Page 15

Best Girlfriend Ever

Abi

“So please help me welcome Mr. Warren Hathaway,” Declan said through the microphone.

Holy shit, he is ridiculously gorgeous , I thought as I took a sip of my mimosa and watched as the entire ballroom started clapping. He’d just delivered a little intro speech that was intelligent and funny and definitely made him seem like a power player in this world.

I still assumed he was kind of a dick, that hadn’t changed, but his look that morning was one that I personally appreciated.

He was wearing really nice dark-wash jeans and a tan quarter-zip pullover, which sounded boring but looked amazing on him.

The color made his eyes appear ridiculously green, and the fit suggested a very hard, very wide chest underneath that shirt.

I watched him walk back to the table, moving like a man capable of anything, and I thought, showtime , as I swallowed my nerves and stood. When he reached the chair beside me, I channeled my inner girlfriend and threw my arms around him.

“Nicely done, babe,” I said, pulling him into an I’m-so-proud-of-you hug. I couldn’t help but notice how broad he was as I had to go all the way up on my tiptoes and really reach to wrap my arms around those wide shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said, and even though I’d started it, a jolt of shock zipped through my body when I felt his hands wrap around my waist.

My stomach was a little jumpy when we pulled apart because he was looking at me with intensity in his eyes.

Was he pissed about the PDA? Had I gone too far?

Let’s go with very serious. He said he wanted people to think we were “very serious,” and if Declan was very seriously my boyfriend, I would have hugged him after he delivered such a fabulous welcome speech.

I cleared my throat and forced the nerves away, because I was committed to being the $40K version of his perfect woman. I brushed at an invisible something on his shoulder and asked, “Are you hungry?”

His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, his gaze still packed with thoughts, but he gave a casual shake of his head and said, “I’m good. Did you get enough to eat?”

“Well,” I said quietly as we took our seats and Warren started speaking. “I just ate my body weight in pastries, so I think it’s safe to say I won’t need food again for weeks.”

“The lunch is always to die for,” the guy to my left whispered, “so you need to pace yourself.”

Stan Carter, fifty-two years old. Married with two sons, founder of Flye Aviation, Hathaway board member, and multimillionaire. I gave him a teasing smile and whispered, “Why didn’t you remind me of that before I consumed half the buffet, Stan?”

“I assumed you knew,” he said with a big smile. “And who am I to get in the way of someone enjoying their breakfast?”

Declan had quickly introduced me to everyone at the table before giving his welcome speech, but it hadn’t been necessary. I’d already studied the bios of everyone on the Hathaway board and performed my own extensive Google and social media searches, just to ensure I’d have my shit together.

I whispered back, “To be fair, the croissants were so good that I might’ve thrown a punch if you’d tried to get between us.”

That made him cackle like he couldn’t believe I’d said it, which made me instantly worried.

I didn’t know what millionaires found funny, so what if my normal behavior was lowbrow and embarrassing to Declan?

Normally I wouldn’t give a damn, but I was serious about this job.

I might’ve landed this gig by doing something questionable, but that wasn’t my default.

My default was working hard.

I sucked at a lot of things, and my life was kind of a shitshow at the moment, but I’d always prided myself on working hard and doing my best at my sucky jobs.

“You were smart to hold back, Stan,” Declan said, and I felt him drape his arm across the back of my chair. “She’s very intense about her breakfast.”

When I turned my head and met his gaze, his mouth was half-cocked in a smirk that I felt low in my belly.

Dear God , he looked good with a smile. I leaned closer, moving my mouth to his ear and saying so quietly that only he could hear, “I’m a little freaked out by how spot-on you are.

I seriously inhaled three croissants before you even finished the story about when you used to take naps in the mattress department of CrashPad. ”

He turned his head slightly, his face so close I could’ve rubbed my nose against his, and then he stretched enough to say into my ear, “Do you seriously think I wasn’t counting? And who cuts a croissant with a knife and a fork, anyway, you psychopath?”

I started giggling; I couldn’t help it. My mouth was back at his ear to whisper, “I was being classy, you jackass.”

“It was incredibly classy,” he replied, a smile in his voice when he added, “The classiest.”

“Good morning!”

I looked up and Declan’s mom sat down in one of the empty spots on the other side of him, a little old lady beside her. The woman was tiny with a sweet face, like the poster child for adorable grandmothers, and she was staring at me.

“Hi, Elaine,” I said, pulling back from her son. “How are you this morning?”

I was very aware that Declan’s arm was still resting on the back of my chair and we were kind of huddled together like an actual couple.

“Wonderful,” she said, “just wonderful.”

“Nana,” Declan said, standing. “I’d like you to meet Abi Green. Abi, this is Nana Marian.”

I smiled and leaned closer, for some reason nervous all of a sudden. Or more nervous than I’d already been.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

She looked at my hand but didn’t take it. Instead, she narrowed her eyes behind her big round glasses and said, “I know you.”

My stomach dropped and my heart started racing. “You do?”

“I don’t think so,” Declan said, giving his grandmother a teasing grin. “Abi hasn’t—”

“I know who I know, Dexxie,” she said, scowling at him, “and I know that I’ve met her.”

I looked back and forth between the three of them while wearing a guilty smile, clueless as to what to say to this woman. “Well then, it’s nice to meet you again. ”

That made Elaine smile, but the old lady pursed her lips and shook her head before turning her chair to focus on the Q I just need to know where she might’ve seen you, because she will remember. Probably within the hour.”

“Why are you saying it like that, like you want to know if I’m a drug dealer or something?” Technically he hadn’t insulted me, but something about his tone was insulting.

“I just want to be ahead of it if she knows you from something that doesn’t work with our story.”

I glanced at the rest of the table as we whisper-argued, but they all seemed enthralled by what Warren was saying, thank God.

“I mean, I doubt she frequents my sex club,” I said, leaning close enough to smell his shampoo and ensure it looked like we were adorably sharing secrets, “and I’ve never seen any elderly women at the place by the airport where I dance, so—”

“Okay. Got it,” he said, turning his head just a little to level me with an annoyed look from point-blank range.

I couldn’t have him glaring at me, the perfect girlfriend, so I whispered, “You’re cute when you’re serious.”

And I dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose.

His eyes narrowed, and my heart started racing because what the hell had I just done? I wasn’t someone who kissed strangers, on the nose or anywhere else, so what the hell was that?

But then he smiled.

A slow, sliding smirk of teasing appreciation that I felt in my stomach.

He reached out a hand and touched my chin, giving it a tiny squeeze between his thumb and forefinger, and the gesture made not smiling back impossible.

If that man smiled more, this would be a lot of fun.

···

I left during the first morning break.

I was surprised by how interesting the Q&A was, because as someone not into wealth because I had no money, I’d expected to be bored out of my mind. But the way Warren talked about business and investments was so simple, so evergreen, that it totally sucked me in.

Kind of made sense that people trekked to Omaha from all over the world to listen to the man speak.

I was so into it that when it was time for me to leave, I had to be reminded.

“Didn’t you say you were going to take off during the first break?” Declan asked when Warren left the stage.

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” I said, reaching for my handbag and standing. “I almost forgot.”

He’d offered to walk me out, but for some reason I didn’t want him to see my dented old Honda Civic. Not that I had anything to be embarrassed about—it was just a car and it got me where I needed to go—but it seemed like a bad idea to remind him of the vastness of our differences.

There was already way too big a power imbalance in our situation.