Page 40 of The Plus One Contract

Nathan:That’s what I’m telling you.

Me:No wiggle room? No loopholes? No last-minute excuses about an emergency at work?

Nathan:I take contracts very seriously.

Me:You keep saying that like it’s a real contract and not a whiskey-stained napkin we signed at 30,000 feet.

Nathan:A contract is a contract, Sienna.

I roll my eyes, but a small, ridiculous smile tugs at my lips.

Me:Fine. Just making sure you’re not ghosting me.

Nathan:Ghosting you would imply I’m scared of you.

Me:Alright. Well, I’ll send you my address. Dinner is at seven. My dad is very punctual, so if you’re late, you’re dead to him.

A moment passes.

Nathan:No pressure then.

Me:Nope. None at all.

Nathan:What’s the dress code?

I snort.

Me:It’s dinner at my parents’ house, not a Michelin-starred restaurant. You’ll be fine in whatever. My dad will probably be in his cargo shorts.

Nathan:Comforting.

Me:Are you nervous?

Nathan:Should I be?

Me:That depends. How good are you at bullshitting?

Nathan:Sienna, I built a business from nothing and convinced a room full of old-money executives to trust me with their investments. I think I can handle your father.

I exhale, shaking my head. Of course he’s confident. Of course he’s not even remotely sweating this.

Me:I don’t know how we’re going to survive dinner. My family will sniff us out immediately.We don’t even know anything about each other.

This, surely, will get him to reconsider.

Nathan:Then tell me.

I stare at the message.

Blink.

Oh, shit. This calls for bullet points.

Me:

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