Page 94 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“You know, I hated Damian when we first made our agreement. Literally hated him.” I huff out a laugh, earning a pained look from his mother.

“But then I got to know him. To see him.” And then I found I didn’t really hate him at all.

I shake my head, looking again at his father.

“I know he’s done some things that have been…

difficult for you to overcome as a family, but surely, you know why. ”

When neither of them answers, I peer down at my hands, which I clamp together in my lap until the knuckles are bleached of color to keep my anxiety at bay and to distract my fingers.

My breath is shaky when I force myself to say, “I won’t pretend to understand what it’s like to lose a child, but I do understand how it feels to have a family member who’s fighting cancer.

If I’m honest, I don’t think either of you see just how broken Damian is over losing his brother.

He is deeply hurting, and I can’t help thinking that, maybe, it was more important for you to show the outside world that everything was okay than to actually acknowledge it wasn’t. ”

My eyes dart up, locking on Hector’s again.

“He blames you…for Jamie.” My tone is brusque, and he flinches as if I just struck him across the face.

My chest constricts at his wounded expression, but if he’s going to hear me— really hear me—blunt honesty is the only way forward.

And he needs to hear this. For Damian. “You realize that, right?” I press.

“In his mind, you chose Hallazgo over saving his brother’s life. ”

Hector’s knuckles turn milk white as well as he tightens his grip on his mug. I expect him to challenge me. To say this is none of my business and to get the hell out of his house.

But he doesn’t.

“It was more complicated than that,” he protests, his voice strained.

I give a small, sympathetic nod. “I’m sure.

But grief doesn’t care about complicated.

My dad abandoned me when I was little, and yet, I still miss the bastard for reasons I can’t even begin to comprehend.

There are days I still wish he would come home, even though I think he’s a deadbeat waste of air.

Damian’s grief is like that,” I explain, exchanging a brief glance with Lenore.

“It’s confused. And he acts out because he feels suffocated by this public perception of fine you’re constantly forcing on him.

Because you’ve made your love conditional on him fitting into this perfect image you’ve built to keep your world from crumbling.

” I exhale a tremulous breath, but push on before I lose my nerve.

“You couldn’t control Jamie dying, but you can control Damian.

Or at least, you tried to. But he acted out because he doesn’t need to be controlled.

He needs you to acknowledge his pain. And yours. ”

Hector does react with rage now, his features contorting as he perceives my words as an insult rather than the harsh truth they are.

“You have been engaging in this charade with our son since…when? September?” he barks.

“And you presume to know him better after less than five months than his own parents who raised him?”

“With all due respect, sir, yes,” I fire back, my own fury rising in direct competition with his. “Because, unlike you, he’s not afraid to be honest with me. You’re so caught up in the fact he lied that you aren’t even bothering to look at why he did it.”

He snorts. “Because he was clearly afraid of losing the free ride our family’s wealth has afforded him.”

Jesus, is that really what Damian’s parents think of him? If so, they don’t know him at all.

“Because he was afraid of losing Hallazgo.” At the confused look on his parents’ faces, I slide the strap of my bag off my shoulder and reach inside, pulling out the thick folder I had safely tucked within.

“It’s not quite finished,” I say as I extend it to Hector, “but if I can’t convince you, maybe this can. ”

His dark brow wrinkles as he reaches out a hand to take the folder from me. “What is this?”

I lick my lips, trying my best to ignore the frantic way my heart is racing.

Here goes nothing.

“A proposal,” I answer, “for a program that would cover medication and treatment costs for patients struggling with chronic illnesses and terminal diseases like cancer, through partnerships with hospitals, pharmacies, and research universities.” I pause for a beat—just long enough for my words to sink in.

“I have spent every single day of the last two months watching Damian work on this. He has devoted countless hours to researching, speaking to relevant industry contacts, whatever it takes to make this proposal foolproof.”

Shock wipes the anger clean off Hector’s face, and he stares at me for a tense moment before finally opening the folder. My eyes flick to Lenore as he flips through the pages, but she doesn’t say a word, though she has put down her mug and scooted closer to her husband.

I stay silent as Hector carefully scans the proposal—as both their gazes trail the calculations and explanations within. And with every second that passes without them speaking, the more Lenore’s eyes seem to tear up.

“He did all this…?” she whispers with a hesitant glance at me.

My own anger softens a little at her pleading expression.

“Yes. Aside from the calculations with the affordability and sustainability models. The math is mine, but the ideas were all him. He was determined to find a balance—a way to help people, to ensure no one else has to lose their Jamies, while taking steps to make the initiative profitable. And a lot of people have already expressed an interest in partnerships if Hallazgo were to launch it, which would assist with funding, and the majority of the associated costs would qualify as charitable contributions, making the program not only socially impactful but also financially sustainable.”

A tear slides down Lenore’s cheek, which she hurriedly wipes away.

Hector’s gaze remains fixed on the folder. “These calculations…”

“I know what I’ve done is different from many traditional affordability models,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious, which is insane since math is my thing, and I know I made those figures my bitch.

But then, having my work scrutinized like this, by the father of the man I love—where so much is hinging on his reaction—is a position I’ve never been in before.

I guess it only makes sense I’d be nervous.

“Most of them focus primarily on income levels, but I wanted to account for real-world financial behaviors. By incorporating both the debt-to-income ratio and cost-of-living adjustments, I’ve analyzed how patients might prioritize treatments.

That was something Damian really pushed for—to understand how the average person struggles with more than just their medical bills, so we can find a way to avoid patients having to choose between potential financial ruin and their health.

It’s a game theory approach, illustrating how different price points would affect patient decision-making, especially when it comes to continuing or abandoning treatments due to cost. The goal wasn’t just to make medication more affordable, but to determine the threshold where more people could access the care they need without compromising Hallazgo’s bottom line.

And that can be done by leveraging subsidies, cost-sharing agreements with hospitals, grants, and discounted medication prices through pharmacy partnerships.

As well as those charitable write-offs I mentioned. ”

Hector looks up at me then. “Since you don’t have access to Hallazgo’s financials, how did you determine sustainability?” It doesn’t escape my notice that the rough edge to his voice is gone. Now, all I hear is a genuine curiosity.

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip. “I built risk assessment models based on publicly available industry data, historical market trends, and real-world case studies—everything from insurance claim denials to crowdfunding campaigns for medical expenses. I even ran predictive simulations to test different economic scenarios, ensuring the program remained viable even if market conditions fluctuated.”

He blinks. “You…ran simulations,” he echoes, the words drawn out and laced with bemusement.

I nod. “Several. I had to be sure the numbers held up. If Hallazgo moves forward with this initiative, it won’t just be a PR stunt or some superficial corporate social responsibility effort. It’ll be a financially sound strategy that expands market share while actually helping people.”

With a sharp breath, Hector sinks back into the sofa cushions, as though the weight of what I’ve just told him has knocked all the air from his lungs.

It’s the first real crack I’ve seen in his carefully controlled demeanor.

The first real hint that he’s really listening.

Beside him, Lenore sits frozen with one hand hovering over her open mouth as if she’s about to say something but can’t quite find the words.

Relief barrels through me. Numbers might help me make sense of the world, but I don’t need a math formula to tell me I’ve gotten their attention.

“I have to say, this is highly impressive, Miss Dornan,” Hector says, his tone stunned. “I’d expect this kind of work from a seasoned industry expert, not someone still in college.”

It’s nothing I haven’t heard before—from teachers, professors, admissions scouts.

Hell, I was invited to join Mensa in elementary school after achieving a perfect score on my RICAS exam (which led to my official IQ test), though I declined due to the membership costs since money was really tight at the time.

But coming from Damian’s father, those words hold more weight than I’m prepared for.

But this isn’t about me.

“I’m not looking for your admiration or praise.

I may have run the numbers, but everything else that’s in this proposal—the vision, the commitment to making a real impact—that’s all Damian.

He’s been the driving force behind this project.

He’s not just viewing Hallazgo as a business, but as a platform on which to build something meaningful.

Something that can change lives…like your father wanted. ”

Hector blanches at the mention of his father. Or perhaps, at the realization that he doesn’t know his child as well as he thought.

“I only helped to make it something tangible using his ideas,” I continue. “Something that you might actually take seriously.”

And he has. He is . I can see it written all over his face. And I know that even if he rejects the proposal, he can’t reject the hard work and dedication Damian has put into it. Or the compassion and ambition it was born from.

Having said everything I wanted to say, I hoist my bag strap over my shoulder again and rise, standing to leave.

Neither of them attempt to stop me, and maybe it’s their silence, maybe it’s my lingering resentment of how they’ve treated their son, but when I reach the living room door, I throw out one last sentiment.

One final food for thought.

“You know, for someone who you think only cares about money, Damian sure is determined to try to use yours for good.”

Then, with their stunned expressions seared into my mind, I turn and walk out of the room without looking back.