Page 12 of Vicious Arrangement
I nod. “I’ll meet him and discuss this proposition.”
I’m running late—again—tomeet Katie. Angus is fed, and the clock in my head ticks, but luckily we’re meeting at Piano Pig, a bar on Ninth Ave in Hell’s Kitchen, not far from where I live.
Katie throws her arms around me when I slide in next to her at the bar, the show tunes being banged out on the piano as people sing along.
“Thank you so much for the locket, it’s gorgeous,” she says, touching the gold heart around her throat. Her present.
I smile tightly. “Of course, pretty for pretty.”
But instead of making a lame joke, she frowns. “What is it? I know something’s wrong.” She gasps. “Did that idiot you dumped?—”
“No.” I don’t bother arguing about who dumped who and I’m not interested in going over that mess. “I just saw Gramps, he’s good, but… There’s this guy, Noah Templeton, who’s threatening to not only pull out of a planned merger but destroy Sanderson if I don’t marry him.”
“What kind of draconian bullshit is that?” Katie demands.
I twist a strand of hair that’s fallen from my ponytail. “I know, but it’s Gramps. I owe him, and you know it. I didn’t go into the business, and it’s a way to pay him back, to save his company. I owe him that.”
She takes a swallow of her margarita and sets it down. “You don’t. He’d be horrified to know you think you owe him.”
I nod. “But still…”
“Ari,” Katie says, “you don’t need to save everyone or everything. What you need is to focus on yourself. William knows you love him, and we all know you’d make sure the company was run how your grandfather wanted it. Let this other asswipe have his tantrum. I assume he’s loaded. He’ll move on.”
But while I nod and murmur empty words of agreement, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll meet this guy, I’ll marry him. It won’t be forever, and chances are he’s not going to want to sleep with me. I’m not exactly glamorous. Or a society girl.
What I am is someone who loves her grandfather, and I’ll do anything for my family. Gramps means everything to me. He’s so supportive of everything, I think a year or two of a stupid arranged marriage won’t hurt me.
I’m single, he’ll find other women to fuck and I’ll get out of this with my grandfather’s business intact.
“You have that look on your face,” she says over one of the songs from Wicked, “so I know you’re agreeing with me, but you’re going to do this anyway.”
I blow out a breath. “It’s the least I can do.”
“What about you?” she demands. “What do you want?”
“My feelings are irrelevant.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “I’m doing this to help Gramps.”
“And I can’t change your mind.”
I stare her down. “When have you ever changed my mind?”
She pretends to think about it. “Last Wednesday in this dream I had.”
“See,” I say, “I’m betting I won out in that dream, too.”
“My alarm woke me.” Then she turns serious. “Are you sure?”
“Sure.”
She taps her hand on the bar and then says, “He’s rich, right?”
“Loaded.”
“Maybe he’s ugly or gay?”
“And how shallow are you?” I ask.
She waves the bartender down. “Another round, we’re celebrating.” She puts her card on the bar, and before I can say anything he prepares the drinks.
