Page 111 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
(Of course, I haven't actually told him that, but it sounds reasonable enough.)
"The only thing I want from your son, ma'am, is his love and affection. I don't care about his money. But perhaps you already know that—deep down—no matter how hard you try to fight it."
"And is that why you allowed him to see other people while you were dating?"
"What?"
"I suppose you haven't seen the exposé on page three," she says. "It reveals that while you and Grayson were together, he was also seeing Anastasia Lieberman. I already knew, of course—Anastasia's mother and I play golf together. She told me they were still seeing each other barely a month ago."
Shit.
"Grayson explained that was a misunderstanding," I say quickly. "Apparently, it was a business meeting."
"Business? Between him and a pageant queen?" She lifts an eyebrow, folding her arms. "Pray tell, what business would that be?"
Double shit.
I scramble for an answer. "Maybe he was planning a pageant for the Symposium and wanted her advice?"
"Oh, come now, Ms. Marlowe. You're too smart to believe that."
I flush. "Alright, maybe we were having some issues at the time. But I don't see how him straying proves I'm not good enough for him."
"That's not what I'm saying at all." Her voice softens slightly as she pinches the bridge of her nose. "You're misunderstanding me, dear. This isn't about being good enough—it's about compatibility. You and Grayson don't share the same values. If he's already wandering, that tells you everything."
"Well, I wouldn't call what he did philandering..."
She shakes her head. "Grayson's a lot like my husband—men of strict moral codes. They may play around when single, but once committed, they never stray. My husband cheated on his first wife once—just a kiss—and that was enough to show him their marriage was beyond repair. He left her after that. Michael has never cheated on me.
"If Grayson's already cheating before marriage, that's your sign, Jenna. Believe me, this isn't meant to hurt you. I know you think you love him, but it's kinder to part ways now than years from now when it'll break you completely."
She reaches for my hand, cool fingers at odds with the sympathy in her gaze. "It'll be easier for you both this way."
She slides the notepad toward me again.
"There's no reason you shouldn't get something out of it," she adds smoothly. "It's not your fault he's been playing games, so you deserve compensation. Name your price." She opens a leather checkbook with a practiced flick. "Write the amount, and I'll pay you now."
"Compensation?" I spit. "You mean bribery."
"Whatever you want to call it." She scribbles something on the pad and lays it on my desk. "There's a number and my cell. Call or text ‘yes,' and I'll have the funds in your account the same day."
As she turns to leave, I hear myself say, "Wait."
She stops, eyebrows raised.
"Yes?"
"What's your problem with me?" The words come out rawer than I expect. "What is it you find so damn objectionable? Why don't you think we're compatible?"
Because in my eyes, we are. Grayson and I share the same work ethic, humor, loyalty—even our temperaments line up. We're protective of the people we love. Let's be honest, the sexual chemistry is off the charts.
"I could make your son very happy," I tell her quietly. "If you'd just give me the chance."
She exhales, gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "The woman my husband first married was a lot like you. Ambitious. Independent. Always with something to prove. She made him miserable."
"So?" I ask. "I'm not her."
"I'm not saying you are," she says evenly. "But I know your type, and I'm not letting history repeat itself. Lilian was hypercritical. She made everyone around her miserable."
