The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(9)
Gwen took her turn at bristling. "Of course!"
The cab pulled up to the curb outside Gwen's building. She and Beatrice hugged, though Gwen couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed with her friend. Before getting stepping out into the cool evening air, she reiterated her intent to pay Beatrice back at some point.
"Don't worry about it, really. Just try and get some sleep. Hey, meet me at Starbucks again tomorrow. I'll bet you'll have a way out of this figured out by then," Beatrice said.
Gwen accepted, but couldn't help feeling guilty. She knew that Beatrice would insist on buying her another latte, but she just couldn't pass it up. Besides, I will pay her back, Gwen thought. I will.
When she got up to her apartment and collapsed onto the bed, barely able to summon the energy to pull off her dress and kick off her shoes, she wondered how many more nights she'd have in that room.
Because, despite her attempts to stay positive, she knew there was no way she could come up with that kind of money. There was only one hope she had left, and it was a small one.
Chapter 5
Gwen woke up planning to first call her mother and then her father for help right away. Getting it done first thing was best, she decided. Like yanking off a Band-Aid. Better to do it right away, get it over with, instead of agonizing over the pain it might cause.
Instead, she washed, got dressed in her usual jeans, throwing on a comfy shirt. She actually looked at her phone for a solid minute before the anxiety managed to wash away the vestiges of her resolve.
She just kept thinking about what would happen if they both told her no. Which was a very real and frightening possibility. They were, after all, still in the middle of their divorce. And while they would both like to be able to make the crack at the other that they helped their daughter out of a tight spot, they also both had every last cent they owned tied up in the courts.
So, with the professional procrastinator's attitude of "why do now what you can keep putting off until later", Gwen sent Beatrice a text saying she was heading out to Starbucks early, and would see her there.
She knew putting this whole thing off only hurt her, that every minute spent not trying to divine the winning lottery numbers, or searching for that once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity was wasted time. But it just felt so good to keep putting it off, to keep delaying it, to press it back in her mind with the thought of, "I still have time; I'll get to it later." But later always turns out to be sooner than you think. Usually much sooner. Gwen ignored that thought, too.
At Starbucks, she asked for water and then sat down near the corner. Condensation beaded on the plastic cup, forming a wet ring on the table. She wished she'd brought a book, but knew she was far too distracted to give it any measure of attention.
So instead she just watched the people coming in and out. Given that it was a Starbucks, most of the clientele consisted of men and women in business attire toting briefcases, rushing in to get their morning triple-shot non-fat espresso injection. The men usually tried to flirt with the pretty barista, even though they were usually a good ten years older, while the women pretended not to notice how much younger and better looking she was.
For a bit, Gwen got her mind off things by pretending she was one of these women. She thought about having a nice car outside, a BMW or Audi or some other expensive import. She had a nice condo to go back to every day. Lots of money in the bank. Maybe a handsome young groundskeeper to help keep her grounds.
It was a nice escape, a nice fantasy. But it was just a fantasy, and no matter how hard she tried, it kept crumbling around her.
And she tried pretty hard. So hard, actually, that she didn't at first notice the attention she received from the line of people standing and waiting for their drink orders as the milk frother hissed.
How long have I been sitting here? she wondered, digging her phone out and checking. She sighed. Beatrice was supposed to meet her nearly twenty minutes ago. She sent her punctuality-deprived friend a quick text, but got no reply.
Leaving her phone on the table, well out of reach of that growing pool of condensation around the bottom of her cup, Gwen rested her chin in her hands and sighed. How was she supposed to continue the hard job of procrastinating with no one to help her?
When she glanced around the coffee shop again, she saw him. At first, she thought it was someone else. What excuse could he possibly have for being out here, rather than back in Manhattan?
But no, Aiden Manning sat at the other side of the Starbucks, sipping at a grande something or other without a lid on, steam rising from the cup, while he checked something on his phone.
Then he looked up, and their eyes met. A spark shot up through Gwen's spine, and her heart sped up. Did he see me? she thought, quickly breaking the stare and looking down at her own phone.
Of course he saw you! she continued. You practically leered at him!
Why he was there didn't really matter. Just that he was, in fact, there. Just to make sure, she slowly, carefully looked up again.
He was still looking right at her. Gwen turned and pretended to watch the foot traffic outside the window, meanwhile putting all her focus on her peripheral vision. Aiden watched her for a few moments longer, then dropped his stare.
Maybe he doesn't recognize me, she thought, maybe he thought I looked familiar, but then decided he doesn't actually know me.
It was a reasonable excuse. And also disconcerting. It offended her that they met just last night and he couldn't remember her. Though she knew that this shouldn't bother her; she wasn't on the market for a man. Especially not one who Beatrice had specifically warned her to stay away from.