Page 12 of One Billion Reasons

“No. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but no.” Miles Becker’s good ideas always come with consequences. And somehow, never for him. I settle my canvas tote on my shoulder and turn to leave. My hand is on the chrome handle of his pristine glass door when he says, “You owe me, Laney.”

I freeze. I haven’t heard that nickname in years. Miles was the last person to use it. And before that, my dad. Liam doesn’t use it. It’s too painful for both of us. My heart rolls itself up into a tiny ball. My stomach clenches. Miles knows my parents are gone. And suddenly, I’m so angry. This is so like Miles, preying on weaknesses to get what he wants. Wrapping people up in his stupid plans and thoughtless promises.

“Don’t call me that.” I grit the words out around the lump in my throat.

“Okay. But you still owe me.” His voice is velvet while he tries to convince me. I imagine a forked tongue behind those beautiful lips.

I whirl. He’s still leaning against the desk, cool, calm, that square jaw set while he stares me down, those grey eyes burning.

“What, exactly, do I owe you for?”

“I think you remember.”

I do. I remember every detail. How I drank too much at a party an hour away, how I was too scared to call Liam, who couldn’t afford to miss early morning practice. Our scholarships were strict, but as an athlete, he was under even more pressure. I didn’t own a car, and I couldn’t have driven home anyway. So I called Miles, our roommate at the time, and begged him to get out of bed and come get me. He demanded a favor, and in my foolish, drunken haze, I promised to give one. And then he showed up, looking like an angry god, in that stupid car he drove, and dragged me out of the party with an arm around my waist. I remember how he brought me water and takeout and held my hair and slept on my floor to make sure I was okay. And then how I woke in the night, confused, and found him awake, sipping whiskey and watching over me while I slept. Go back to sleep, baby.

I can’t believe he’s reminding me of this.

“I don’t remember.” I stare directly into his eyes as I say the words, even as I taste the lie on my tongue. His jaw flexes.

“Well, I’m collecting. I need a date. To Amanda’s wedding.”

“What?” I choke. “You’re going? Why?”

“I have my reasons.” He narrows his eyes. “The favor, Lane. I’d say yes.”

“Or what? You’ll sue me for a refund? It’s in the contract.” Thank god for the fact that I told Katie we needed one. My one piece of business advice, gleaned from time spent dealing with the lawyers after my parents’ death.

“Maybe I will.” His face is stony. So different than it used to be. Miles was always a little too wild, a little too rough, a little dangerous. Now that wildness has been honed. The danger is still there, but it’s somehow worse. My skin prickles, and I fight the urge to freeze.

I force myself to take a step toward the door. “I’m done, Miles. It was nice to see you again.” Another lie.

“I’ll make it worth your time. Fifty thousand dollars.”

Holy shit. I don’t let him see how life-changing that money would be for me. For him, it’s just another day. And isn’t that how it’s always been?

But I’d be a fool to decline this offer. “What do I have to do?”

His eyes spark. He’s got me, and he knows it. “A week. Of pretending to be my girlfriend.” He crosses his arms. My heart thuds loudly in my ears. $50,000. I could solve all my problems. All of Mallory’s. My tongue sweeps over my lower lip, and his eyes fasten on the small movement.

One week with him.

“Can I think about it?”

His nostrils flare. “One week, Lane. And then I want an answer.”

His eyes burn into my back as I turn on my heel and shut the door behind me.

7

Lane

“I’m serious, Mal. He offered me fifty thousand dollars to be his date to this wedding.”

Mallory and I are seated on the tiny couch in our sunny living room. Plants drape over every surface, and the huge skylight absolutely bathes the room in light. We’re feet to feet on the cushions, morning coffees in hand, just the way we prefer it. Her eyes are wide above her model-high cheekbones.

“That’s crazy.” She shakes her head. “You haven’t spoken in years, and all of a sudden he wants you to be his date?”

I nod. We haven’t spoken since the night everything went to hell. I decided I was better off without Miles Becker and how he runs roughshod over other people. Looks like he’s still doing it.

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