Page 110 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Then I remember—my assistant's rarely at her desk. Great. She probably just waltzed right in.
I shut the door behind me and paste on the brightest professional smile I can manage.
"It's… nice to see you," I say, lying through my teeth. "What can I do for you?"
"This visit," she replies coolly, "is about what I can do for you."
I blink. "I'm sorry?"
She picks up one of my notepads from my desk and holds it out to me, along with a sleek gold pen.
"I want you to write down a number," she says evenly. "Any number you like. Whatever you write—that's what I'll pay you to walk away from my son."
I blink at the woman, who stares back at me without flinching—calm, poised, and utterly unapologetic about her insane demand.
Of course, she doesn't know I'm pregnant with his child—not even Grayson knows that yet—and now is quite obviously not the time to announce that particular piece of news. Mind you, I can't help wondering what she would do if she knew. Would she want me to keep it? Or would she try to make me get rid of it? Almost certainly the latter. She obviously thinks I'm only in this for the money, so she'd probably believe I'd deliberately got myself pregnant, just to get an extra hold over her son.
Honestly, though, even I don't know what's best any more. I'm a busy professional. I didn't as for all of this complication in my life. I should damn well never have said yes to Grayson's ridiculous contract. Now here I am, feeling nauseated, and having listen to this ridiculous woman as she slanders me.
I'm brought back to there here and now by a discrete cough from Mrs. Wolfe, who arches an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and haughty.
"Well," she says. "Have you thought about it yet?"
"Thought about... how much I want you to pay me?" I clarify.
She nods.
"Seriously? You're really offering me money to leave your son alone?"
"Yes," she replies.
"Why?"
"I would assume it's obvious," she sighs. "But very well, I'll be frank, Ms. Marlowe. You should already know this relationship with my son is doomed. Whatever love you think you share isn't real. You're simply an act of rebellion against his father and me, and deep down he knows it. Eventually it'll fizzle out like it was never there, and you'll be left with nothing. Isn't it better to take what I'm offering and at least end up with something?"
"What makes you think we won't last?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Call it a mother's instinct. You might make it to the altar and maybe last a year or two, purely due to Grayson's stubbornness. But you're too different. Oh, I know you went to a decent school on a scholarship and got yourself a proper education—good for you, I'm impressed—but that doesn't make you one of us. You know that as well as I do. You must have felt it back in school—one of the students, yes, but never quite the same as the others. An outsider. We had one like that in my school too. I can see it in your eyes—you know exactly what I'm talking about."
And damn her, she's right. I did feel like an outsider—the scholarship girl, which really meant the charity case. The only student whose parents weren't wealthy or well-connected, surrounded by girls raised to become politicians' wives or society darlings. They were born into luxury, destined to "marry well" and produce the next generation of little elites. The whole cycle spinning on forever.
But all that only matters if you believe it does, I remind myself. I don't. Do I?
"Your lifestyles are too different," she goes on smoothly. "Especially when it comes to raising a family. Grayson knows it too. He's rebelling right now, but he'll settle down eventually—and when he does, where will that leave you? I'm only being honest with you, as a kindness. It's nothing personal, dear, I assure you."
"I see." I'm not offended—yet. Still shocked, maybe a little hurt that she's doing this behind Grayson's back. "Well, since you think I'm greedy enough to take your offer, why wouldn't I be greedy enough to hold out for something larger?"
Her eyes narrow. "I can make sure you never see a cent of his inheritance. Our lawyers are drafting the contract as we speak."
Now I am offended. The fact that she automatically sees me as some gold-digging thief really stings.
I'm tempted to show her another side of me—just to give her more reason to hate me.
"Yes, but you realize Grayson's independently wealthy," I say evenly. "His inheritance is only part of it. His real wealth lies in the portfolio he's built himself, and if I were truly after money, there's nothing you could offer that would top that."
Her eyes sharpen. "Ha! So, you admit you're after his money."
"No." I smile. "If that were true, I wouldn't have told him I was willing to sign a prenup—and keep our finances separate."
