The Pretend Girlfriend (40 page)

But it couldn't last forever. Gwen clung to those sensations desperately even as they slipped away from her, even as she came crashing back down into reality and all the problems that accompanied it.

She pushed herself off the bed, her rubber band legs trembling so badly that she had to catch herself against the nightstand. She saw the undignified pile of clothes, both hers and Aiden's, mingled on the floor. And the various buttons strewn about the room.

"Your poor shirt! I'm so sorry," Gwen said, remembering the ferocity with which she'd tried to take it off, and the way he'd ripped it from his body for her.

"It was worth it," he replied, looking so peaceful with his head cradled on a frilly pillow and his eyes shut. He looked angelic, even.

Though perhaps devilish, given what they'd just done, would be a better term.

They relaxed for a while longer before getting cleaned up and dressed once more. Aiden pulled on his business shirt, which didn't go nearly so well with his boot-cut jeans. This one didn't set off his eyes in the same way.

First he went over to the window, leaning against the frame, and looked down on Broadway. Then he paced in the few feet of space between the foot of the bed and the dresser above which was mounted the TV.

Gwen followed his movements while she lay on top of the covers, trying to return to that happy dozing state from which the world had pulled her so rudely before. Except she couldn't, not with the sound of his sock feet rustling lightly against the thin carpet.

Giving up on relaxing, Gwen moved onto her stomach head towards the foot of the bed, chin resting on her hands. "Why so pensive?"

"We need to stop running," he replied, stopping to watch the stock report scroll across the TV screen without really seeing it.

"I don't know where you've been since we got to this huge, wonderful bed, but we definitely haven't been running." She knew what it was he meant, but it was more interesting to tease him.

"That's not what I mean and you know it. If we want this to work, we have to take down Henry. We have to discover some way of making my father give up."

"How?" Gwen asked, sitting up and crossing her legs Indian-style.

H
ow do you stop someone with the resources of a giant multinational corporation behind them? That was the million dollar question. Though, given the circumstances, perhaps hundred billion dollar question was a touch more apt.

They'd ordered room service for supper, neither wanting to risk going outside and being recognized. Maybe it was just that all Gwen's brain blood was in her stomach, digesting the salmon fillet she'd eaten, that kept her from seeing a solution.

"You're sure you don't know anything we could use? You don't have any dirt on him, or whatever?" Gwen said.

"Dirt?" Aiden said, amusement twinkling in his eyes, "Are we in a 1940s gangster movie now?" The sparkle disappeared. "No, I don't have anything like that on him. He was always so careful not to share that sort of thing with me. When I was growing up at home—during those few periods I was allowed home between the private schools he always kept me enrolled in—every time he'd have someone over for business, he'd lock himself and his cohorts away in his study. He even had the maid keep me away from the door, like he was afraid I'd listen in through the keyhole or something like that."

That sounded like Henry all right, keeping an emotional and physical distance from his son. Although, if Gwen really thought about it, it almost sounded protective. Keep his son from learning anything that could incriminate him in his father's misdoings. She thought of how she thought she'd seen in chink in the elder Manning's armor back at his office, after she'd gotten angry and revealed that she knew about his wife.

That turned her onto a different tack. "Okay, so even though Carbide Solutions has been involved in multiple lawsuits, we can't find any corporate dirty laundry to use as leverage. What about personal stuff? I bet a guy like Henry is into some weird stuff."

Aiden frowned at her, shaking his head to show his misunderstanding.

"You know, weird stuff. Like
Fifty Shades
type-stuff." She waggled her eyebrows.

Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture of frustration she'd come to call 'the Gwen.' And she loved bugging him enough to do it.

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean," she said.

"Unfortunately, yes. Continuing in this line of misfortune, I also have no idea about that sort of thing, either. Does it really seem like we're chummy enough with each other for him to share that sort of thing?" Aiden said.

The frustration really started getting to Gwen. Standing, crossing her arms tightly, she began pacing. "Well, he knew about the girlfriend contract right away apparently. He keeps tabs on you. I thought that maybe... you might also keep tabs on him."

Aiden flung up his hands. "In case you haven't noticed, I do my best to not be like him."

Gwen sighed and then leaned against the window frame. The last bit of light from dusk was beginning to fade, and the cars all drove with their headlights on.

From that vantage point, she got a good look at a bar on the other side of the street. It had a big neon sign that read COLD BEERS. Gwen snorted. What, not BEERZ? Wasn't that the style, to add a Z instead of an S?

That thought lead to recalling that night she and Beatrice had gotten into their fatal argument. In all the excitement over the past 24 hours, Gwen hadn't really spared any thoughts for her friend. The food in her stomach turned into a heavy ball, and now she regretted eating.

Yeah, B is probably out at a club right now, partying with a bunch of rich guys. Who knows, maybe Astor is throwing another party and she's on a mission to get five more numbers? B always seemed to know about these people.

"That's it!" Gwen said, the realization staggering her.

"What's it? Is something wrong?" Aiden said, starting from his chair to come help her.

She faced him, her body buzzing with giddy energy. "Can't you see? That's the answer!"

That earned her a quizzical raising of the eyebrows.
Oh
, she thought,
I guess that was all in my head.
So she relayed it to him, finishing with, "So if anyone knows someone who has something we can use on Henry, it's Beatrice!"

Cautiously optimistic, Aiden nodded. She could tell that he wasn't quite so enthusiastic as she about the prospect, however.

What, are my ideas not good enough or something?

"I thought that you and she haven't made up yet," Aiden supplied, noting her irritation.

That deflated her. She sat heavily on the foot of the bed. "Right, yeah, that whole thing."

Curious, she went and checked her phone. At first, her heart lurched in excitement. Plenty of missed calls. Lots of texts. However, said excitement curdled in her stomach when she read and listened. They were mostly from reporters wanting interviews, a few from old high school friends suddenly interested in her because of her notoriety. And the remainder were her mother and father begging her to call them back so that "we can talk about this." They both used the same phrase. Multiple times.

I'm going to have to change my number, Gwen thought. And my name. She had absolutely zero desire to hear whatever lecture her parents had ready for her. And, because they were separated, she'd experience the wonderful joy of hearing it twice.

And there was not a single thing from B. Not even a measly text congratulating her on her newfound infamy. And here Gwen had been half expecting a few wise remarks at being labeled an escort.

"Nothing," she said, "Do I think I should call her?"

"No," Aiden said.

"Gee, that's harsh," Gwen said.

"No, I mean you shouldn't. I should."

She cocked her head at him. "Come again for Gwen?"

"She called me to let me know you were in trouble. She might take my call."

"Oh! Yeah! Go on, do it."

He retrieved his phone, getting ready to call. Just before he did, she touched his arm. "Maybe don't tell her I'm here." He nodded, then started again. She pulled at his sleeve. "Maybe make something up. Just get her to come here right away." Another nod from Aiden. For a third time, she got his attention, "Ooh! Maybe you can get her here by telling her-"

Aiden shushed her. He actually shushed her, like an ornery old librarian. "I have it in hand, okay?"

He started again, looked suspiciously at Gwen, and then went out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him and holding the handle so that she couldn't follow him.

"Hey!" she said, looking at his distorted image through the old peephole.

She watched him put the phone to his ear. Her pulse pounded past her temples, and that salmon really wasn't sitting well in her stomach anymore. If this didn't work, she just didn't know what else they could try.

For the second time that day, she looked up at the ceiling in a desperate, silent request for help from on high.

Answer, B, Gwen thought as she watched through that fisheye lens. Just answer. Answer answer answer...

"..."

That was about all Gwen could make out through the heavy door. She barely recognized Aiden's voice. It was like listening to an adult talk on Peanuts.

But he was talking. And that meant Beatrice had answered. Gwen did a little victory dance, then went straight back to looking through the peephole.

No matter how many times she appealed to the ceiling, Aiden wouldn't turn around so that she could see his facial expressions and body language. The most she got was a few nods. He leaned back against the door at once point, filling her entire field of vision with the swirl of hair at the back of his head. She noted how it looked like he might get a cowlick if he didn't keep it cut nice and short.

The conversation dragged on. Gwen pressed her forehead against the door, thankful for the cool sensation against her skin.

This is cruel! How could he do this do me? As soon as he gets back in here, I'm going to...

Her heart lurched when he hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Quickly, Gwen jumped back from the door, nearly falling on the bed, so that he could open it. The lock clicked when he scanned his card, and he stepped back in.

He shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets and just looked at her.

"Well?" she said. He had that poker face on again, so it was impossible to tell the outcome of the conversation.

His inscrutable mask cracked, and he smiled. "She's on her way over."

"Oh my God! That's amazing. What did you tell her? How did you convince her?"

He shrugged. "I simply told her that you finally figured out a way to make things up with her."

"What?!"

***

"R
elax, I think that's a great idea!" Aiden said.

Apparently, Beatrice had told him that she was over at the opposite side of the park from the NYLO hotel, and that it would probably take her a good fifteen to twenty minutes to get here.

Gwen spent the first five of those minutes tearing into Aiden for telling B that Gwen could fix this. She'd then spent the following five minutes alternating between pulling at her hair, staring down at Broadway, and pacing while trying to figure something out.

It was only in the eleventh hour that she actually did think of something that might (and by might, she meant
just might
) work. And then she'd scrawled said solution onto the hotel letter head on the desk, and put it into a hotel envelope with Beatrice's name on it.

She had to put the envelope down for fear of getting it damp with her sweaty palms.

It was an elegant (to use that word again), if somewhat embarrassing solution. She hoped B would accept it as the extended olive branch Gwen intended it to be. Otherwise, Beatrice might just take it and use it as additional fodder in her Mocking Gwen campaign.

Gwen couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive about it, though. To her, this secret meant a lot. It was one she'd meant to take with her to the grave. To Beatrice, maybe it was worth nothing.

Looking at the clock on the dresser, Gwen noted that it was now 21 minutes following the close of Aiden and Beatrice's phone conversation.

"She said 15 to 20, didn't she?" Gwen said.

Aiden massaged her shoulders, releasing knots of tension. "Relax. She'll be here. What did you write down, anyway?"

He kept shooting curious glances over at the envelope. She hadn't told him what she'd written on the paper inside. It was bad enough one person was going to find out. She couldn't have both her best friend and her boyfriend knowing this little tidbit.

Shrugging out of his grip, she rounded on him. "None of your business. Besides, how can you tell me you think it's a good idea if you don't even know what
it
is?"

"Because it's clear that you think it's a good idea. And I trust you."

And Aiden did it again. He disarmed her with those lovely eyes of his coupled with that philosopher's wit of his. "Shut up," she said, grinning.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Oh God, it's her!" Gwen said, jumping over the bed in a mad dash for the envelope. She knew that there was still time to tear it up and throw it into the garbage before anyone could learn the secret...

"Hello," Aiden said, "Won't you come in?"

"This had better be good," Beatrice said, coming inside. She eyed the hotel room as though a guillotine might slice down out of the ceiling onto her at any moment, or some creepy hand might shoot out from under the bed to grab at her ankle.

"I honestly couldn't tell you," Aiden replied, closing the door and leaning against it. He gave Gwen a look that said, "This is your show now."

"Because if it's an offer for a threesome, I'm outta here," B finished.

Aiden didn't know how to respond to that. He did his best to stare up at a cobweb undulating in the corner of the ceiling.

Gwen, however, leaned at a rather unbecoming and uncomfortable angle over the dresser, one hand on the letter, the other desperately trying to keep her from falling onto the waste basket.