“What I’m willing to tell you,” I say taxingly, “is how much it cost.”
“Do I even want to know?” It’s a fair question, but one he needs the answer to so he can fully evaluate the leverage I hold here.
I lean in and whisper the figure in his ear, just for the fun of making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He shouts, “No way, dude! I knew you were rich, but I didn’t know you were that rich.” He’s abandoned the buyback box now, and he’s pacing the aisle—the number alone sending him into a frenzy. It’s funny to watch.
“Yeah, well, now you know.” As much as I love my flashy shows of material wealth—like the pants he read for filth when I arrived—I do get hit with pangs of self-reproach for occupying that space. For having so much when so many have so little. A swipe of plastic is all it would take for me to be flying first class to just about anywhere in the world right now. Hector is stuck here because he goes without that privilege. I promised to be less dickish. This is the first step in fulfilling that promise. “Do you see how easy it would be for me to get you home in time for New Year’s?”
“Wait, but you just said you don’t have that money.”
“I don’t have that moneynow,” I correct. “The whole reason I’m here is to hide away so I can’t do anything else stupid while they keep the story under wraps. For image rehabilitation or whatever, but do you know what my parents will love even more than no story?” His expression is empty, and I’m annoyed that I must spell this out for someone as smart as him. Even if his face looks a whole new shade of adorable like that. “A new story! A story of redemption and changed behavior. A son who throws a charity gala out of the goodness of his heart to help a small town’s struggling small businesses.”
The fabulous headlines inVarietyandVanity Fairand other outlets that begin with V practically write themselves.
Sarah Pearson could finally hop off my ass. Dad’s investors would be thrilled. Mom would feel justified for sending me here. And I could go back to who I was; the status quo would be restored.
I’m already imagining a Welcome Back BBQ at my favorite Korean restaurant when Hector throws a wrench in my plan.
“In theory, I see where you’re coming from, but what if it all flops? What if your parents don’t care?” He stops his pacing. “How do I know I can trust you to hold up your end of the bargain?”
I fiddle with the tie on the front of my wool trench coat, willing my brain to come up with the exact right thing to respond with, and when it does, I decide I have to show him my hand. The real one. Not the cards stashed up my sleeve for downright trickery. Those won’t impress him. Above that, he doesn’t deserve them. Not after last night.
“You can’t.” My reputation precedes me. He made that clear with that comment about the men I’ve been seen out with. While I used to not give a damn about any of it, now I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter.
There’s not enough time to jump through hoops and make him see that I’m trustworthy. That I may be frivolous, but I’m not maniacal. I have a heart. A small, mostly broken one currently, but it still beats just fine. I feel empathy. On most days.
Hector laughs to himself. “Someone needs to teach you whatnotto say when striking a deal with someone.”
Funny, considering my dad wrote a pivotal book on striking deals. Hector’s way out of his depth here. I know exactly what I’m doing. The only true thing I can do: attempt to forge a connection. “I’m being honest. Isn’t honesty worth more in the end?” I slip between him and the shelf so we’re eye to eye. “You can’t know if you can trust me. I can get what I want from you, turn around, and then stab you in the back, couldn’t I? My promises could be worthless for all you know.”
“Seriously, dude, you’re not making a good case for yourself.”
I hold my pointer finger up to his full lips—a plush place for my own lips to land, surely. If that were an option.
“But I could be offering you a mutually beneficial opportunity. Don’t you want to see what could happen? Aren’t you a little curious?”
His eyes dart down to my finger. Those flecks of gold are practically dancing with the dizzying idea of being home. Not that here is hell or anything, but it’s not ideal for him either. “Why do you even need me?”
“I don’t ever plan alone. That’s not how I work.” I look him over. “I’m an ideas man. You’re anactionguy.” What an awkward way to say he’s more capable than I am. “I come up with the concept, and then you help me execute it. I can’t throw a Prince-level gala in two weeks with only one pair of hands. Not one my parents would be proud of.”
The reality of that hits me hard. Something crinkly in my chest cavity crumples a little bit more. I didn’t mean to getthatreal with him, but now it’s out there, and I think he can tell how packed that statement was.
“Plus I need an outsider to tip off the media of my goodwill, which is also where you come in,” I tell him.
He strokes the five-o’clock shadow outlining his strong jaw. “I’ll think about it.”
“What?”
“I said, I’ll think about it, dude. You may run on impulse, but I come from a family that thinks things through before they agree to them.” Two parentheses crease between his eyebrows.“Well, I thought I did.”
I would question what that means, but I’m too busy watching him chart the disbelief all over my face, and his classic smirk coming back. “You’re used to getting what you want just because you’re handsome and influential, huh?”
My brain nearly combusts. “You think I’m handsome?”
“That’s what you took from that?” He reddens. “Objectively speaking.” Clearly, I’m not the only one having a hard time keeping certain sentiments under wraps today. Maybe hewantedit to be that kind of proposition.
I grunt in defiance but it does nothing to sway him. He’s stalwart and smug, chuckling at me. And because I have no ground to stand on or any ammunition to forcehishand with, I withdraw for the time being.
