Page 39 of The Invitation
“Did you get the revised shooting schedule today?” I ask.
She settles back against the seat. “Yes. Thursday is a getting-to-know-you scenario now. I didn’t see where we were supposed to meet, though.”
“It’s at a restaurant called Ruma downtown. Since the crews are filming, they had to get permits and permissions.”
“Ruma, huh? I heard that place is amazing and also ridiculously expensive. Can’t say I’m mad about getting to try it on Canoodle’s money.” She takes another drink. “They have us scheduled for our first official date on Friday. We’re supposed to let them know our plans on Friday morning.”
“That’s what I read, too.”
“Well, seeing as though we got the same email, that would make sense,” she says.
I narrow my eyes as the frustration I’ve tried so hard to bury rises to the top.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “I’m not getting paid to be nice to you yet.”
As much as I want to do this for Jonah and need to do this for my family’s reputation—who doesn’t love a man bending over backward for the woman he’s falling for?—the possibility that Georgia fails to cooperate and this entire production fails becomes apparent.
“You know, if it pains you that badly to pretend to like me, you need to rethink this,” I say, clenching my jaw. “If you walk away now, little time and money has been spent. If you wait and let this blow up in your face, it will be expensive. That’ll make Sutton look even worse.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”I fire back.
“Don’t try to talk me out of this. Yes, it will pain me to be nice to you—even if it’s fake. But I signed a contract, didn’t I?”
I shrug. “You signed a contract to be professional about this, but you’re acting like an asshole.”
“Coming from you, that’s rich.”
We sit across from one another, each holding a proverbial white flag under the table. We both know we can’t do this and make our agreement work. Yet neither of us is willing to raise the flag first and surrender.
I fold my hands on the table. “I’m no happier about this than you are, Peaches.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’d rather listen to Gannon talk about stocks and bonds than do this with you,” I say. “And, if you want me to be honest, I don’t know that you can do this.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” I pin her to the seat. “You’re too busy pretending to be a bad bitch to even allow me to be remotely nice to you. Why is that, Georgia? Are you scared it’ll taint whatever fucked-up version of yourself that lives in your head?”
She leans against the table, anger rolling off her in waves. “Fuck you, Ripley.”
“Does the truth hurt?”
“It hurts about as much as your ego is going to hurt when you realize that I’m not melting at your feet when we’re alone, and I sure as hell won’t believe every word that comes out of your mouth.”
I withdraw a bit, studying the guard that just slid across her eyes. I’m unsure if this is a new thing or if I’m only noticing it now. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t have time—or the energy, or the desire—to figure it out.
“I’m approaching this like I would any business contract,” I say, my voice unwavering.
“Same.”
We’re not getting anywhere… I sigh.
“So ground rules?” she asks. “You go first.”
I glance at a table of men in suits by the bar who keep glancing at Georgia. “We shouldn’t date other people until our contract is up. It’s just to maintain the integrity of the job.”
