Viola's POV
Stretching languidly, he finally unbuttons and drops his coat onto one of the couches before turning to me. "You hungry?"
My stomach answers for me with an audible growl.
I flush crimson.
"U-uh…" I stutter in embarrassment.
I haven't eaten since lunch, and that had just been a sad vending machine sandwich.
He smiles, and it's alarmingly handsome. "Room service it is. You want to order, or should I surprise you?"
I blink dumbly. "Uh… surprise me, I guess?" I manage to say, a little incredulous.
He nods and picks up the sleek tablet from the coffee table, tapping a few things in. "I got us steak frites, truffle mac and cheese, and roasted vegetables. Sound good?"
I nod, still trying to figure out who Garrett is.
He seems kind. Very considerate. It makes my head spin. He's not what I'm used to.
Where is the obnoxiousness of the rich? The condescension?
"So," he says, settling on the couch across from me, legs crossed at the ankle. "Tell me something about yourself, Viola."
I blink at him. "Like what?"
"Anything. Everything?"
I sit slowly, smoothing my hands down my jeans. "I don't know where to start." I give him a shrewd gaze. "I did just meet you today, after all."
He shifts slightly, looking a little chastened.
It just emphasizes how good looking he is.
"Ah, yes. Sorry."
"It's okay." It isn't. But what else is there to say?
The conversation meanders after that, and to my surprise, it isn't boring.
Garrett is surprisingly funny. He is soft-spoken but witty. He tells me about his misadventures in poetry, about his high school tutor's obsession with finger cranes, and how he hated Brussels sprouts as a kid.
I find myself laughing, actually laughing, at some of his stories.
The food arrives twenty minutes later, and it's phenomenal.
I moan around a bite of steak, and Garrett arches a brow.
"Good?" he asks.
"Are you kidding? I might marry this steak."
He smiles benignly. "I'll try to be supportive of your choice." He soothes, taking a dainty bite of his own meal.
By the time we finish eating, I feel something I haven't in years. safe.
It's so strange that it makes me uneasy.
As I help him clear the table, he stretches and gestures down the hallway.
"Master bedroom's down there. You can take it. I'll crash in the guest suite."
I freeze. "Seriously?"
He looks at me, expression unreadable. "I'm not going to make this any harder than it has to be. You've had a rough day. I meant it when I said I'd help. No strings."
I swallow hard, throat tight. "Thank you." I croak.
"Don't mention it."
I walk to the master bedroom on wobbly legs, still waiting for this to all be a dream.
The bed is massive, the sheets silky and cool.
I change into the oversized t-shirt Garrett laid out for me, the material soft and airy,probably one of the hotel staff; I don't ask, and slip beneath the covers.
As I lie there in the dark, the city lights dancing on the ceiling, I can't help but wonder what game Garrett is playing.
Because men like him? They don't help girls like me without wanting something.
Sighing softly, I close my eyes.
---
I wake early, the kind of early that still smells like night.
The sun hasn't fully risen, but the sky outside the window is a dusty blue.
I get up quietly, wash my face in the ridiculously elegant bathroom, and dress in yesterday's clothes.
They are wrinkled and uncomfortable, but I don't want to risk waking Garrett by calling housekeeping.
I'm halfway through brushing my hair when my phone buzzes.
One new message.
From my boss.
'Viola, I'm sorry, but we have to let you go. A woman came by this morning. She made some very serious threats, and she paid us off handsomely. My hands are tied. Please don't come into work anymore. I wish you the best.'
My blood runs cold.
My ears ring.
I stare at the screen, rereading the words over and over, hoping they'll change. Hoping it's some kind of twisted joke. But they don't change.
And it isn't a joke.
I'm fired.
Because of her.
Because of him.
My hands shake as I shove my phone into my bag and yank the door open.
The hall is quiet.
No one is around.
I make it halfway to the elevator when a familiar voice calls out.
"Viola?"
I turn slowly.
Garrett stands at the end of the hallway, wearing slacks and a white dress shirt with his cuffs unbuttoned.
He looks a little tousled, particularly his hair.
Like he's just woken up.
Still handsome. Still calm.
"Good morning, Viola. I was going to offer you a ride back to your place," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
I see red.
"You can take your ride and shove it, Garrett."
His brows shoot up. "What happened?"
"What happened?" I snap, stalking toward him. "Jessica happened. She went to my boss. Paid him off. Threatened him to lay me off. I got a message ten minutes ago. I'm FIRED."
He goes still. "Viola-"
"No! Don't you dare." I jab a finger at his chest. "This is your fault. You got me involved. You played whatever game you were playing, and now I'm the one paying the price." I can feel my self spiralling. I groan, pressing my fingers to my aching temples, " I shouldn't have helped you. I needed this JOB." I nearly sob.
He looks genuinely taken aback. "I didn't ask her to do that." He intones, serious.
I huff, my agitated finger running through my hair.
"Oh, congratulations, you didn't ask. She did it anyway."
"I' apologize."
My laugh is bitter. "No need to apologize. It won't change anything."
I storm past him, slamming the elevator button hard enough to hurt.
I don't care. I need to get out of there.
The doors open, and I step inside.
But before they can close, Garrett catches them with one hand and slips in after me.
"Leave me alone!" I snap.
"No."
I glare at him, but he doesn't flinch.
He waits until the doors shut and the elevator begins to move.
"I wasn't planning on doing this so soon," he says, voice low. "But I think it might solve a few problems."
"What are you talking about?"
He turns to face me fully. "Be my girlfriend."
I gape. "Excuse me?"
"I need a fake girlfriend for a year. It's... complicated. But I'll pay you. A hundred grand. It'll look like a real relationship to the public, but we'll both know the truth. Just a deal."
I gape at him. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
I laugh. It's sharp and ugly. "So you want me to be your personal decoy?"
"Think of it as a mutually beneficial agreement," he says calmly. "You need protection. I need peace. We both get something."
I stare at him.
And for the first time, I don't see the charming man from last night. I see the strategist. The businessman. Calculating. Cool.
He isn't helping me out of kindness. He's helping because it serves him.
"Why me?"
"Because you're not fake. You're honest. And you helped me when you didn't have to."
My mind is reeling.
One hundred thousand dollars could pay for Mom's treatment and more. But
living a lie? Pretending to be someone's partner? Someone like him?
Still, I think of my mother lying in that hospital bed.
I look him in the eye. "One year?"
"One year. No strings. Just a business deal."