“Also, how often are we supposed to go to these social occasions? I spent my Christmas working. I don’t have that kind of time.
“Not to mention, you may not know people in town, but I do. I’ve lived most of my life in Manhattan. What am I supposed to tell everyone? What am I supposed to tell Zelda? There are so many complications I can’t even begin to list them all.”
Bennett was silent, his face turned to the window. I was again reminded of the night of our meeting. After he’d introduced himself, I’d thanked him coolly, wanting him gone. He’d glanced toward his car then, as if he wished he’d never come out in the rain to talk to me. As if he was the one who might leave our encounter bruised and battered.
He looked back at me. “Except for the part about my parents, you can tell Zelda everything,” he said, his voice calm and even. “That we hooked up in August and again just now. That I’d like for us to continue to see each other. That you aren’t entirely sure yet. Same goes for your friends.
“I’m busy too, so we won’t be out glad-handing every night—or even every weekend. As for time, three months is too short, but six will work. And if you meet someone you want to date while we’re at it, you can take your out anytime.”
He made it sound so easy. So casual.
I shook my head some more. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Silence greeted my words. His face was shuttered. Realization burned in my chest: After my refusal, we wouldn’t see each other again.
What was I thinking? Of course I would be his pretend girlfriend. Of course I would bask in his adoring gaze and giggle as he whispered snarky comments into my ear. And of course I would come back here with him afterward, still buzzing from the high of our public displays of affection, and let him take off my clothes and make love to me.
I clutched at the napkin on my lap. It was all I could do not to take back my refusal.
Bennett tented his fingers together. “At the end of our six months, I’ll write a check for two hundred fifty thousand dollars to your favorite charity. Or to you directly, if that’s what you prefer.”
My jaw slackened. A quarter of a million dollars was a lot of money for doing little more than squiring him about town.
“Does that sound like something you can agree to?”
I took another swig of the dessert wine. I would regret my answer bitterly—I already did. “No.”
Bennett didn’t look displeased—he didn’t even look surprised. “I don’t know if anyone told you this, but I made a shit-ton of money when I was in California, and I’m willing to put it to use. If two hundred fifty thousand isn’t enough, let’s make it five hundred thousand.”
My stomach flipped, as much from the extravagance of the offer as from…I couldn’t be entirely sure, but something in the timbre of his voice had caught my attention, something that belied the impassiveness of his expression. “You could easily find someone else.”
“Of course. But no one else on my horizon has received a MacArthur Genius Grant for her work. You’ll make me look good.”
I rubbed my temple. What did he actually want? And what did I actually want? “I never thought I’d see the day when I’m asked to become a Park Avenue trophy girlfriend.”
“Look at it from my perspective—I never thought I’d see the day when a quarter of a million dollars wouldn’t be enough to hire me a fake girlfriend.”
I smiled weakly at that.
“As an added incentive, if we succeed in our endeavor, I’ll write a check for an additional half a million dollars, a grant toward your research.”
I should be flattered that he was so determined, but I was more than a little freaked out. “What’s the catch?”
Other than that for six months we’d be working toward a common goal. When my friends talked about falling for their colleagues, this almost always came up—that they were teammates, obsessed with the same objective. I didn’t want to be in the trenches with Bennett. I didn’t want to be his partner and confidante.
“If I’m going to pay double, I’ll be more stringent in my demands. At two hundred fifty I was willing to prorate. If you can only do four months, then I’ll hand over a check for two-thirds of the agreed-upon sum. But at five hundred it’s all or nothing. If you bail on me before six months is up, for any reason beyond acts of God, I keep the money.”
It was my turn to look out the window—hope and doubt kept chasing each other in my head and I didn’t want him to see that on my face.
I wasn’t hurting for cash in my personal life and I’d secured sufficient funding for my research for the next several years. But Pater had been a businessman—an art expert too but a businessman first and foremost—and he had taught me that very few things in life were as eloquent as money.
Not that I’d describe Bennett’s money as eloquent. It was more like a mysterious artifact, the writing on it in a language I’d never seen before. But its existence was significant enough that I couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.
The One In My Heart
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