Page 81 of The Girlfriend Clause
I hadn’t realized there would be a test.
“Just… tea. Please. Normal tea.”
She blinked. “A pot of tea… like, PG Tips?”
“Yes. That. The one without puns.”
The waitress looked at me a second too long, then turnedtoward the kitchen. Andrea sank back down onto the red couch, pulling at the cuffs of her oversized gray sweatshirt.
I sat opposite. The springs squeaked. A cat leaped onto the armrest and began sniffing my shoulder with the air of a bouncer checking ID. It was the least authoritative entrance I’d made in my life.
“You really didn’t need to dress up,” she said, looking me up and down.
I glanced at my jacket. Already covered in white hair. In the corner, a cat hacked up a furball.
“I didn’tdress up. I was on my way back from a meeting. And I thought—”
“What?” She tipped a sachet of white sugar into her tea.
“I thought this place was”—Fuck.Why did I start this?—“a strip club.”
“Astrip club?” Her teaspoon froze mid-stir. Great. Now she thought I was a sleazebag on top of everything else.
“Why would I be at astripclub?”
We looked at each other. It never got any easier with Andrea.
“So,” she said, resuming her stirring. “You wanted to talk.”
“Yes.” My voice sounded more formal than I’d intended. “About last night. Our… arrangement.”
“Of course.” Her expression was all innocence. “Is there something I could clarify for you? Perhaps somepapersyou’d like me to sign?”
How did she know? Or maybe she thought it was reasonable? I’d wrangled over the matter with Bonnie all morning. It felt… wrong, but perhaps I was just being paranoid. There was, after all, a lot at stake. Andrea would understand that. It was common sense.
A brown-and-black-striped cat jumped onto my knee andpadded across my thighs before—thank God—hopping off and settling next to me on the couch.
“Not really a cat person, are you?” she said, her eyes making it clear this placed me in a category labeledsociopath.
“Dogs,” I said tightly. “I like… dogs.”
Andrea leaned back, expression cool, as if my answer had confirmed a private theory she wasn’t about to share.
“I have a proposal,” I said.
Andrea smiled, but not kindly. It was hard to believe she was the same woman I’d seen at the art exhibition the day before. Not a scrap of makeup on her face, and she was still gorgeous. Strands of hair from the partial bun fell across one side, and I felt the urge to push them back, if only to wipe the smirk off her face.
“Of course you do.” She tilted her head like she could see straight through me. “Everything’s a deal for you, isn’t it?”
I cleared my throat. This was worse than negotiating with a cabinet minister.
“Look, I can’t back out of Nick and Juliette’s wedding. The conversation you gatecrashed with the minister was at a very delicate stage and—”
“Gatecrashed?” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s some spin.”
“Your tea, sir.” The waitress placed the pot and mug on the table, then hovered a moment too long before realizing we were waiting for her to leave. She floated off.
“Yes,” I said under my breath. “Gatecrashed. After you stabbed me in the foot with your heel evading capture by the police. Recall?”
