Page 39 of Making It While Faking It
“You can pay back the trust and nullify our contract.”
“Okay,” I say, shaking my head. “You signed the same contract I signed. The details were written in black and white.” I say that, but I feel as if I’m being a bit of a hypocrite. I didn’t read the details before signing. I could’ve signed over the right to both of my kidneys without knowing. But even though I’ve been angry at my dad for years, I trusted him. However, Achilles isn’t me. I would think a man as controlling as he is would memorize every line of the contract.
His lips twitch like he wants to respond, but instead he presses them into a very hard line. I fight the urge to make him explain why he believes I’m going to double-cross him. I do plan on paying back the trust to be free of the contract, but I wouldn’t just wake up one day and without any warning say, “Achilles, I’m done.Sayonara.” I’m not Max or my dad or even Xan. I would warn him first.
Then it occurs to me. I have to picture Max’s face whenever I see Achilles because they are just as sharklike when it comes to money and business. He’s looking into my affairs—the asshole. I wish I could blow up and tell him to go to hell, but I can’t. First of all, it’s not my style. Secondly, my restaurant is dropping slowly into a sinkhole, forcing me to play along to get along.
Damn it!
“Let’s both take a breath and then reset,” Dr. Brandt says.
But I’ve lost patience. I raise a finger in objection. “I’m sorry, Dr. Brandt, what is the purpose of this exercise?”
She says it’s to build a rapport between us so that we’ll know how to make easy and pleasant conversation.
I shoot to my feet, ready to storm out and call a cab. “But I don’t think he’s capable of engaging in an easy and pleasant conversation.”
Achilles stands up. His movement reminds me of a bent tree miraculously rising to stand tall. “Listen, I’m sorry. Sit, Treasure. Let’s finish this.”
I sigh wearily. Why must every encounter with Achilles Lord take so much out of me? And is he really “sorry”? I doubt it. I’m certain his apology is merely a means to an end. But he’s a smart guy. It’ll be wise for me to follow his lead and get a grip. He’s in the big leagues, and if I want to come out of this whole marriage arrangement unscathed, then I need to behave like a formidable opponent and not a brat who throws a tantrum to get her way.
“No, I’m sorry for losing my cool,” I say and then sit back down. Cool, calm, and collected as always, Achilles joins me on the sofa. His nearness all of a sudden makes my blood warm. But I know I must say it first just to demonstrate to him that not only am I an adult, but I behave like one too. So I point a hand at Dr. Brandt and say, “Please, Dr. Brandt, let’s continue.”
Our session is over.Rain that was nowhere in sight an hour ago pours down on the car that Achilles and I are sharing. He’s not going back to the office. We’re going home together, and I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. The end of our session couldn’t have gone more smoothly. Achilles’s favorite meal is simply a broiled steak, rare, with a baked potato. His favorite famous person is Martin Luther King Jr.
“A man has to be in touch with the divine parts of himself to accomplish what he accomplished,” he had said.
My panties got even wetter.
I felt pressured to come up with a favorite famous person just as courageous. But instead of Gandhi or Florence Nightingale, I said, “Julia Child because she made me want to be her.”
Achilles frowned as if he thought I was a loser for naming a chef. But screw him. Since our whole relationship is built on a lie, I prefer to tell the truth as much as I can.
But yet again, we are alone in the back seat of his chauffeured car, and we’ve brought with us the sort of sexual tension that looking into each other’s eyes while answering personal questions produces.
Achilles is the first to make a phone call and talk business in an attempt to reset our relationship to something less intense and more casual. His replies are short and cryptic. It’s apparent that he still doesn’t trust me. Instead of twiddling my thumbs as I try to withstand this odd sensation in my chest that feels like butterflies fluttering their wings, I call Paisley, and just as it was before she purposely started avoiding my calls, she answers after the first ring.
“What the hell, Pais,” I grumble, keeping my voice as low as possible.
“How are you?” She sounds worried.
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“I heard you were sick at Sunday night’s dinner and Achilles took you home. I’ve been calling him, checking in on you.”
I steal a peek at Achilles, and he’s watching me.
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I caught a virus. But you knew about Gran’s grand announcement and didn’t give me a heads-up. Shame on you. I thought you were my better half.”
Her chuckle warms my ear. Gosh, I need her right now. “I’m so sorry, Treasure. You know how hard it was to keep the news from you. Grandmother made me promise. She wanted to be the one to tell you and everybody else. Do you forgive me?”
I roll my eyes as if she knows the obvious answer. “Always.” I glance at Achilles again.Why in the hell is he staring at me that way?I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. Maybe I should snap my fingers in front of his face to wake him up. Maybe he thinks I’m secretly plotting and planning against him. He’s so paranoid. To send him a message, I aim my back at him and whisper, “So when am I going to see you? Are you in town?”
She says they are and that she and Hercules can have dinner with us tonight. I don’t even hesitate for a moment when I say, “Absolutely.” Then I repeat exactly what she’s said in my head.Wait. Dinner with us?
Dinner with Friends
TREASURE GROVE
