Page 24 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"Why?"
"Because I'm not a total bitch, though it may seem that way."
"No, I mean, why were you being ruder than normal to me?"
"Oh." She mulls it over, then shrugs. "It's… preparation. It's hard to explain. You'll understand when you meet my mother."
After that, the meal finally becomes more pleasant, Steph revealing the more entertaining side of her character. She tones down her attitude and genuinely listens when I answer her questions. She shows interest in the things that interest me, and she tells genuinely funny, sometimes outrageous anecdotes about her and Grayson's childhood — stories that offer a fascinating glimpse into the insulated world of this billionaire family.
The time slips by quickly, and before I realize it, it's gone two in the afternoon and Steph is rising to depart. Though I'm still not letting her off the hook, she leans in and gives me a hug before she goes.
"I have to take off now," she says brightly. "But I'll see you at the family dinner, right?"
I'm not sure what to say to that. How long is Grayson planning on keeping this ridiculous plot going? "Er… I guess."
"Of course I will." She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a sleek business card, and slides it across the table. "Call me. You can't carry on wearing this stuff. I want to take you shopping and buy you some real clothes."
"I don't want you to buy anything for me."
"I know, but I want to."
"I don't need designer-label clothing." I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger with a big bank account barging into my life and turning me into her personal charity case for her own amusement.
"Oh, but you absolutely do need these clothes — and you know it. It's what your clients expect to see you wearing, and if they don't trust your clothes, they won't trust you. Anyway, like you said, Daddy's a billionaire. I can afford it, so what are you worrying about? Besides, it'll be a fun girl's afternoon out."
She laughs a tinkling, high-society laugh, kisses first Grayson and then me on the cheek, and flounces off, still talking loudly on her cellphone as she heads for the exit.
"She's weird," I murmur as I watch her leave. Then I glance at Grayson, who's giving me an odd look.
"Right, Mr. Grayson fucking Wolfe." I level a stern gaze at him, and he has the grace to look a little contrite — though nowhere near as much as he should, by rights. "Now spill. What the hell is going on here? What on earth gives you the right to think you can go around announcing I'm your girlfriend to your sister? Why am I supposed to meet your parents, for crying out loud? And what's this dinner event that your sister was talking about?"
Grayson opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
"One final thing, Grayson. Don't think I've forgotten about my money either. I want to hear some answers — and they'd better be damned good ones, and they'd better include an agreement to pay what you owe. Because if not, you will regret this morning's fiasco very much indeed, and that, sir, is a promise."
CHAPTER 8
Grayson
Ishake my head, smothering my smile, hardly able to believe the past few minutes just happened.
Well… that was entertaining.
It felt like watching an intense chess match—or maybe a tennis rally—any game where two evenly matched players test each other's limits. There'd been no clear winner, but I have to say, Jenna surprised me. I didn't expect her to hold up that well against my sister's imposing demeanor, especially since Steph was quite obviously turning it up a notch for this brunch.
When Jenna was distracted by a waiter refilling her glass, my sister sent me a quick wink of approval, though I'd already spotted the hint of admiration in Steph's eyes.
That might not sound like much. In Steph's world, it could just mean she's found a fresh way to piss off our parents and is relishing the chaos. She's also not sure whether this thing between Jenna and me is fake or real—and the thrill of not knowing makes it all the more entertaining for her.
Even so, the whole exchange confirms what I'd half-thought before, dismissed, and now find myself considering again… Jenna as my fake fiancée.
She doesn't tick every box—not even close—but she ticks the one that matters most. The one no one else has managed to tick. She has strength. The kind of self-possession that lets her stand her ground while somehow winning people over at the same time. That's critical for any wife-to-be of mine—fake or not—if she's going to survive more than five minutes in front of my delightful parents.
Besides, the alternative is slogging through a tedious process of finding someone else convincing enough for Steph to buy the act, and that's time I just don't have.
"What?" Jenna asks again. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because…" I trail off, still turning the idea over. Making Jenna my fake fiancée would be risky. She doesn't come from the kind of background my mother would approve of, and her job—though respectable—is one my mother would dismiss as something for a bored housewife.
