“I’m here to close a business deal. As are you.”
His eyebrows shoot up and I turn back towards the view, letting my sentiment stand bitter between us.
“Of course we are.”
The quiet affirmation and his use of “we” curls with something I can’t place and I hold my empty glass tighter as he continues.
“I didn’t mean to imply you’d be doing anything less than that by joining her. My gut says she makes more of the decisions than even Tom realizes, and by strengthening that tie, you’ll be making a world of difference in securing this contract.”
His explanation, and the way it matches my own conclusions, tempers my irritation. Even in the passing conversation with Cheryl, it is clear her blessing is needed for a future of working together. And, after faking a relationship, shopping and manicures isn’t the most outrageous use of my time.
Irritated at our tandem thinking and what it means for me, I nod once.
“What, may I ask, are the two of you going to be doing while I’m being preened like a god damn pretty bird?”
“Tom has an early tee time for us. We’re planning on playing a round or two before meeting you two for dinner at the club.” His voice is light, like he already knows how I’m going to respond.
“Of course you are,” I say, rolling my eyes and hoping the sarcasm helps ease the sting of my accusation. “And I’m going to be stuck making excuses for why I can’t buy Cheryl’s overpriced suggestions. God forbid I be honest and tell her I’d rather choke on my own vomit than spend more than $100 for a dress.”
While my savings for buying Nan’s Place is robust, my other accounts are on the small side of pitiful. It’s not botheredme much until being thrown into these professional circles, and while I could potentially dip into savings to keep up appearances, I have no interest in buying outfits I’ll never wear again. Noah shrugs.
“Well, that’s an easy enough fix. I have a card you can take.”
“I don’t need your pity money, Graves. I’m a tough girl. I can stand up for myself.”
“True, but it’s for a business dinner so I can write it off. Think of it as a clothing stipend. Spend whatever you need to, whateveryoufeel comfortable spending, and I’ll make it happen.”
I snap my fingers. “So that’show the rich stay rich. You don’t actually pay for anything yourselves.”
He waggles his brows and brings a finger to his lips. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
Cheryl’s voice cuts in as she and Tom come bearing more bottles of wine. “Look at the two of them, Tom. Aren’t they sweet?”
“Here we go,” I whisper to Noah as I turn with a broad smile. “We started to think we scared you off.”
Tom laughs and stabs the top of one of the bottles with his corkscrew. “You’d have to try harder than that to get rid of us, Miss Charlotte.”
“I think we’re both glad to hear that, Mr. Barker.”
“Please, you’re drinking my wine and sleeping in my guest house. Call me Tom.”
Cheryl reaches for my glass, taking the newly opened bottle from her husband. “You’re going to adore this one, Charlotte. It’s a favorite of mine. I made Tom order a whole case after we tasted it on our trip to Tuscany last summer.”
“Can’t wait to hear about it,” I say, shooting Noah a discrete look and touching his arm lightly as I pass.
Three hours later, we’re spread across the patio furniture listening to Tom and Cheryl regale us with stories of their travels as well as endless anecdotes of their life together. Noah and I are, ironically, on a loveseat, his arm propped up behind me. At first it was odd having him so close but either the California sun is getting to me, or the four bottles of wine we’ve split has subdued me into a state of ease. Most likely the latter. Even the thought of shopping with Cheryl tomorrow has a rosé tinted hue and sounds less like torture than it did before.
“We have a timeshare in Mexico so you just let us know if you want to use it and we can set a week aside for the two of you,” Tom says, with a wink.
Noah chuckles nervously and takes a sip of the pinkish wine Cheryl practically forced on him. His discomfort with Tom’s insinuation reminds me of who we are and yanks me out of the charade. Suddenly his arm slung across the cushion at my back is heavy with lies, and I feign a yawn.
“Oh,” I say, stretching towards the table at my knees. “I am so sorry. I must still be worn out from the flight.”
“No reason to be sorry, dear,” Cheryl says. “We’ve kept the two of you hostage for long enough.”
I smile, holding back a laugh at the double meaning of her words. She has no idea the binds we’ve been tied up in.
“It’s been a pleasure. But, if you want me to be anything more than a corpse tomorrow, I should probably get some sleep.”
