off.
I look Juliana straight in the eye.
"I want you to be my fake girlfriend."
Tension the size of Mount Everest slinks off my shoulders. Whew, out with it. But despite my sudden courage, my stomach twists in a knot, awaiting what has to be an explosive reaction.
But... it doesn't come. In fact, no reaction marks her pretty face. Blinking slowly, Juliana stares at me blankly, as if she's watching paint dry after I wiped her memory, Men in Black style. There's just... nothing.
Did she hear me?
If I thought asking such an outlandish question was painful the first time, then I wholly underestimated the second. "Uhh... Jules? I, uh... want you to be my fake girlfriend." Just kill me already. I squirm on my barstool, thanking the universe no one's close enough to eavesdrop.
"Ju—"
"So, that's what you brought me here for? The reason you swindled your way into my DMs, impressed my best friend into choosing you for a blind date, reserved a table at the most exclusive steakhouse in New York, chased me down on the streets, and then paid for an eight-hundred-dollar dinner tab. Not win me over or make up for what you did." Her eyebrow lifts, only slightly, but enough to hit me where it hurts. "But to play a prank on me."
A prank?
I shoot to my feet the same moment she does. But instead of running off like at dinner, she cranes her head way back, then shoots me a look so scathing, my words fumble on their exit out my mouth. "I-I... Jules, I'm not playing a prank."
She keeps staring, infusing a little more venom.
