Page 24 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

Poor Girl scoffs, and my attention snaps back to her.

“I am such a moron.” There’s a slight wobble to her voice, which is a barely-there breath now, only just perceptible past the late summer breeze.

She shakes her head, lowering those gorgeous green eyes that bore into me with intense hatred only seconds ago.

“I should’ve known something like this would happen. ”

Before I can fully process the situation, or summon up the brain cells to remember the NDA, Poor Girl turns on her heel and walks off, just like she stormed out of my dorm room last week. Except, unlike the vengeful rage that encompassed her then, this time, she only exudes a deep shame.

I stare at her back, noting the way her shoulders hunch as she wraps her arms around her torso, like the restraints of a straitjacket.

Hit by an unexpected sympathy—and because I need to stop her before she runs off and tells someone about this—I surge forward, trailing after her like I’m her shadow. “Where are you going?”

She glares at me over her shoulder, alarmed, like an animal that knows it’s being hunted. “Leaving,” she replies in a curt breath, quickening her pace.

“Hey, wait.” When she doesn’t, I break into a jog. Though she’s fairly tall herself, my long legs catch up to hers with ease. “Hey, hold up.”

Without thinking, I place a hand on her back, and she immediately whirls around and slaps it away, stopping us both in our tracks. “What do you want, Damian?”

Holding up my hands in surrender, I take a step back, expanding the berth between us to give her some space…and so I’m out of reach in case her knee starts feeling twitchy again. “Just wait a minute. Please.”

“You have five seconds,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.

I’m about to remind her of the non-disclosure agreement—the words are literally on the tip of my tongue—when another light bulb blinks on in my head. It’s crazy, but what about this entire situation isn’t completely bananas?

“Four seconds,” she says.

I breathe out. Here goes. “You answered my ad, which means one of two things.” I hold up a finger.

“One, you have a strange fetish for role play, and get off on pretending to be a complete stranger’s girlfriend.

Or two”—her scowl turns into a death glare when I extend another finger—“you need the money. I’m going to guess from your rather aggressive reaction to the question of you stalking me that the answer is two. ”

Her eyes widen for all of two seconds before her face hardens into a menacing glower. “Why did you post the job, anyway? As a joke? To humiliate the idiots who answer it?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I counter, but my protest sounds weak and unconvincing.

Given what happened between us last spring, I suppose I can’t blame her for thinking I would stoop to that level.

After all, isn’t that exactly what I did to her?

By reducing her to a checkbox on a bucket list, I made it abundantly clear to her, and to everyone else involved or watching, that I have zero qualms about hurting another person for my own entertainment.

I never really viewed myself that way until now, and this realization makes me wonder if this is what my parents were so worried about. If they saw this reckless selfishness in me, and feared it might take hold in a more permanent way, the same way the can?—

“One second,” Poor Girl barks, disrupting my thoughts.

Clearing my throat, I push the memories away before I can go too far down that particular path, shoving them back into the mental box marked “Do Not Open” where they belong, then I open my mouth to give her some bullshit excuse about why I posted the ad.

Something to convince her I’m not the asshole she thinks I am.

But nothing comes out because I am an asshole.

And only the truth will redeem me, if anything can redeem me in her eyes at all.

I don’t need her to like me. Shit, this will honestly work better if she doesn’t. But I do need her to at least not despise me so much that she won’t agree to go along with my scheme. Eighty percent hatred, twenty percent cooperation. That’s all I require.

“If you must know, I posted the job because I want to get my overbearing parents off my back—well, my dad, really. Hiring someone to be my fake girlfriend seemed like the most straightforward way to do that.”

She stares at me in disbelief as if trying to work out whether or not I’m joking. “I…don’t understand.”

I sigh. “They want me to prove to them I’m ‘Hallazgo material,’” I say in a voice mocking my father’s, hooking the fingers of my free hand into air quotes.

When Poor Girl doesn’t respond, I add, “My literal livelihood is on the line here. They’ll disown me if I can’t show them that I’m capable of committing to something. ”

Her frown returns, wiping the surprise from her features. “Here’s a thought: why not just get a real girlfriend? Or you could try not being the world’s biggest dick, and then maybe your dad wouldn’t wish he’d pulled out.”

Well, damn. I press a hand to my chest. “Ouch. Harsh snipe, Dornan.”

She purses her lips, her unblinking stare pressing me to elaborate, and even starts tapping her foot for good measure. Her expression practically screams, Why the hell am I wasting my time talking to you?

I have to admit, she’s a positively adorable bundle of rage, and I’m unable to resist poking the bear just a little. “Wait, was there a question in there? All I heard were the insults.”

“Why don’t you get a real girlfriend?” she asks again, enunciating each word. Well, snarling them more like.

Another exasperated sigh parts my lips. “Look, if you must know, I don’t want the messiness that comes with a real relationship.

You women get all clingy, and emotional, and”—I wave a hand at her, my grimace growing with every word—“irrational, and I just don’t want to deal with that.

It’s why I never sleep with the same woman twice. On purpose.”

“I’m starting to see why you’d need to pay someone,” she deadpans.

I snort. Why can’t she see how ideal this plan is…

and why am I even pressing the matter? This arrangement would work best with a stranger I can silence with a gag order, not a Repeat who knows way too much about me for comfort.

I’d be better off finding a more accommodating lady who doesn’t hold a potentially homicidal grudge against me.

Though, at this point, I’m not even sure if “grudge” is a strong enough word.

This girl is a ticking time bomb, and I am the detonator about to set her off.

But with no other options and a looming deadline, I can’t afford to be picky.

“I know you don’t like me, but what I’m offering is a simple business transaction that would mutually benefit both parties.

You’d help get my parents off my back, and in return, you’d get to enjoy the pleasure of my company while getting paid handsomely.

” When her expression doesn’t change, I slap on the biggest, smarmiest smile I can muster and blurt out the first likeness that comes to mind. “You know, kind of like an escort.”

Her brows shoot up, reaching for her hairline. Then her eyes flash with what looks a lot like murderous intent. “Wow. You are an even bigger douche than I thought. And that’s saying something.”

Shit. That didn’t work. Bad comparison. Retreat, Damian. Retreat!

“Don’t be like that, Lucy,” I plead, trying to salvage the situation.

“Lexi,” she corrects me, her tone unforgiving.

I nod several times like a bobblehead. “Right. Sorry. Lexi . Listen, the truth is, you’re the only one who answered the ad.

Sure, I could wait around for someone else, someone who doesn’t hate my guts, but I’m short on time, and honestly, I’m desperate, and something tells me that you must be, too.

Plus, you clearly despise me, so I don’t need to worry about you catching the feels. ”

I just have to hope that same loathing she harbors for me won’t urge her to set my plan on fire. Here’s to hoping money is a big enough motivator for her to work with me, not against me.

“What makes you say that?” There’s a wariness in her voice as her eyes narrow into slits, as if she’s trying to see past the protective shell of my skin and weed out all my secrets. Or figure out if I’m bluffing.

Well, Poor Girl, I assure you, I’m not.

“That you won’t catch the feels?” I ask, unsure what she means.

She rolls her eyes. “That I’m desperate,” she clarifies.

I shrug. “Well, it’s kind of obvious you must need the money. Otherwise, you would’ve left the second you saw it was me you were meeting.”

She doesn’t object to this statement. She doesn’t say anything at all. She won’t even look at me, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve broken her. If I’ve pissed her off so much that her hatred for me has somehow pushed her over the edge into catatonia.

When I can’t bear the silence any longer, I murmur, “Come on, Dornan, we can help each other. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”

Her eyes snap to mine again, hard and cutting, like diamonds. Or like a knife in the hand of someone far too eager to stab me. Holding my gaze, she raises one finger, and steps forward, shoving it under my nose. “There will be no back scratching, got it ?”

Flinching, I inch away a step and nod. “So…does this mean we have a deal?” I dare to ask.

An eternity seems to pass in the ten seconds it takes for her to respond. Retracting her hand, she grunts out, “Fine. But I want fifteen grand a month, not ten. I want to be paid for my time upfront. And we need to set some boundaries. Some rules, if you will…assuming you know what those are.”

A smirk plays at the edges of my lips at the stony look in her eyes. This might end up being more fun than I thought. I thrust out my arm. “You drive a hard bargain, Blondie, but I accept your terms. You won’t regret this.”

She reluctantly takes my hand with a deflated laugh. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll see about that.”