There’s one single hundred-dollar bill left.
Flat, smooth, like it’s been ironed.
“What’s this?” I don’t pull it out. It feels sacrilegious to for some reason.
“That’s the last of the money I have left of my father’s money,” she says, matter-of-factly.
My mouth dries. “It’s a hundred dollars. What do you mean, that’s the last of the money?”
“You heard me. Of the money my dad gave me, that’s it. That’s all that’s left.” “Use it.”
A shake of her head.
I don’t understand. “Why not?”
She slams her hands on the desk, the anger that’s been simmering during this whole exchange boiling over. “Because I want a reminder that I didn’t spend everything he gave me. I didn’t. I almost did. But not everything. I figured it out. I figured out a way to make it on my own. And I don’t need him anymore.” Each word drips with sulfuric acid.
Did he really cast her out? His darling daughter? All because she’d made a few bad decisions?
Who the fuck hasn’t?
“Clarissa. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me? You know I live in New York.” She exhales derisively and just the sound of it tells me how much she hates me, my whole family.
Oh my god, she thinks of us as the same as she thinks of him. Worse. She thinks it’s our fault.
“We didn’t know about any of this, Clarissa. I swear. Do you think we had anything to do with it?
That Damien did?”
Her snicker prickles at my skin. “You’re telling me you didn’t?”
“I swear to you, none of us did!” I yell, her misunderstanding about something so important making me desperate.
“Maybe Damien did, and he just didn’t tell you.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Because he’s such a man of his word? You remember what he did to me, don’t you?”
It’s my turn to be angry. I’m sorry for her predicament, but she can’t hide from all of the responsibility. “You can’t blame him for leaving you.”
She looks at me blankly. “Twice.”
“You blackmailed him the second time!”
“Girl’s gotta do what she’s got to do.”
I know she’s trying to get a rise out of me, and it works. I lose control of my tongue and say, “And what’s that? Marrying Patrick?” It’s a low blow, especially now, but I’m too angry to apologize.
I expect a retaliation. But the tables turned at some point in the conversation, and while I’m seething with fury, she’s calm, cold.
“What do you want me to do? I can’t go back to England; I can’t go to Australia. And I like it here and I want to stay. This is the only way.” “Marry me.”
Her expression mirrors the surprise I feel. I had not intended to broach the subject this way.
“What?!”
I swallow. “You heard me. You heard me earlier today too. Marry me. We’ll get you your green card. Isn’t that what you need?”
“Are you insane? I’m not dating you!” she splutters.
I’d be offended if I didn’t feel the same about her. “Who the fuck said anything about dating? I said marry.” Guess this is how we were going to talk about this. “You for your green card, and me, me because apparently my lifestyle is affecting my business. It’s a little too-” I clamor for the right word.
“Manwhorish?” she suggests.
She gets it. “I prefer the phrase ‘friendly to all.'”
Her face screws up. “Naked to all, you mean.”
I can’t help but grin. “See how well we fit, Clarissa? Couldn’t you do this every day for a few years?”
She makes a cross with her fingers. “Look at your face? No thanks. I’ll take my chances with
Patrick.”
That’s not funny. And I make that clear when I slam my hands down on the table, my own anger bubbling over. “The fuck you will. Come on, Clarissa, be smart about this. You know it’s in your best interests. I promise I won’t touch you. I promise you won’t have to touch me. All I need is for you to smile adoringly at me for a few pictures, come to a few dinners with me, get some free meals out of it, and charm a shitload of people who have nothing better to do than worry about my sex life.” I stand back up. “Nothing you haven’t done before. Except now, you’ll finally be married to a Baxter. I mean, isn’t that what you always wanted?” The air sizzles with hate.
“You are a fucking asshole.” But in her eyes, the resolve is crumbling. She’s going to go through with it. I know she is.
Why am I celebrating? Is this really something I want to be doing?
She knows, she can see, I need this too. And that puts us both at each other’s mercy.
“But I hate you,” she proclaims.
“Well, darling, that’s okay. Because I fucking hate you, too.”
CLARISSA
ou hate me?” I don’t know why I’m asking since it’s a given considering our history. But
“Y
something about him actually saying it out loud… hurts.
Annoyingly, he looks amused. “That’s a surprise? You know you’re not innocent, right? You made Damien breakup with his girlfriend to take you back. And even though you saw how miserable he was, you still tried to make him go through with it.”
“But he didn’t go through with it.” The mention of Damien still stings. My ego, not my heart. My heart was never in play.
“No. He didn’t want to marry you, Rissie. You can’t blame him for wanting to be happy.”
The use of my childhood nickname catches me off guard. “But now you want to marry me?”
“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment. And I probably have more experience handling someone who hates my guts.”
It takes more restraint than I have not to throw something at him. I grab the stapler off my desk and launch at his head. He just side steps it, and it clatters on the floor.
“Matthias Baxter, you’re easily the biggest jerk I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Please. Stop with the sweet talk. We’re trying to have a serious conversation.”
The only thing left on my desk to throw is my phone and I’m not going to wreck that just to see it hit him on the head. “Do you really think that I’m so desperate that I’m going to take you up on this? If I can’t marry Patrick-“