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She says this so quietly I almost don’t catch it and I’m not sure what the problem is. Unless there’s a man somewhere on her horizon.
I tap my foot on the floor. “If this doesn’t fit in with your plans, then I’ll find someone else. We’ll work out a percentage for the last few days and call it a day.”
She doesn’t say a word and I push to my feet. I’m not playing. I’m not bluffing. She needs the money, but so do others out there.
“Wait.”
I look at her and do just that.
She’s biting her lip, her brow is creased into a frown, and she looks like there’s a world speeding in circles in her head.
“If there’s a guy you’re seeing, or after, then that’s your business, but anything needs to be kept very quiet outside this four-week period. If you’re going to sign.”
“What if you meet someone?”
“I’m able to keep it in my pants and I’m not looking for a relationship. I don’t believe in them, and I certainly don’t believe in the fairy tale called love.”
“That’s sad.”
“If you do, then you’re deluded. Relationships that claim love end in divorce and then the next one and the next one, and I’d rather not mess with that shit. And this thing with you and me, fake as it is, is already one hell of a headache. I can only imagine the real deal. No thanks.”
She shrugs and takes a step back. “A year. It’s…that’s a long time. If we can’t talk about it, then…what about family? Friends?”
“They can’t know the truth. Let’s get through the four weeks.”
“That doesn’t work.” Scarlett looks like the floor is going to open up and eat her because she spoke to me like that. “It works, I just…there are people.”
“What people?”
Panic crosses her face, and she grips the contract tight. “Just. People. Don’t you have friends?”
“I have colleagues. Old friends. Brothers.” I don’t keep up with anyone except family and those who can make my business tick and earn money, but that’s not her business.
“I have friends. And people ask things. I…I do things. You know, like the matron’s charity. And if—”
“This pans out after four weeks, I’ll get you a fucking ring you can sell after twelve months.”
“I don’t want that.”
Her voice is a little thready, and she’s breathing in short, sharp inhalations.
I don’t know what the problem here is, and for some reason this is more complicated in her head, which makes me want to take a closer look at her and all she is.
“I just mean, if I have an NDA and we can’t tell anyone, then it’s also going to look suspicious.”
“You have a point. We’ll discuss it in a week or two. If you still want to do it.”
She stalks up to me and I’m immediately surrounded by hints of flowers. “Why not now?”
“Because I’m private.”
But she has a point. If we run into people, we can’t just say nothing. There are events and places to go, and while the contract says no media and the NDA says not to tell anyone the truth, there’s nothing about close friends and family and where appropriate.
“I’m not planning on getting a billboard,” she says.
“Okay. Need to know on a new relationship. When it gets quote unquote serious, we can then look at the perimeters. There’s room for that in the contract.”
“Oh.”
