Page 6 of Anything For You
“You seemed… stressed,” she managed, the words sticking to her tongue. It was the truth, but it sounded thin, inadequate. It sounded like pity. “I just thought… I could help.”
The storm in Elizabeth’s eyes pinned her in place, unrelenting. Kelsey’s pulse thudded in her throat—too fast, too loud—as if trying to escape the crushing weight of that gaze. Her fingers curled into the rough denim of her jeans, gathering fistfuls just to feel something solid. A drop of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, cold despite the warmth of the café.
She could practically hear Hailey’s voice in her head:You absolute disaster. You dumbass with a heart of gold.
Every second stretched into an eternity under Elizabeth’s scrutiny.
She thinks I’m insane. She thinks I’m some desperate idiot who—Her gut twisted, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting her like one too many shots.Nothing like flinging yourself at the woman you’ve been crushing on for months.
The truth landed with brutal embarrassment, and Kelsey wished she weren’t such an impulsive person.
You complete idiot.
3
The chair creaked under the barista’s shifting weight. Elizabeth watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed. She was nervous. That much was obvious. But nervous people didn’t just offer to be someone’s fake girlfriend. Not without a reason.
Elizabeth leaned back slightly, the movement deliberate. She crossed her arms over her chest, the fabric of her blazer pulling taut, her eyes flickering down to her name tag.
Kelsey.
She studied Kelsey’s face—the flush high on her cheekbones, the way her dark eyes darted away before snapping back, as if she couldn’t decide whether to hold Elizabeth’s gaze or flee.
“Youheardme,” Elizabeth said, her voice low. She let the words hang between them, heavy with implication. “And now you’re offering to help.”
Kelsey’s nod was quick, jerky. “Yeah. I mean—yes.”
Elizabeth had spent years in courtrooms, learning to read people. She knew the way their bodies betrayed them, the way their words could be weapons or lies. Kelsey was no different. She was young, probably late twenties or early thirties, with thekind of open, hopeful face that made people trust her. But trust wasn’t something Elizabeth handed out freely.
“Why?” Elizabeth asked again, sharper this time. She didn’t bother softening the edge in her voice. “People don’t just offer to do things like this out of the goodness of their heart.”
Kelsey’s lips parted, then closed. “I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “You seemed… upset. And I know what it’s like to be in a bad spot. I just thought?—”
“You thought what?” Elizabeth cut in. “That I’d be so desperate I’d take the first person who offered?”
Kelsey’s head snapped up, her dark eyes flashing. “No. That’s not—” She stopped, her chest rising unevenly. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you. I just want to help.”
Elizabeth studied her. Her defensiveness was genuine, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an angle. There was always an angle. “Help,” Elizabeth repeated, testing the word. “And what do you get out of it?”
Kelsey blinked. “What?”
“Money,” Elizabeth said flatly. “That’s usually how these things work. You do something for me, I pay you.”
Kelsey’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked genuinely taken aback, as if the idea had never occurred to her. “I—I don’t want your money.”
Elizabeth almost laughed. Almost. “Everyone wants money.”
“Not like this.” Kelsey’s voice was firm now, her shoulders squaring. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… I like you. You’re a regular. You’re nice to me.”
Elizabeth’s fingers twitched against her arm.Nice to her.The words settled in her chest, uncomfortable. She wasn’t nice. She was polite. There was a difference. But Kelsey didn’t know that. Kelsey didn’t know her at all.
Elizabeth uncrossed her arms, letting her hands rest on the table. The wood was smooth under her palms, worn from yearsof use. She could feel the weight of Kelsey’s gaze on her, the way it lingered, as if waiting for an answer.
She should say no. This was madness. Not just a bad idea, butclinicallyunsound, like something one of her junior associates would suggest after one too many martinis at the firm holiday party. It was the kind of thing that happened in bad movies, not in real life. Not inherlife.
But then she thought of Grace. Of the wedding. Of the way her ex-wife had looked at her last night. Of how genuinely happy she’d seemed to find out that she was seeing someone.
Her jaw tightened.
