“Obviously, being with Declan’s worth something to you. So make me an offer. And make it a good one.”
She looks at me for a moment. “You want me to pay you off?”
Ding, ding, ding! Congratulations, you finally figured it out!
“Yes. There’s no free lunch. Didn’t you learn that in economics?”
I didn’t study economics, but my dad and Eugene have schooled me pretty well. Well, my dad actually said if you love free stuff too much, you’ll go bald.
“Come on,” I say when she doesn’t respond. “Make me an offer. No checks or credit. Cash only.” I’m amenable to a wire in a pinch, but I don’t think this one is smart enough to know how to execute something that complicated.
Looking slightly flustered, she digs into her purse then lays down a few crumpled bills on the table.
I look down at them. What kind of payoff is this? She couldn’t even put the cash in a nice white envelope like a civilized person? God. Calling her an amateur is an insult to amateurs!
“How much is that?” I lean forward a little and squint. “Two hundred?”
“That’s all I have,” she says.
I snort and lean back in my seat. “You’re here to make me go away and you only brought two hundred bucks? Pathetic.”
If she isn’t prepared, she shouldn’t have made the move. Even my ex was offered two hundred million won in a white envelope, for God’s sake. Two hundred bucks is an act of self-humiliation. Because people who can only afford to pay two hundred bucks don’t get to tell others to back off from the enabler of their trophy wifehood.
I stand up. “I don’t lift a finger for less than a billion dollars. And I’m not going to give Declan up to a woman who’s foolish enough to think he’s only worth two hundred bucks. One of his shirts is worth more than that.”
Could he trade some of his money for improved taste and judgment? He really needs to date better women.
On the other hand, he dumped this idiot, so maybe he’s not totally hopeless.
She jumps to her feet, her face red again. “I never said that! When I marry him, I can give you more.”
“Assuming he marries you.”
“He will! As long as you’re not around!”
This is just sad and pathetic. I can’t even hate her. Actually, I take that back. I can hate her for being a stupid amateur. Not to mention she’d make a terrible wife for Declan. He deserves better.
“Stop yelling. And don’t get so angry. Those forehead varicose veins Declan told you about? According to the association of plastic surgeons in Korea, they’re irreversible.”
With that parting shot, I pick up my latte and purse and leave her behind to stew.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Declan
“Melvin’s excited to talk with you on Friday,” Tim says, leaning back in his seat. There’s more silver than gold in his slicked-back hair, but he doesn’t bother to dye it. He says women like mature men, and he’s always hated how young he could appear. He looks like your typical successful agent—the laid-back “I have it made” attitude. “Ryder Reed’s interested in the role, but Melvin told me he’s looking for a fresh face. Which would be you.”
That makes me excited and even more determined to impress the hell out of the director. Ryder Reed has never starred in an action or spy flick that didn’t do well. This could be the perfect next step in my career.
“And hey, sorry about the situation with Nancy,” Tim adds. “Don’t know what she could have been thinking.”
I wave it away. “No problem. Turns out my temp assistant knows how to waltz, so she’s been teaching me.”
“Yeah? You sure she’s good?”
“She’s not a professional, but she studied classical music and all that. So she’s getting me up to speed.” And I’m going to dance with her again tomorrow. And the day after…and on Friday, too. Just to be certain I can waltz correctly, in case Melvin asks.
“Well, that’s good.” Tim tilts his glass back, drains it and then swirls the ice around. “Fuckin’ Nancy.”