Page 34 of Hate the One You're With
She raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“The Bentley,” I say, my voice firm. “I want the keys. Right here, right now. I’m not signing anything until I have them.”
Her lips curve into a sly smile. “The Bentley? You’re that eager to get your hands on it?”
“Damn right,” I reply, leaning forward with a determined look. “You agreed to give it to me once I signed.”
“So then sign,” she says, her voice smooth, almost too casual.
I glare at the papers in front of me, my jaw tight as I grab the pen. With every signature, my frustration simmers. This whole situation feels like a twisted game, and I’m not thrilled about being the one jumping through hoops. But if it gets me that damn Bentley, then fine. I’ll play along.
Finally, I toss the pen down, the sound echoing in the sleek conference room. “There. Now give me the keys.”
She studies me for a moment, clearly considering her next move. Then, without missing a beat, she pulls out her phone and dials. “Jane? Could you bring the keys, the codes, and theBentley,please? Mr. Cunningham is ready to move in and enjoy Grandma’s most prized possession.”
The way she says it, with that smug little smile, makes me even more suspicious. But I keep my expression neutral, determined not to let her see how much she’s getting under my skin. Whatever game she’s playing, I’m ready for it—or so I think.
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “How exactly is a car going to fit in this office?”
Emmersyn’s smile widens as she ends the call and takes the papers from me. “Oh, don’t worry.The Bentleywill be here soon enough and you’ll understand.”
I fold my arms, waiting, my mind racing with possibilities. What kind of stunt is she trying to pull now? A Bentley is a Bentley, but this whole situation feels off. There’s no way she’s just going to hand it over, especially not inside an office on the fortieth floor. It wouldn’t even fit in the elevator.
A few seconds later, the door opens, and Jane steps in, carrying a small, ornate kennel draped in velvet and adorned with sparkling jewels. The thing looks more like a piece of high-end luggage. What the fuck is in the kennel?
Jane walks over to Emmersyn, who gives her a quick nod. With a flourish, Jane sets the carrier down on the table, as if she’s just presented me with the crown jewels.
“There you go, Caleb,” Emmersyn says, gesturing to the luxurious kennel. “Your Bentley.”
I glance at the kennel, then back at her, my suspicion deepening. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she replies, her tone maddeningly cheerful.
I approach the kennel cautiously, half-expecting something ridiculous, but still holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, this is some strange rich-person way of gifting a car.But when I reach out and unhook the latch, the door swings open to reveal . . . a cat.
A sleek, fluffy, white Persian cat with a diamond-studded collar slowly saunters out of the kennel, blinking up at me with all the regal disdain of royalty. The cat stretches, then calmly begins to inspect the room as if he owns the place.
“Where is my Bentley?” I demand, my voice edged with frustration as I stare at the kennel, hoping this is some kind of joke.
Emmersyn simply points at the cat, her grin widening.
My jaw drops, and for a moment, I’m completely speechless. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I finally manage to choke out, disbelief coating every word.
“Nope,” she says, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Meet Bentley, my grandmother’s pride and joy. You wanted the Bentley, and now you have him.”
I look at the cat, then at the lavish kennel, and then back at the cat. “You named a cat after a car?”
Bentley, the cat, blinks up at me with an air of regal indifference, completely unfazed by my confusion.
“Well, technically, my grandmother did,” she replies, her voice bubbling with laughter. “But I think it suits him, don’t you?”
I stare at the cat—Bentley—who’s now elegantly padding around the room, completely unfazed by the absurdity of the situation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter again, louder this time.
Emmersyn’s laughter finally bursts free, filling the room. “Aww, sweetie. You really thought you were getting a luxury car, didn’t you?”
I can’t help it—I start laughing too, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation breaking through my frustration. “A fucking cat,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “You actually got me with a damn cat.”
“Nope. You demandedthe fucking cat,” she retorts, her grin never faltering.
