“Every single Friday night plus random Saturdays? For how long?” I demanded, pacing around the room. “This is insane. I have plans on Friday.”
“No, she doesn’t!” Maeve yelled through the glass.
I stuck my head out of the door. “I could have plans.”
“You just go home and bake,” she reminded me. “It’s not like you have hot dates lined up.”
I went back into Beck’s office. He was still standing at his desk with that worried look on his face that made him seem softer and slightly younger and also made me want to wrap him in a blanket and stroke his hair.
Good grief!
“I might start dating,” I lied. No way was I dating. But I didn’t want to give up my Friday nights complete with lonely drinking, wallowing in self-pity, and stress baking.
“You can’t date,” he said flatly. “You need to pretend to be my girlfriend.”
“Until…” I rolled my hands.
“Until I adopt the girls.” He ran a hand through his normally perfectly styled hair.
He really is upset about this.
“To even consider it, I need a little quid pro quo,” I said, fists on my hips. “What’s in it for me? A raise? Unlimited no-questions-asked credit card?”
“How about I don’t fire you,” he said, grabbing my shoulder. His touch was electric. The safety pin that was holding my blouse shut was about to give way again. With the way he had my heart racing, I was surprised my bodice hadn’t already ripped.
“You’ve already fired me before. You need to try a different position, otherwise a girl will just get bored,” I joked.
He let me go with an annoyed grunt.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be your girlfriend, but I’m not making out with you or sleeping with you.”
“Of course not.” Beck’s lip curled in disgust.
Was it really that gross of an idea to sleep with me?
Guess so.
15
Beck
“Ididn’t even mention anything about making out or sex,” I fumed after Tess had returned to her desk. I looked at myself in the reflection on the glass.
Why doesn’t she want to sleep with me?
Probably because when she looked at me, she saw my father. Ethel certainly did. My little sisters’ grandmother could barely contain her hatred. Not that I blamed her. My father was a manipulative man. He loved power, and he enjoyed lording it over those weaker than him.
He targeted women with low self-esteem—the younger the better. He wanted them to bend to his will.
I turned away from my reflection. It reminded me too much of my father. Every day it seemed like I looked more and more like him.
Tess was outside, sitting on her desk, joking with Annie and Enola.
My father would have hated her. Not only would he have despised her frizzy brown hair, but she never would have let him walk all over her. I smiled slightly at the thought. Tess looked up and caught my eye. Her face fell.
Right.
I would always be my father’s son.
