Page 33 of Boyfriend Maintenance

“Where’s Becca?” I can’t help but look over at the Skee-Ball machine. I think about how I’d much rather play a few rounds of that than have the conversation we are about to have.

“She’s visiting her cousin for the weekend.” She tosses her purse on the table and leans down to take off her heels.

I force myself to look away. I so badly wish we were up here to do something more enjoyable. Skee-Ball sure, but I’ve had to stare at those sexy legs and that hot-as-hell mouth all night. And I want to touch, and I want to taste. I want it all. But I can’t want it all if there’s something she’s keeping from me. All those things I want, all the sexual fantasies that have been stacking up will never happen if I don’t know the real Emmy King.

She walks over to the couch and plops down. She’s barefoot and still dressed in her shimmery pink outfit. “Sit, please?” Her eyes are remorseful, and I’m drawn to her, even through my anger and confusion. So, I sit on the couch. As far away from her as I can.

“I’m really sorry about what happened tonight, about how the conversation with Levi turned out.” She hesitates but doesn’t continue.

“I want to know what you walked away from. I want to know about why you really don’t get along with your family.” I cross my arms and lean back, waiting for answers.

She gulps and then takes a deep breath, readying herself to give her explanation. “When I graduated college, I walked away from my family’s money, my trust fund.”

I process that and then ask, “What do you mean you walked away?”

“I mean, I never accessed my trust when I turned twenty-five. I opted out of joining the family business so I could live by my own terms. Because of that, I no longer have access to my parents’ money.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

She sighs. “When I declared my independence, I went against everything my father had planned for me. When you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth, you’re not supposed to spit it out.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I did. And no one from that world understood. I was the talk of the town. A disgraced high-society princess, if you will. Kitty couldn’t spin enough shit to sweep our dirty laundry under the rug. No, I was a hot topic, the gossip mill was turning. My father was furious. He said I was betraying him. And Levi never understood how I could walk away from the only life I knew. But supported my decision because he’s my brother.”

“Well, you do work for a competitor.” I point this out, but it's unimportant. I’m just buying myself time to process what she’s saying.

“Kind of.” She acts like she’s had this argument before, but I don’t care to open that can of worms.

“What about Becca?”

“Loved me no matter what. She’d never walk away from her trust, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had my back from the start.”

I think over everything she just shared for a few seconds. There’s still one fact that I’m hung up on.

“You lied to me,” I spit out. My thoughts keep circling back to that fact. She freaking lied to me. “Why did you let me believe you were made of money? I thought I knew you. I thought all the stuff you’ve told me about yourself was the truth. I don’t even know what’s real anymore.” She fucking lied to me. After all the bullshit my mom went through with my dickhead of a father, leaving us after finding out about his “second” family, I can't find it in me to easily forgive a liar. No matter how unimportant.

“It was only as real as you were going to allow it to be.”

“So, it’s my fault you’ve been lying to me? Nice.” I shake my head. I don’t believe this shit right now. I push off the couch.

“That’s not what I said. From the start you made it known how you felt about mytype.” She air quotes the last word. “With offhanded comments, requesting more money and expensive clothes, and your stupid no-screwing-the-residents rule, you made it clear you didn’t ever want this to be real.”

I start for the door, but I’m not done. I turn back toward her. “For someone who doesn’t care about what other people think about her why the hell would you let me believe such a lie?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I thought we were pretending. You were pretending to be my fake boyfriend and I the rich trust-fund brat you assumed me to be.”

“That's bullshit,” I bellow and stop the tracks I was making back and forth across her floor.

She stands and squares her shoulders but doesn’t make a move to come closer to me. “No, it’s not. You're the one that started changing the tone of this”—she waves a hand between us—“thing between us. Kissing me and touching me. I can feel the desire pouring off of you when I stand too close. You made this more than what it was ever supposed to be.”

Shit.

“You’re right. I want you so fucking bad. I’m so fucking attracted to you that I can barely handle being in the same room with you, let alone standing right next to you. I’m drawn to you and I thought I was getting to know you more and more each time we were together. And now I’ve come to find that you’ve fucking lied to me about everything.” I can’t help yelling. I’m so frustrated. My mind is telling me to be livid, my body … well, something else entirely.

“I lied about one thing, Jake. That I don’t have money. Everything I own, I bought it with my own hard-earned money. Why are you so angry to find that out?” The volume of her voice nearly matches mine from just moments ago. She crosses her arms and juts out a hip likesheis the one who gets to be mad atme.

“You live here in the god damn 425 Madison building. You wear designer clothes.” My brain is still trying to connect the dots. I feel like a toddler unable to understand such a simple concept.

“Becca owns this apartment. I pay her deeply discounted rent each month. And these clothes”—she flicks the denim jacket she’s wearing—“I get them from discount stores and secondhand shops. Why does it matter so much that I don't have money? Are you worried you're not going to get paid? I made a deal with you, you’ll get your money.”

I just shake my head because I don’t care about that.

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