Page 13 of Famous Last Words
But with the thought of Tadd taking my listing, the one I worked my ass off to secure, and the image of his stupid face filling my mind, I’m almost on autopilot as I send my response.
Me: Okay. Whatever. I’ll do it.
CHAPTER 6
ROBBIE
I’m forced to hide my smirk as I watch Andy pace the length of his office, spluttering a slew of incomprehensible words, hands flailing in the air. He’s understandably pissed, trying to make sense of what I’ve just told him, and it’s almost funny. I’d laugh if I knew it wouldn’t piss him off even more.
“So, let me get this straight.” He stops pacing, looking at me as he grips the back of his chair. “You asked her topretendto be yourgirlfriend, inexchangeforpurchasinga six-million-dollar apartment off her?”
I nod.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “And there are text messages pertaining to this?”
I nod again.
He gawks at me. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“That’s exactly what she said!” I laugh, but he doesn’t seem to see the funny side.
“Robbie…” He lowers his voice. “That’s blackmail.”
My brows knit together. “Blackmail?”
Andy throws his head back. “Yes, Robbie. Congratulations. You’ve officially committed a felony.”
Fuck. Suddenly I’m scrambling, pulling my phone from the pocket of my jeans, more than a little panicked as I scroll through to Fran’s number. I call her on speaker, and thankfully, she picks up after the first ring.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind,” she says instead of the customary hello.
“Hey—” My gaze flits to Andy’s as he watches on with bated breath, “You’re not gonna, like, tell anyone about this, are you?”
“Actually, I was just about to post it on Facebook for all my friends and family to see.” She laughs hollowly. “You think I’m actually proud of this?”
Fuck me, she’s a snarky bitch.
Andy starts frantically gesticulating, and all I can do is stare at him because I have no idea what he’s fucking doing.
“NDA!” he whisper-yells.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna need you to sign an NDA,” I say casually, squeezing my eyes closed in preparation for her rebuttal.
“An NDA? Are you serious?” She doesn’t disappoint, her voice shrill and incredulous. “Who do you think you are? Harry Styles?”
Honestly, I’m kind of offended, but I keep my cool as best as I can, shifting in my chair. “Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you?—”
“Actually, Robbie, that’s entirely the basis of a Non-Disclosure Agreement. You don’ttrustthat I won’t say something, and you want it in writing so I legallycan’tsay something.”
“Okay, well, if I’m being honest, then, no. I don’t trust you. Do you blame me?” I scoff. “You literally doped me with laxatives and made me shit myself.”
“Ugh, get over it,” she mutters.
I guffaw, but before I can respond, my phone is ripped out of my hand.
“Hey, Fran, it’s Andy,” he says, turning the phone off speaker. “Yeah, I know. Sorry about him.”
With a muttered curse, I drop my head back, staring up at the ceiling as I listen to one side of the conversation.
