Page 6 of Making It While Faking It
The Bessers?Who the hell are they? And why is he asking me about them? No one comes to mind, so I swiftly shake my head, agitated.
“Bryce Besser’s grandfather was one of our early investors. You met Bryce and his three daughters. But you were probably too young to remember them.” Knitting his eyebrows together thoughtfully, my dad raises a finger. “One of the girls broke something of yours. It made you cry.”
Now I remember.“Oh yes.” Three very scary little faces populate my memory. Even though I can’t fully recall what they looked like, I can recall every bit of how they made me feel. “Those girls,” I say as if I’m barfing the words. “They were awful. They broke the jewelry box Grandma gave me.”
My dad nods as if he’s recalling how I cried to my mom, who held me. She took me out for ice cream and a movie to help me feel better. When we returned home later that evening, much to my relief, the girls were gone.
My dad says that Bryce Besser died in March of the same year he stopped my trust payments. The daughters, who had nothing going for themselves, never knew that Bryce had lost all the family wealth. He’d been living on an over-bloated stipend handed to him by his father’s company’s board of directors. The board had taken pity on Bryce and paid him a heavy monthly salary, which was enough to keep up his lifestyle. After the father passed, the stipend stopped. His daughters and wife were left with hardly anything to live on.
“Those girls had no survival instincts to make it on their own. Sweetheart, I felt you were heading down that same path. We’d given you too much. Your mom had to be convinced, but she eventually said she trusted me. But look at you,” he says, holding up his hands like he’s presenting me to the world. “You’ve been tried and tested. You’re doing what needs to be done to get what you want out of life. I see that you hate being here. But you’re here, doing what needs to be done to ensure your success. I’m proud of you, Treasure Chest—very proud of you.”
“Don’t take any credit for me.” My words come out sharper than a razor’s edge.
I’m glaring at my dad, and he’s watching with a receptive expression. But still, I can tell that he feels no remorse for his decision.
Finally, elbows out to his sides, he smashes his palms against his thighs and sets his penetrating glare on me. “Treasure Island—remember that place?” His eyebrows quirk up. “Huh?”
My face tightens, and so does my mouth as I nod.
“But first, you went on that reality show where you spent money so fast to show off a lifestyle we never approved of. The expenses you racked up went way beyond your inheritance payments. Xan was filtering in extra money to your account. I couldn’t keep up with how much you were spending. Then you didn’t finish college. For goodness’ sake, who quits Smith College with a respectable 3.6 GPA?”
My dad sighs forcefully as he massages his temples now. He’s worked himself into a frenzy as he went from composed to exorbitantly gesticulating with his hands. And frankly, I never saw myself through his eyes until after hearing everything he said—all of my major fuckups, sans the restaurant, laid bare before me.
My throat is tight, but I manage to eke out, “I’m sorry.” I can’t believe I said that, but I meant it.
Leo drops his hands from his forehead and looks at me as if he can’t believe I apologized either.
I shrug. “You’re right. I used to go through a lot of money. But look at me now.” I look down at myself in the ugly costume I’m wearing. “I received your message loud and clear.”
My dad studies my wry smile and then chuckles a sigh.
“Listen, I know what I’m asking you to do is unorthodox,” he says in a tender and convincing voice. “And I might be crossing a line here that I’m not quite comfortable with. But since you’ve had a relationship with one the Lord brothers…”
“No!” I shout, shaking my head vigorously. “Never will I ever marry Orion Lord. No.” I set my chin and purse my lips defiantly. Because I mean it.
“Okay.” Leo’s tone is cautious and uncertain. “Well, you don’t have to live with him. It’ll all only be on paper.”
“That’s not how Orion operates,” I say, still shaking my head. But hell if I’m going to let one hundred fifty-three million dollars slip through my fingers. “I’ll marry Achilles—on paper. And only Achilles.” Because Achilles is like a sleek and independent cat that will go somewhere and hide unless he wants something that’s very, very, very important, and it won’t be sex. I’ve heard in circles that Orion and I share that Achilles is either not into women or is a sort of self-ordained monk, vowing celibacy, chastity, and obedience to his family—but poverty? Never.
Our Meeting Is Not Cute
TREASURE GROVE
BACK TO 6 HOURS LATER
The man I’m looking at after stepping out of the limousine is Achilles Lord. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him in the flesh.
I absentmindedly fan my fingers over my collarbone with one hand and wave tentatively at him with the other. Instead of waving back, he frowns, leaving me feeling stupefied and confused. Why is he staring at me with such a severe scowl? He looks as if I’ve just kicked him in the shin or something.
This morning, my dad stepped out of my trailer to negotiate the details of our marriage contract with Achilles. By the gestures he was making, I could tell that my insistence to marry him instead of Orion hadn’t gone down easy. Maybe he’s mad that I refuse to marry his brother. I’m certain he doesn’t know why I’m so insistent about keeping my distance from Orion. His brother would never tell him what he did in St. Barts. That incident was the straw that broke the camel’s back as far as I was concerned.
Even though being given the cold shoulder by Achilles stings a little, I will not change my mind, not at this juncture. And frankly, Achilles should be happy that he’s marrying me. I don’t want to infringe on whatever or whomever he does during his free time. There are plenty of rumors about him floating around. I’ve learned that rumors aren’t always true, but still, I want to assure him that he doesn’t have to worry about my wanting more than a nonexistent relationship.
I flash him a final smile to convince him that his assholish glower hasn’t deterred me, but his frown turns worse. Then he stiffens as if he’s just realized the error of his response to me, rips his eyes away from my face, and continues to stride a little less confidently into the building.
“Miss Grove, is everything okay?” the driver asks.
“Yes,” I say, blinking myself back into the moment. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, I tell the driver that his services will not be needed. But still, I can’t get what just happened between Achilles and me out of my head. This arrangement of ours might be harder than I thought.
