Page 22 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
He sighs. "We haven't gotten around to that conversation yet."
"Well, when did you plan to tell her? At the wedding?"
They both continue to ignore my questions and quibble with each other. I furrow my eyebrows, trying to follow the conversation, but mostly I'm wondering why the heck Grayson's pretending I'm his girlfriend. Even as they argue, his eyes meet mine over her head. There's a request in there.
Play along, his gaze seems to say.
Oh, the nerve of him. Indignation spikes in my body. He wants me to help him out after his company tried to scam me? Unbelievable.
The imp on my shoulder urges me to say something and ruin his whole plan. It would be so satisfying to see the arrogant lookon his face slide off when I don't play along. I wonder what he'd do if I simply denied everything — or better yet, denied it and slapped him in the face, like he so richly deserves. It's almost worth it, just to find out. But…
Maybe it's better to play along for now. After all, he still owes me all that money I spent on behalf of the Wolfe Foundation, and I simply can't afford to lose that much.
Yes. I'll wait, say nothing, and see what happens. But when the time comes, he'd better have a very good explanation.
And secretly, is there just a little part of me — a tiny, hidden part — that rather likes the idea of being his girlfriend? Of being seen out on his arm in public? And maybe even of getting a repeat performance from him, like that time over his desk I'd be lying if I pretended I hadn't enjoyed?
No. I mustn't think like that. I'll stay quiet for now, but this is purely about the money.
"I'm Steph, by the way," his sister finally says, extending one perfectly manicured hand toward me, the gesture crisp and practiced, like she's used to introductions being formalities rather than genuine moments of connection.
"Jenna," I reply, giving her hand the lightest of touches before she withdraws it.
"We should all get brunch together," Steph announces breezily, as though it's the most natural suggestion in the world. "It's a little early, sure, but I could eat."
"I don't think that's necessary," Grayson cuts in immediately, his tone sharp.
"Why not?"
"Because I said so."
She pulls a mock-offended expression, clutching her chest theatrically. "Do you not want me to spend time with your new girlfriend?"
"Of course I don't," he fires back. "You're an awful person with zero morality. You're a terrible influence, an appalling gossip, and you're always on the make. Why would I subject anyone to your company?"
Steph shrugs, utterly unbothered, as though she's heard it all before. "Because I'm your sister, or have you forgotten? And anyway, if she can't handle me, she'll never survive Mom or Dad. Don't you want to use me as a litmus test before you waste any more time on her?"
They're speaking about me as if I'm invisible, I realize, and she's every bit as rude as her brother—perhaps worse.
I can't decide if she's being deliberately insulting or if she simply doesn't care enough to polish her abrasive words. Either way, I decide that two can play at this game. If Grayson thinks he can use me in this ridiculous charade, then I'll make sure he doesn't get things entirely on his own terms.
"I don't mind," I interject smoothly. "I'm not busy right now, and I'd love to get to know your sister, Grayson." I'd already cleared my morning, anticipating I might be stuck waiting for hours in his office before seeing him anyway.
Steph's eyes brighten, and she flashes her brother a triumphant leer. "Great."
Grayson frowns at me, clearly trying to figure out my angle, but I only smile back innocently. If this is what he wants, then this is exactly what he'll get.
"We can go to the steakhouse across the street," Steph suggests, already taking command of the plan. "They open early, and their lobster bisque is divine. I'll call and secure a table." Without waiting for anyone's approval, she pivots toward the elevator, Cuban heels clicking sharply on the marble floor, one hand already fishing her phone out of a Prada purse that probably costs more than my rent.
In the brief silence that follows, Grayson leans toward me, muttering under his breath, "What are you doing?"
"What areyoudoing?" I shoot back without missing a beat.
Steph's voice rings out from down the corridor as she presses the phone to her ear. "Are you guys coming? I'm getting hungry here!"
Grayson narrows his eyes at me, then exhales a long, resigned sigh. "We're coming."
The steakhouse has a rich, welcoming ambiance, with crisp linens and polished wood, the kind of place where the waitstaff are unfailingly pleasant and attentive. Light classical music drifts softly through the background, creating an atmosphere that would normally feel soothing, almost elegant.
