Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“So fucking what? You still think that.”
I pause, feeling the ruse slipping through my fingers. “Not as much. You stayed to help me with Darling—a brat wouldn’t have done that.”
“A brat.” She crosses her arms, her eyes bright with anger. “You want to know how much of a brat I am, Leo? I’m two hundred eighty-one thousand dollars in debt from college and law school loans. I make sixty-eight thousand dollars a year and can barely afford my loan payments. If I’m wearing nice clothes or shoes, I bought them used. My parents have nothing.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
“Mara, I’m—”
“I’m not done! My parents worked so fucking hard, Leo. So fucking hard, and everything was taken away from them for something they didn’t deserve. I waitressed in high school just to keep food on the table when things were really bad with my dad. I promise you I am not the least bit spoiled, but you’ve never taken the time to know anything about me.”
Angry tears well in her eyes. Or maybe they aren’t angry. Her parents are clearly an emotional subject for her, and I didn’t mean for us to get into something so heavy in the parking lot of Neptune’s.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “You’re right. I made a stupid assumption and never bothered to find out the truth.”
She looks away, the tears falling onto her cheeks when she blinks. “I don’t want your pity. It’s a lot easier when you’re just an asshole.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“Leo ... I have a lot of resentment inside me. A small sliver of it is toward you, but when I get mad, my resentment about other people and things can come flying out of me and hit whoever is closest. You’d have a hard time pretending to be into me, too.”
“I shouldn’t have asked. It was selfish.”
She sighs, her exhale making a small cloud in the cold. “I’ll do it for two hundred and fifty grand.”
My chin drops in shock. “What?”
She turns to face me, vulnerability swirling in her caramel eyes as she holds my gaze. “For my parents. My dad was hit by a drunk driver when I was fourteen and he’s paralyzed. I know it’s a lot of money, but it would change their lives. I went to law school because I wanted to help them with money, but then I was an idiot who left my high-paying job to work in traffic court, so that’s never happening.”
It is a lot of money, but also, it’s not. I’ve been smart with my money over the past ten years in pro hockey and I have more than twenty million dollars between savings and investments. Plus another two million in the bank that I can access anytime.
“Okay,” I say.
Her eyes widen with shock. “Okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. You’re right—if I’m getting something out of it, you should, too.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “I ... wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
I nod at the restaurant, my hands freezing in the cold. “Let’s talk about it over dinner.”
“Okay, but before we even walk inside—I’m not sleeping with you.” She’s on the verge of tears again, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. “Not even for that much money.”
I put my palms up. “I’d never ask you to do that. I’d never want any woman who didn’t want me to do anything like that. This situation won’t involve anything physical. Ever.”
She wipes her fingertips beneath her eyes. “And you’re still willing to do it? For that much money?”
The woman I call the queen of mean has her armor off in this moment, and I see how wrong I’ve been about her. She just wants to help her parents, and she’s carrying around a lot of guilt over not being able to.
“You’re the one doing me a favor.” I fight my urge to reach out and cup her cheek, which is tinged pink from the cold.
“But this ... the money part, I mean ... can we not tell anyone? Suki knows about my parents, and Dex and Harry know a little bit, but not everything. I don’t like talking about it.”
I get that more than she’ll ever know. I’m the same way about my brother’s death. No matter how many years pass, it stays raw. Talking about it just reopens the wound.
“Just between us,” I say. “I promise. You, me and my accountant will be the only ones who know, because she’ll be the one sending the money.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
She turns to walk into the restaurant, and I follow. The lobby is crowded with people waiting for tables, but when I mention our team owner’s name to the host, we’re immediately led to a quiet table for two in the back of the restaurant.