The Pretend Girlfriend (8 page)

When she reached the front of the line, the people behind her grumbled when a teller at the far end leaned out and shouted "Next!" and she didn't go right away.

But Gwen ended up depositing the check, feeling once more like she'd just passed a Point of No Return sign. At this point, all she could really hope was that she didn't encounter one that read Dead End. She wished she could transfer the money to Patterson Holdings right away and get herself out of one mess at least, but the teller said the check would take a few days to clear.

From the bank, she got home without incident. She leaned back against her door when she finally got inside and closed her eyes. Those few hours she'd been out felt like a week for some reason, and her body ached from it. All the adrenaline and anxiety finally leaving her system, she guessed.

Though the anxiety didn't leave entirely. She wanted to just flop into bed, but knew that she had to be awake to get those legal papers from Aiden's courier. If she fell asleep and missed it, he might suspect she was taking him for a ride and cancel the check.

To help her stay awake, she made a pot of strong black tea. She was just pouring herself a cup when someone knocked on the door.

Figuring it was the courier, she answered. But instead of the courier, it was Beatrice. Her friend grinned at her. She kept one hand behind her back. "Hey! What's been going on? I've texted and called you like a dozen times. I was beginning to think you'd been kidnapped or something."

"Not exactly," Gwen said, "But thanks for checking in on me." She started to close the door. She felt too exhausted to deal with Beatrice's overabundant energy and cheer at the moment, and especially didn't want her around if that courier arrived with the papers.

"Look what I brought us!" Beatrice said, revealing the paper bag she'd been hiding. The sound of bottle clinking together was clear. "Smirnoff, baby! Just like back in first year. You got any orange juice or anything to mix it with? Oh well, straight's good, too. Gets you where you're going faster, ya know what I mean?"

"Thanks, B, but I'm really not feeling up to it tonight," Gwen said, still trying to close the door.

"Really? I think getting our drink on is the best thing to do tonight. Help keep your mind off Janice and the rent," Beatrice said, stopping the door from closing any farther by jamming her shoe against it.

Without really thinking, Gwen said, "That's all taken care of. Really, I'm tired..."

"What? What do you mean? Oh, you're not keeping this from me," Beatrice replied. She bulled her way past into the apartment, despite being shorter and lighter than Gwen.

"Why don't you come in?" Gwen muttered, sighing as she closed and locked the door. It was her own fault, really, she knew, letting that slip.

She found Beatrice in the kitchen, yanking open the cupboard where Gwen kept the glasses and pulling a few down. The bag contained two tall bottles of Smirnoff vodka with their red labels. One went right into the freezer, while she opened the other and poured them each a generous amount.

"I already made tea," Gwen said, nodding at the stainless kettle on the stove.

"Tea doesn't get you drunk," Beatrice said, dismissing it with a wave, and then forcing a glass with what had to be at least three shots worth of straight vodka into Gwen's hand. She clinked their glasses together and swallowed about a third of hers. Gwen took a polite sip, grimacing at the taste. She never drank liquor or spirits straight. Not since, as Beatrice mentioned, first year of college.

"Come on, come on," Beatrice said, leading her out to the living room where they both sat on the couch, "Tell me about it?"

"About what?" Gwen said, hoping it might have slipped her friend's mind. Being so excitable, B did forget things from time to time.

But not this time. "Don't give me that! You said your problem's fixed, and I want to know how."

This required some quick thinking. And, unfortunately for Gwen, her mind and body exhausted from the events of the day, she couldn't think quickly. One thing did occur to her, and she grabbed at it like a drowning man grabs at a life preserver.

"My dad is sending me the money," she said.

Beatrice took another gulp from her glass before setting it down on the coffee table. She frowned. "Your dad? I thought both your parents were broke because of the divorce?"

"I don't know how he's getting the money, only that he promised to send it," Gwen send, the irritation tingeing her voice real. She loved Beatrice dearly, but the woman could really drive her crazy.

"Oh. That's cool, I guess. Just didn't really expect it was all. To tell you the truth, I was actually stopping by to say you could come crash at my place until you got it all sorted out. I figured I would just ply you with alcohol first, since I think we both know how we feel about that."

"Oh, B," Gwen said, setting her glass down and hugging her friend, "I don't deserve someone like you."

"Nope," Beatrice replied, "Count yourself lucky I don't start charging."

It was meant as a joke. But it still stung. There was no way Beatrice could have known the deal Gwen made with Aiden, but her remark still managed to hit the bulls eye. Gwen pulled back from the hug feeling hurt and confused.

Her sense of humor pulling back when she recognized what happened, Beatrice said, "What? What is it? I didn't mean it. I wasn't being serious."

"I know, I know, don't worry about it," Gwen said, grabbing her glass of vodka and taking a bigger swallow this time. It burned down her throat and soothed some of the nerves in her stomach with its warmth.

Beatrice didn't accept it. "No, tell me, what's up?"

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip. Part of her wanted to spill the whole thing, the whole deal. It might feel good to get it all in the open, to have someone else in on it. But then it would also show Beatrice just what kind of person Gwen could be. That is, one who accepts money for certain services rendered. And she really cared what Beatrice thought of her. She couldn't take the looks she knew she'd get, couldn't bear answering the questions, dealing with the incredulity.

And she also knew that Beatrice might well be able to get her to withdraw the money and give it back to Aiden.

"It's nothing. You just reminded me of something I didn't like in a movie I saw a while back that really got to me," Gwen said.

She hated lying to her friend. It twisted her up inside. But telling the truth just wasn't an option. Not yet, anyway. Not until she could find a way to make B understand.

"Oh, well then, okay. Maybe you should give me a trigger warning list or something?" Beatrice said, smiling again and giving Gwen a nudge.

"I'll have my secretary fax it to you in the morning," Gwen replied, relief relaxing her so that she sat back on the couch and took another sip from her glass.

They turned on the TV and caught a showing of
When Harry Met Sally
that had only been on for fifteen minutes. This led into an old debate that had been going on since first year about their own opinions on friendship between men and women. Gwen let herself get pulled into it, grateful for the chance to think about something that didn't involve Aiden Manning, something from before he entered her life.

Beatrice insisted that it wasn't possible. That every single guy she'd ever met who wasn't related to her was a potential partner in love, and that those types of thoughts were never far from her mind when she was around men.

Gwen disagreed with Billy Crystal and Beatrice both, citing many friendships she'd had with guys throughout school and her various jobs.

"Sure," Beatrice said, on her third glass of vodka. They'd be going for the bottle in the freezer soon, at this rate, "
You
thought about them like that. But I'll bet all of them felt differently. Oh, Gwen, you're so the girl next door type. Every last one of those boys wanted you, and bad, or I'm the Queen of England."

"Your majesty," Gwen said, bowing as much as she could while sitting down.

"Just thinking about all those poor, broken hearts makes me sad. And what makes it worse is that you didn't even recognize it," B said, slurring a little. She'd had at least twice as much as Gwen at this point. "Friend zoned without evening knowing it. Those poor boys..."

This conversation wasn't going the way Gwen hoped. All this talk about unreciprocated (unrequited, even) love and affection ate at her, made her again think about what Aiden told her. That he didn't share her initial interest. That she wasn't even his type.

Maybe it was because of the alcohol, but Gwen couldn't stop her thoughts from spiraling down into that storm. Not his kind of girl? Well, she could admit that she wasn't a model or movie star, but it wasn't like men woofed and barked at her when she walked by.

"Men are the worst," Gwen said. She regretted drinking, then. She couldn't stop thinking about him and those things he said.

"Tell me about it! I've already gone through Mr. Number Four. Four rich men, and not one of them willing to follow through, can you believe it?"

"And Aiden is the worst of them all..." Gwen started, then someone knocked on the door, "Speak of the devil!"

She sprang from her seat, nearly upending the coffee table on which sat their alcohol and the now hours-cold strong black tea.

Beatrice followed her out, mumbling something about giving that jerk a piece of her mind.

But of course it wasn't Aiden standing at the door when Gwen opened it, as she realized it wouldn't be just as she got there. No, it was a tall, gangly teenager in a brown shirt one size too big and wearing a matching brown baseball cap with Express Courier stitched into it over his forehead.

"Gwen Browning?" he said.

Gwen put one hand on the door frame to steady herself. That sudden rush for the door left her dizzy and lightheaded. Definitely too much vodka, she thought. "Yes. I mean, that's me."

He handed her a large manila envelope, the kind closed with a bit of string wrapped around a small hook. "Thanks," she said, starting to close the door. This was going to have to wait until tomorrow.

But the courier didn't leave. "Umm, Miss Browning? I'm supposed to return that to Mr. Manning tonight."

She frowned at him. Or at least, she hoped it was a frown. The alcohol started to numb her, so she couldn't be quite certain of her exact expression on her face. The courier smiled politely, clearly aware of her inebriation but doing his best not to mention it.

"Just give me a few minutes," Gwen said. Then she did close the door. She went into her room and put the folder down on the desk, then carefully sat down in her chair.

Beatrice followed her in. "Manning? As in Aiden Manning? What'd he send you? Is that paperwork?"

She couldn't just hide the folder away. Not with the courier waiting outside her door. Besides, Beatrice had the annoying habit of remembering things, no matter how drunk she got. She would ask questions, being nosy like she was.

Trying to dispel suspicion, Gwen started unwinding the string. She took out the papers and tapped them against her desk to straighten them out. Is that my heart pounding so loud? she wondered. Could Beatrice hear it? She hoped not.

"Yes, it's from Aiden Manning. You're not gonna believe this, but hear me out..." Gwen said, wetting her lips, "He got a hold of me today, wanting to apologize. I didn't want to hear it at first, but he convinced me to go meet him for lunch... Well, we got to talking, and it turns out we have a lot in common..." she didn't mention that their primary commonality was a mutual need of certain services, "And he asked me out. I said sure."

Beatrice blinked a few times, absorbing this as she swayed with her hands gripping the back of Gwen's chair. "Okay, sure. But why the paperwork?"

Gwen laughed, "That's the crazy part! Apparently, if I want to go out with him, I need to sign this non-disclosure agreement because of the company he works for and who his dad is."

Gwen glanced at the papers, hoping they would have some legal mumbo jumbo along those lines. To her delight, the bolded words NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT appeared at the top of the very first page in the packet.

"See?" Gwen said, pointing triumphantly. B squinted blearily at them.

"What a weirdo. Hey, just get this stuff signed. I can hear the TV; the commercials are over and I want to watch the movie again."

She knew that she should really read every single page before signing and dating, but she also had to pretend that all this entailed was an agreement not to talk about anything she overheard about the Mannings and their business. And B wouldn't leave the room. So she got out a pen and scrawled her signature and the date at all the little X marks on all thirty pages. By the time she finished, her fingers hurt. And she'd also managed to rub her hand over the ink a few times, leaving little black blotches on the side of her hand.

Sliding the papers back into the envelope, she wound the string around the hook while she walked back to the door. All that effort to keep the story straight did wonders to sober her up, and worry pinged in her stomach when she opened the door again to give it back to the courier.

He'd been leaning against the opposite wall in that perfectly cultivated expression of boredom and disdain all teens seemed to develop.

"Here you go. All in order. Ts crossed and Is dotted," she said, still feeling like she had to put on a show for Beatrice.

The courier shrugged. He accepted the packet, then handed her another.

"What's this?"

"Your copy. I'm supposed to give it to you when you returned the first one signed and dated."

"Oh, thanks." So it wasn't all bad news, then. At least she got to read exactly what she'd put her signature to. Hadn't Aiden said she also had certain obligations and responsibilities? It would be good to know what those were, and also whether he'd bothered to have his lawyers include her own stipulations.

"Sure. Have a nice night, okay?" the courier said, walking away before he even finished.

She put the papers in her desk drawer and went to finish the movie with Beatrice. She didn't drink anymore, wanting the alcoholic fuzz lifted from her brain before she did something else she knew she would regret.