“And what, exactly, is wrong with my clothes?” she demands through clenched teeth.
“Nothing!” I assure her, and I mean it when I say, “You rock those Old Navy jeans. Like,reallyrock them.” When her face doesn’t soften, I add, “I’m trying to say you have a nice as?—”
“Moving on!” Blondie interrupts.
Huh. Who would’ve thought complimenting her posterior could somehow make her hate me even more than she already does. You really do learn something new every day.
I clear my throat. “I’m not trying to give you a makeover or anything. You can still wear your normal clothes. This would just be for when we might be seen and photographed together…so, you know, the days you’re at Conwick, and when we go out on fake dates.”
“I’m still failing to see the necessity of that,” she retorts, her tone haughty.
I suppress a groan, hoping the truth won’t get me killed. “It’s just…your current wardrobe doesn’t really fit the image I need to convey.”
Blondie repositions herself in her seat, turning her upper body to face me. “Which is…?”
I shoot her an incredulous look. “Come on, Dornan. I’m the heir to a billion-dollar fortune. I can’t be seen with some chick who looks like she shops in the bargain basement. I want my parents to take me seriously, not think I’m going through a phase.”
“And what kind of phase would that be?” she snaps. “God, could you be any more offensive?”
A droll sigh parts my lips. “This isn’t a personal attack onyou, feisty. If anything, it’s a commentary on them.” I flap a hand at some invisible presence in the distance. “The tabloids, my parents, the anonymous Karen hiding behind her computer screen, who spends her time complaining about everything to give herself a sense of entitlement and importance. They’re all judgy assholes, and believe it or not, I’m trying to spare you from the toxic bullshit I’ve been dealing with my entire life.”
She barks out a scornful laugh. “Right. Just like you spared me public humiliation last spring.”
Her words are a slap in the face. A well-deserved slap. And if we weren’t attempting to trick the whole world into thinking we’re dating, I would take the verbal beatdown she’s so obviously desperate to unleash on me like a man. But we don’t have time for this, and if she can’t find her inner Elsa and let it go—or at least push her feelings aside for the time being—then this will only end in disaster, and we’re just fooling ourselves even trying.
“Don’t you get it?” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but I don’t backtrack or apologize for it. Blondie needs a reality check about what she’s in for. “If I go out with you as you are…” Itrail off, gesturing to her T-shirt, which has the word “I” followed by a heart, and then a picture of a pie with the symbol for the mathematical pi (which I know now; I Googled it after Blondie gave me grief for misconstruing her email address) forming the top of the crust. “Well, let’s just say, social media will have a field day. Best case scenario, everyone will think you’re a gold digger. Worst case, they’ll tear you down in ways you have never experienced simply based on your looks, and trust me, that shit is hard to ignore. Don’t get me wrong, Dornan, you’re attractive. I’d even say you’re a ten out of ten—and cute as a button in your nerdy shirt, I might add—but my parents will think this is some kind of joke and that I’m not taking their threats seriously.Butif we dress you up, give you a nice little backstory…”
Silence throbs between us like a heartbeat, pulsating and loud. I bite back the temptation to fill it, from digging an even deeper hole for myself, if her lack of response is any indication of how she’s perceived my words. I turn my full attention to the road to stop my gaze from shifting to Blondie again—from trying to read her mind on her face.
“So, you not only want me to lie about us dating, you want me to lie about who I am.” It isn’t a question. Just a simple statement of fact. A confirmation.
I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s not as hard as you think. I do it all the time.”
She snorts. “Oh, yeah? Like when?”
I shoot her a caustic look. “How about when we met? You believed me when I said I was struggling in class and really needed a tutor.”
“That’s hardly the same as lying about your entire identity.”
“Is it?” I challenge. “A lie is a lie. The only difference between any of it is how well you sell it. And you believed me, didn’t you? So, I obviously sold it well.”
She instantly bristles. “Yeah, and the joke was on me becauseIwas the one who got hurt, not you. So, forgive me for not jumping at the chance to lie like that to somebody else.”
Ouch. That’s her second zinger today. Point two for Blondie. Damian: zero.
“Listen, the whole bucket list thing…it was a dick move,” I admit. “And I get why you’re mad, I do. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Really.”
“You’re only saying that so I won’t quit,” she grumbles, and I can practically hear the pout in her voice.
I heave an exasperated breath. “Can’t it be a little of both?” Turning on my right indicator, I switch lanes and steer onto the hard shoulder, then cut the engine when the car rolls to a stop. Blondie begins to ask why we’ve pulled over, but I cut in. “Come on, Blondie. Let bygones be bygones.” I shift in my seat to face her and give her my best puppy dog eyes. “Besides,” I continue, hoping a little boost to the ol’ self-esteem will go a long way, “you got me back pretty good.”
A subtle grin tugs at her cheeks, forming tiny dimples I didn’t notice before. “That’s true,” she concedes, looking pleased with herself. She arches a brow at me. “How’s your dick by the way?”
She peers down, and I’m beyond grateful my semi has had a chance to deflate, and even more relieved that it doesn’t immediately spring back to life when she curiously examines my crotch. “His ego is bruised, but he’ll survive,” I say with a withering sigh. “Though, he might cheer up if you give him a little kis—” Blondie punches me in the arm. “Joking! Joking!”
I cower away from her, feigning terror, and hold my hands up in surrender. To my immense relief, she laughs.
Grinning, I lower my hands to the wheel again. “In all seriousness, I really am trying to do right by you with this.” I gesture vaguely between us. “I don’t want either of us to comeout of this arrangement worse off than we were going into it…financially or otherwise.”
