Page 14 of Desirable
“For what it’s worth? He’s not going to find a better woman. There aren’t many people who would turn down eight million dollars in exchange for being pampered and flown around the world.”
“Are you trying to be evasive?”
“What is there to be evasive about? Every person in this room has their traumas and what makes them tick. Of course, I have experience with a partner trying to screw me out of money both literally and figuratively. Every person in this room has or has done it. Rich, the guy who stood when I walked in, blew up his marriage by being a walking cliche and sleeping with his secretary. Mandy, the woman at the table behind you, is the heiress to a legal empire. Her first husband tried to take her for fifty percent, but she had an ironclad prenup. Anyone earning seven figures and up has been screwed over by someone.”
“So, who hurt you?” I ask softly, reaching out to gently touch his hand. He pulls his hand back, the barest amount, before turning my hand over to trace lines on my palm.
He seems to be weighing what to tell me, waiting as our third course is delivered. “I almost had a kid. I was twenty-three and thought that I had everything right. An amazing apartment all on my own, an empire at my feet, and a woman I was in love with. I had the ring all picked out but was arguing with my grandfather about a prenup. I didn’t think it was necessary. He did. He said even my parents had one, though he made sure to take care of my mother after she left my dad. Once I had the prenup ironed out, I was going to whisk her away and propose in some obnoxiously grand way. We had been together since college.”
He pauses his storytelling to eat the single pea on our plate that I’ve already since demolished and have wondered how impolite it would be to lick the sauce.
“I came back from another trip where I argued with my grandfather only to have her tell me she was pregnant. I was so,soexcited. Terrified, but excited. We were being careful, but not careful enough, apparently, but my grandfather thought the story sounded too good to be true.
“He flew up to congratulate us in person. I’m both sorry and glad you never have to meet him because when he wants to put the screws to you, he can. He inherited an oil empire from his father, and he grew it into so much more than that. It took him ten minutes to get her to break down and admit that she had slept with her high school boyfriend during one of my trips away and that she thought the baby was actually his. My grandfather wrote her a check for a hundred thousand dollars and told her it was a baby gift.”
“That’s awful.” I squeeze his hand, but he pulls it back to drink his wine, unable, or unwilling, to meet my eye.
“It’s just an anecdote. I haven’t had a long-term relationship since. A few less serious short ones. I dated an actress who admitted when we broke up that she just needed to look like she was serious, so dating an elusive billionaire fit that bill.”
“Parker, it’s no wonder you picked me to be your fake girlfriend. You haveterribletaste in women.”
“I like to think that I’ve finally made the right choice.”
I scoff into my fourth glass of wine. “Let’s see how you feel after I make you take me for a burger after this.”
There is a different sort of light in his eyes as he looks at me when we take the helicopter all the way to Montauk for burgers. It’s his indulgence in that whim that makes me think I might be falling in love with him.
* * *
"This is goingto be your room."
We're in a suite in Paris with a view of the Eiffel Tower out the window. I'm still staring at it when Parker pushes open the door. It’s been nearly 100 days of this whole charade and I'm itchy with the need to touch him. I've started to fidget with my jewelry, twirling my necklace around a finger.
I've already broken three with this new habit.
My attention pulls back to where he's pushing open a set of doors opposite another pair. The doors are separated by a lavish sitting room, and my dirty, sex-deprived mind goes to picturing what it would be like if Parker bent me over the couch and if the desk is the perfect height for him to fuck me on it.
It's psychotic how badly I want him. How badly I need him. Getting flowers from him at my office or receiving little trinkets from our travels has been almost heartbreaking because it's usually followed by a request to post it on social media so his sister can see. It's a reminder that what we have is only temporary, even if I've done something as stupid as catching feelings for this man.
No, not feelings. I've got the hots for him and I just need to get him out of my system. What we have is lust. An extreme case, but one that can be remedied with sex as long as we stop all this teasing. Him touching me, coming on me the way he did in Shanghai, is only serving to muddy the waters. Maybe at his sister's wedding, we can fuck and be done with it. If that's even something that he wants. Maybe it’s the same thing for him and he needs to work me out of his system as well.
"You'll have this room," Parker repeats, gesturing me toward it. I walk in and settle my purse on a bench at the foot of the bed. It’s a gorgeous space, with the bed on a platform at the center of the room. It’s a mix of modern and that lush French tufted style. My gown for the trip is already hanging up, glittering in a gorgeous pastel blue with white lace threaded through it. It's not nearly as voluminous as the dresses Marie Antoinette wore, but it fits the theme of the party, which is pre-revolutionary France. I just hope they’re not hoping to end the party with the guillotine.
"Safe to assume you're across the way?" I gesture at the doors that remain shut. I can’t help but think of Shanghai. When Parker’s eyes meet mine, I’m positive he’s thinking the same. His blue eyes dip to my chest before meeting my eyes.
"Yes. You have your own bathroom. The stylists will be here at two tomorrow, so we have the morning to see some more sights, or I can take you to my favorite patisserie for coffee."
"Do we have an itinerary today?" In every city we've gone to, even LA, Parker has had some adventure planned for us, which he explained as bonding and getting-to-know-you time. If we're going to be around his sister and family, the lie needs to sell. At the very least, it’s made my Pictogram envy-worthy with a helicopter ride over LA. He’s tried, to his credit, to make time for dinner with me every few weeks so we can have more time together.
There will be no going to this wedding without knowing his favorite color (robin's egg blue) or how he takes his coffee (loaded with milk and sugar) or that he has a shellfish allergy.
It's been around those get-to-know-you moments that I've been able to get the measure of this man. He catches me if I stumble, with his sure hand gripping me close. He's made certain that even when we get back to New York, there is a jet-lag recovery kit, stocked with teas and scented candles that encourage sleep and stress relief, waiting for me in my apartment.
"I feel like I've been the one bullying you to do things. So, what do you want to do? We're in Paris."
"Well, I've always wanted to go to Versailles. I mean, I want to eat a baguette and see the history of the city and I don't know. I’ve never been here before. I expected you to be the man with the plan."
Parker startles me by grabbing my hand and pulling me into his arms.