by Lucy Lambert
And she definitely did not expect what he said next. He pursed his lips for a moment, glanced up at her, back down to his latte, then up at her again as though he came to a decision.
"This is going to sound strange. Really strange, even. But I need your help."
In spite of herself, Gwen sat up straight at the edge of her seat. What could he possibly want from me?
"What? I mean, you're rich, right? How could I possibly help you...?" she started.
"I'm thinking we can help each other, actually... No, wait, let me get this out first before you say anything else. As you've probably noticed, I have a bit of a reputation as a loner. And it's getting in my way in more ways than one. Wow, this is harder than I thought. What I am trying to say is, I want to hire you to pretend to be my girlfriend."
Gwen didn't really know how to process that. She'd been expecting maybe an invitation for a date, something along those lines.
But he just sat across from her, considering her with those cold eyes of his. For just a few moments, she thought that he might be joking, but those eyes told her it was no joke.
No, he was deadly serious.
"Excuse me?" she said, hoping that maybe she'd misheard.
"We both have problems, and I'm of the thought that we can help each other. How much did you say they wanted again...?" Aiden started, reaching into his jacket and producing a thin, black leather-bound checkbook.
"Do I look like a hooker to you?" Gwen said. She said it through her teeth. Anger, searing its way up through her, gave her cheeks a hot flush. Though Gwen couldn't be sure of the exact source of the feeling. Was it that he was actually propositioning her? Or might it be anger at herself for beginning to think that maybe she could like this guy?
Both and more, she decided.
"Sorry?" Aiden said, pausing in opening the checkbook. His eyebrows knit together.
He really doesn't see, she thought, he really doesn't understand what he just did. There really was something weird about him. And Beatrice was right, it seemed.
This time, she made certain that he heard.
"I said, do you think I am a hooker or something?"
The conversations in the Starbucks died down, and Gwen could feel all the eyes in the coffee shop watching her table. She didn't care. Well, at least not enough to cool off quite yet.
"No, I don't. I think there's been some measure of miscommunication going on here..." Aiden said. He reached out for her hand, but Gwen snatched it back and practically leapt up from her chair.
"What is wrong with you? You know, if you'd just asked me out, I probably would have said yes! But this... I can't believe you asked me that. And what do you mean you don't? You just propositioned me and got out your checkbook! You know what? Beatrice was right about you; you are a jerk."
Aiden started to say something, but Gwen picked up her cup of ice water and threw it in his face.
People started clapping, and she realized she'd been screaming those last few sentences.
"I'm sorry," Aiden said, wiping some ice cubes off his lap.
The anger inside Gwen gave way to something else. Something that pushed painfully at her eyes with tears. She rushed out of the coffee shop, almost running headlong into Beatrice.
"Oh, B!" Gwen said, wrapping her friend up in a hug. Beatrice returned the gesture, stroking at the back of her head and cooing.
"It's okay, it's okay. Hey, let's go back to your place and we'll talk. Can we do that?" Beatrice said.
Chapter 6
Gwen didn't know how she managed it, but she avoided a complete, sobbing breakdown. She settled for throwing herself down on her couch and shaking. It was all just too much. First, Janice throwing her under the bus with Patterson Holdings, now some rich guy literally trying to buy her.
Why is all this happening to me? she thought. I'm a nice person! The meanest thing she could ever remember doing was laying the blame for some spilled ice cream on their living room carpet on an old elementary school friend when she was little. And the guilt had wracked her so much she'd come clean to her father a week later.
Wasn't karma only supposed to effect bad people?
In the kitchen, the kettle started whistling. She had to give it to Beatrice: her friend could act like all she cared about was boys, but she was right there when you needed her.
Like now, for instance. Gwen listened as her friend poured the boiling water into the teapot. Soon thereafter, she came out into the living room toting the lacquered tea tray Gwen kept in the cabinet over the sink. It held her red tea pot and two cups with their accompanying saucers. All this, Beatrice put down on the coffee table and then sat on the bit of couch Gwen wasn't sprawled across. She squeezed Gwen's leg.
"What happened?" Beatrice said, "I mean, I know I was running late, and it touches me you feel so strongly about our relationship..." she finished with a smile and a wink.
Gwen sniffled as she sat up. The tea smelled good. English breakfast, her favorite. Little curlicues of steam issued from the spout of the tea pot; Beatrice had forgotten the cozy. But that didn't matter. It was the thought that counted.
"No, no. It's not you, stop flattering yourself," Gwen said, giving Beatrice a playful nudge.
"If not me, then who?"
Gwen related the story. Or most of it, anyway. She couldn't bring herself to tell Beatrice, her closest friend, about being propositioned like that. Instead, she left it at Aiden just being a complete jerk.
"You were right about him," Gwen said.
"Just goes to show that you need to believe me more often."
"Yeah. Oh, and I should also mention that we can never go to that Starbucks again. I did make a bit of a scene. I don't think I can ever show my face around there."
Beatrice put her arm over Gwen's shoulders and pulled her close. "Well, I guess after we get this rent thing all sorted out you're going to have to invest in an espresso machine. Momma needs her caffeine, you know. Needs it bad. And I don't think tea is going to cut it."
"You addict," Gwen said, always grateful for her friend's ubiquitous sense of humor. She sniffled one last time as the final vestiges of that awful meeting with Aiden left her system. I have more important things to worry about than some rich jerk with more money than sense.
So Beatrice and Gwen had their tea, and even caught the last half of Ellen on TV.
But all good things must come to an end, Gwen knew. This rule apparently went double for her. Beatrice begged off, citing a trip into the city to meet one of the guys from the party.
"Mr. Number Two, actually," Beatrice said as they hugged at the front door. "You just concentrate on finding a way out of all this, and remember, I'll help any way I can."
After Beatrice left, Gwen went back to the couch. She poured herself another cup of tea, but it was cold.
That just made her think of the cup of water she'd thrown in Aiden's face. And that just made her think of his offer.
"I don't need your money," she said, watching the tea slosh around in her cup.
It really did hurt to think about him. And she realized she must have really begun to actually like him for that to be true.
But apparently, she was a poor judge of character. After all, she'd thought Janice was a good person. And look where that's gotten me, she thought.
The blame game circled around to her for other reasons, too. She thought about how she'd already wasted most of yesterday, and all of the current day, on stupid things that got her no closer to finding that money.
But it was also clear that unless money literally fell from the sky into her hands, there were only two real solutions, and they were called mom and dad. It was time to swallow down her pride and call them.
Remembering coming clean to her father on the ice cream carpet debacle, and the way he'd handled that, she decided to get in touch with him first.
"I thought you said you wanted to try and make it on your own? Isn't school going well?" her dad said. She'd caught him on his lunch break at work.
"School's going just fine, dad. It's not that. I could really use your help here. I'm not sure what else to do."
Her dad paused on the other end of the line. In the background, she could hear the voices of his coworkers in the office. He'd been at the same place for 21 years now, pretty much as long as Gwen had been alive.
Then came a question she'd been expecting. "Have you talked to your mother yet?"
Which really meant: have you asked her for help? Did you really go to her first before me, your one and only father?
"No, I haven't," she answered.
It was a toss-up whether this would be a good or bad thing. He might feel gratified that she came to him first. But then again, he might have felt more gratified being able to rub this in her mom's face, about being able to help their daughter out when she needed it.
"Well I'm glad. It's good to know at least one of the women in my life thinks I'm good enough for them."
Gwen remained non-committal on that point. She loved both her parents, and it really tore her up inside to be the go-between for their little jabs at each other. Sometimes, whenever they ramped up the divorce proceedings, she felt like the rope in a game of tug-of-war between them and their lawyers.
"So you need some money then, or what?" her dad said.
She finally let out the breath she'd been holding. Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned back into the comforting give of the couch cushion.
"Yes, if you don't mind..." Gwen said.
"Mind? You're my daughter! How could I possibly mind? No, it makes me feel good to help you out. I wish you'd let me do it more often. So how much do you need?"
"$5000 should cover it."
Something caught in her dad's throat. He stopped breathing. That wasn't the type of reaction she'd been hoping for. A chill went down Gwen's back.
"Five... thousand?" he said, "Gwen, are you in some kind of trouble? Do you owe money to bad people?"
"No, it's not that at all, it's..." and Gwen related the story of Janice again. She noticed how during each subsequent iteration, she painted her former roommate in even poorer light.
"I'm sorry, baby, really. But I can't. I just don't have that kind of money anymore. Your mother's sucked me dry. She always did know how to hit a man square in the wallet."
"Please, dad? They're going to evict me next week if I can't come up with it!" Gwen sat up straight, those knots in her muscles tightening again, her eyes searching around the living room as though they might light upon something that could convince him to change his mind.
"I'm sorry. I really can't. Hey, if you like, I'll come up there this weekend and help you pack. You can stay with me. I'd love to offer you your old bedroom, but your mother and I just closed escrow on the house. Can you believe she made me sell it?"
"I really can't move back, dad; I'd have to leave school. Thanks for listening. I'm going to give mom a call," Gwen said.
It was a low, calculated blow. She hated playing them off each other like this, but she was getting desperate.
"I'm sorry I can't help. And I can tell you right now your mom's going to give you the same answer. Hey, my lunch break's ending. Just give me a shout when you're ready to get packing. Just don't beat yourself up too much about all this. You just got a raw deal, but you're young, you'll bounce back in no time. Love ya, baby!"
"Love you too," Gwen said, lowering the phone to her lap. It was hot in her hands.
Despite the ball of lead weighing down her stomach, Gwen called her mom. The conversation went along the same lines as the one with her father. Her mom started being all optimistic, all happy to help, but had almost the exact same reaction her dad did when Gwen gave her the number.
She wanted to help, but couldn't come up with that kind of money. Again, Gwen received the offer of a place to sleep and a helping hand in the move. She hated how both of them thought it was just some foregone conclusion that she couldn't solve this problem and would be leaving her apartment shortly.
"Love you, mom. Gotta go, bye," she said when her mom started ripping into her father about selling the house. She dropped her phone on the couch and leaned her head back, staring up at the white stucco ceiling.
She'd really been counting on one of them actually coming through for her. Had convinced herself of it, really. The thought of both of them refusing didn't cross her mind until it happened.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, she started to think, maybe I really didn't understand what Aiden was saying. It would be so easy just to take that money. In her mind, she saw him taking out his checkbook, ready to fork over the payment right then and there.
She thought about how she could be standing in line at the bank right then, ready to deposit the cash and sort out her life.
But what would that make me? The question took root and wouldn't leave. Again, she thought of the genuine attraction that had been building for Aiden, and the way he so callously and casually wiped it out.
Just like pretty much everyone else in her life, Aiden wanted to use her for his own benefit. Do I have Sucker tattooed across my forehead or something?
Gwen perked up, rubbing at her eyes. There might be one other thing she could check.
Hope driving her feet quickly, she went into her bedroom and sat at her desk. She flipped open her laptop, glancing up at the poster of Big Ben she had on the wall. It was a nice black and white print she'd bought at a poster sale during her first semester at college.
Microsoft Word documents cluttered her desktop. All the various essays and papers she had going for school. But she found the Internet Explorer icon and fired up the browser.
Soon enough, she'd pulled up her online banking. Her student loan payment had gone in a few weeks ago. Most of it went to tuition, of course, and some of it had lined Janice's pockets in that last rent check she'd written.
But there might still be enough. Her fingers shaking, she typed in her password (twice, actually, since the first time she knew she hit the wrong keys).
Her account balance showed up near the top of the screen. It wasn't enough. Not even by half. Not even by a fifth.
Then thoughts of crawling beneath the inviting comforter, to squeeze her eyes shut and let the day pass away, tempted her.
But it was time to choose between her limited options, none of them really what she wanted.
She could take her pick of which parent she wanted to live with. Both of them offered to come and help her out, both of them offered her a place to sleep. But neither of them lived anywhere near close enough to the city to make commuting back and forth to school and option. She'd have to transfer or drop out.
Then there was moving in with Beatrice. She knew as soon as she told B about her parents, B would make the offer. She'd be able to stay in school that way, which gave that choice a leg up over the parents option. However, she could just feel it in her bones that she and Beatrice would end up butting heads. Not at first, maybe, not during that initial honeymoon period where Gwen knew she would feel all indebted and grateful to her friend, ready to forgive her anything.
But just like in any relationship, the honeymoon would end and they would start to disagree. Small things at first. Like how Beatrice liked to let her garbage overflow before changing it, or letting her alarm go for hours. Soon enough they'd get fed up with each other and that, as they say, would be that. And then she'd be in the same position as now, minus that option.
It seemed inevitable that she would move back in with either her mom or her dad.
Maybe it was a good thing, then, that Aiden didn't ask her out. Say they'd started seeing each other. Well, it wouldn't have stopped Gwen from owing all that money. They would have had to break it off anyway, when Gwen moved back.
She sat back in her chair, her glassy eyes looking at but not really seeing the bank statement on her laptop's screen.
Trying to think about something pleasant, Aiden popped into her mind, to her surprise. He did have a handsome face, and those cold, arresting eyes
. She would so have liked to explore those depths, maybe find the real person who looked out through them.
He'd seemed pretty great for a little bit there. What with getting his company to be more charitable. Even coming out to check on the money and everything.
But why had he been so secretive? He refused to tell her both the company he worked for, and the name of the charity. Why? Just what was going on with Aiden Manning?
Her curiosity piqued (perhaps to artificial heights by her desire to not think about her problems for once) her fingers danced across the keyboard, bringing up Wikipedia in the browser.
She typed in his name and hit enter. The page redirected, landing her in an entry about a company called Carbide Solutions. Apparently they did everything from supplying building materials to factories all over the world, to creating designs for various machines, to consulting with various governments on industrial projects. They were a Fortune 500 company, with thousands of employees across the globe.
The link labeled Controversies caught her eye, and she moved to that section of the article. It appeared that Carbide Solutions didn't become the behemoth it was entirely honestly. They were currently involved in legal action over in various Asian countries as well as India for unscrupulous business practices.
Your stereotypical big bad corporation, it seemed, in it for the money and not really caring about the cost of doing business.
But what did all this have to do with Aiden Manning? She hit the Ctrl and F keys, bringing up the search box. She typed in his name. It got highlighted about midway through the article.
Aiden Manning, it read, the youngest executive ever at Carbide Solutions. He was a graduate of Harvard Business School, with a minor in Ethics.
He was also the only child of Bradley Manning, the current CEO, founder, and primary shareholder of Carbide Solutions. The article mentioned some accusations of nepotism, but that in Aiden's two years on the board, he'd shown himself more than capable of navigating the murky, treacherous waters of a multinational corporation.
