Trade Me (9 page)

Blake guides me to the back table, where a man sits facing away from us. I recognize his father’s profile, that messy salt-and-pepper hair, from last night’s festival of YouTube fear. Adam Reynolds is holding one hand to his ear and murmuring into a Bluetooth head set.

“Then move the manufacturing to Shenzhen,” he growls. “If Liansu can’t guarantee the secrecy we need at the production speed we require, it’s off. No more leaks.” There’s a pause. “I want solutions, not excuses. Whine to your shrink. I don’t want to hear it.”

He slides his hand angrily across his phone and then looks up. His eyes land on Blake and then—astonishingly—he smiles, a brilliant grin that seems completely unforced. It shifts his face from
angry bastard
to something far more charming.

“Hi, Dad,” Blake says easily.

Adam Reynolds takes out his earpiece and stands up, offering his hand to his son. Blake drops my hand; his dad gives him a fist bump that converts into a complicated handshake, a high five, and then a hug.

“Hey, asshole,” Adam Reynolds says. “It’s good to see you.”

My eyebrows rise on
asshole
.

“Hey, jerkwad,” Blake says smoothly. “This is Tina. Tina, this is my dad.”

“Hello.” Now that Blake’s let go of me, I don’t know what to do with my hands. I settle for bringing one up in a little wave. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Adam Reynolds, one of the most powerful men in the world, sizes me up in one glance. For some reason, he makes me think of a jungle panther. He gives me a single, dismissive look—as if he’s determined in one second that I’m not only prey, but I’m not even important enough to consider eating. I feel suddenly aware that my jeans are fraying from age, that the soft sweater I’m wearing is just a little too short at the wrists.

“Huh,” he says. And then he looks back at his son, discarding me.

“I need to use the facilities,” Blake says. “You guys get acquainted.”

“Blake…” My voice almost squeaks as he leaves. He doesn’t hear me. Or at least, he doesn’t turn around.

It’s a good thing that Blake and I are only pretend-dating, because if this were remotely real, he would be so completely dead for abandoning me.

I slide onto the bench opposite Adam Reynolds and manage a polite smile. He glances longingly at his phone, no doubt imagining all the work he could do if he weren’t stuck with his son’s girlfriend. I can almost feel the disdain wafting off him. Then he sighs, pushes his phone away, and looks over at me.

The internet does not agree about many things, but one thing all sources acknowledge is this: Adam Reynolds is a first-class, grade-A asshole. There’s a covert video that someone uploaded three years ago. The quality is grainy, but the words are clear. There are five minutes of Adam Reynolds berating his CFO in a restaurant far fancier than this one. Adam used every insult in the book, and some that have never been printed in any book. After a little public uproar, Cyclone issued a formal semi-apology: They were very sorry that the scene had caused distress to others, but the video had been taken “out of context.” Like there’s ever a context in which it’s okay to call someone a pig-fucking cocksucker.

His dismissal shouldn’t hurt. I’m only pretend-dating his son. I don’t even want to like Blake, and I will never meet this man again. Still, to be judged unworthy in so short a space of time really pisses me off. I at least deserve a shot.

Blake vanishes into the bathroom.

As I’m marshaling the nerve to try and start a polite conversation, Mr. Reynolds looks off into the distance, hoists his water glass, and lets out a sigh. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

My first thought is that Blake must have told him about our deal after all. I sit in place, waiting for him to give some explanation, to make some sort of demand. But he takes a long swallow of water and doesn’t say anything more.

I fold my hands in my lap.

“Well?” he asks after a few interminable seconds. “I can’t wait forever.”

He’s not even going to pretend to be polite, and I suspect that everything he says from here on out will only get worse. Fine. If he wants to play that way, I can come along for the ride.

“No,” I say with my most charming smile. “
You
probably can’t. Five minutes of your time is worth a fortune. But my time is worth basically nothing. So if we want to keep staring at each other, I’ll win. Eventually.”

He leans against the booth, letting his arm trail along the back. He has Blake’s wiry build, but there’s an edginess to him that Blake lacks, as if he has a low-voltage current running through him at all times. He drums his fingers against the table as if to dispel a constant case of jitters. His glare intensifies.

“Cut the innocent act. If you’re smart enough to hold Blake’s interest, you’re smart enough to know what I’m talking about. My son is obviously emotionally invested in you, and I’d rather he not be hurt any more than necessary. If all you want is money, I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars to walk away right now.”

I pause, considering this. On the one hand, fifty thousand dollars to walk away from a nonexistent relationship is a lot of money. On the other hand, technically, at this point, Blake has offered me more. Besides, I doubt Mr. Reynolds would ever actually pay me. He’d just spill everything to Blake, assuming that revealing my money-grubbing status would end this relationship.

In other words, true to form, he’s being a dick.
Surprise, surprise.

“I see you’re thinking about it,” he says. “Chances are this thing, whatever it is, won’t last. We’ve established that you don’t really care about Blake. The only thing left to do is haggle over the price.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.” I pick up my own water glass and take a sip. “I think we need to make the stakes even. I’ll accept sixty-six billion dollars. I take cash, check, and nonliquid assets.”

His knowing smirk fades. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

I set my glass down. “No. I’m simply establishing that you don’t love your son, either.”

He almost growls. “What the fuck kind of logic is that? Sixty-six billion dollars is materially different than fifty thousand.”

The bathroom door opens behind us, and Blake starts toward us. Mr. Reynolds looks away from me in annoyance. Blake approaches the table and slides in next to me. He sits so close I can feel the warm pressure of his thigh against mine.

He looks from me to his father and back. “What’s going on?”

The fact that I’m not actually dating Blake, and don’t care about the state of his relationship with his terrible father, makes this extremely easy.

“Your father and I,” I tell him sweetly, “are arguing over how much he’ll pay me to dump you. Stay out of this; we’re not finished yet.”

“Oh.” A curiously amused look crosses Blake’s face.

“He offered fifty thousand bucks,” I say. “I countered with sixty-six billion.”

Blake’s smile widens.

“She’s not negotiating in good faith,” Mr. Reynolds growls. “What the fuck kind of girlfriend did you bring?”

“Don’t mind me.” Blake crosses his arms and leans back. “Pretend I’m not here. Carry on.”

Son of a bitch. Blake probably
knew
something like this would happen. He set me up. He did it on purpose.

“I don’t have to negotiate in good faith,” I tell his father. “You brought money into this in the first place. That was a dick move. Why should I play fair?”

“You’ve admitted that you’d sell him out,” he snaps. “That at some point, money is more important than he is.”

“
You’ve
admitted the same thing. If I’m a faithless whore because I’ll take a check to break up with Blake, you’re the asshole who values his company and lifestyle more than your son.”

“That’s not just my company. That’s my life. It’s his life. It’s—”

“Oh, and you think it’s just money for me?” I glare at him. “You think that you’d give me fifty thousand dollars and I’d spend it all on shoes and diamond-studded cat collars? Fifty thousand dollars would pay for the rest of my college tuition. It would buy my dad a lawyer so that the next time his knee acted up, he could finally get disability instead of scrambling to find some job he can manage. It would make it so I didn’t have to work for the next year and could concentrate on my schoolwork. That’s a really ugly double standard, Mr. Reynolds. When money exists to make
your
life more pleasant, it’s not just money. But when it’s
my
family and
my
dreams at stake, it’s just pieces of green paper.”

Blake smiles softly.

His father reaches across the table and flicks Blake’s forehead. “Stop grinning.”

“No way.” Blake is smiling harder. “She’s kicking your ass. This is the best day ever.”

His father grunts.

“The day I first went to lunch with Blake, I had less than twenty dollars in my possession. Total,” I tell his father. “I would completely sell Blake out for fifty thousand dollars. Some days I’d do it for ten. Dollars. Not thousands. None of this makes me a gold digger. It just means that I’m poor. When times get desperate, I’ll pawn anything of value to survive. I might cry when I do it, but I’m going to be realistic about it. So take your stupid does-she-love-Blake test and shove it.”

Mr. Reynolds looks at me. He looks at Blake. And then, very slowly, he holds out his hands, palms up. “Well. Fuck me twice on Sundays,” he says. From the expression on his face, I take it that this is intended to be a good thing.

“First time I talked to her,” Blake says with a nod that could only be described as prideful. “Before I asked her out. I knew I had to introduce her to you.”

“Shit,” Mr. Reynolds says. He holds up a fist, and Blake fist bumps him in return.

Now they’re
both
being dicks.

“Smile,” Blake’s dad says to me. “You pass the test.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” I put on a brilliant smile. “Do you really mean it? Do you mean that you, the one, the only, the incomparable Adam Reynolds, has deigned to recognize me as a human being? My life is changed forever.”

Mr. Reynolds’s expression goes completely blank. “Why is she being sarcastic, Blake?”

“Why is he talking to you like I’m not here, Blake?”

Mr. Reynolds turns to me. “Fine. Why are you being sarcastic?”

“You don’t get to test me,” I tell him. “You’re not my teacher. You don’t get to act like you’re the only one with a choice, and I have to be grateful if you accept me. I don’t have any illusions about me and Blake. Fitting our lives together is like trying to finish a thousand-piece puzzle with Lego bricks. But you know what? Bullshit like this is what’s going to break us up. You had a test, too. You could have treated me like a human being. You failed.”

Blake reaches out and twines his fingers with mine.

For a moment, I feel all the emotion that I’ve just expressed. I feel that we’re hopeless, that there is an unbridgeable gulf between us. I look at our hands, laced together on my lap. I look over at his wide, blue eyes, and I ask myself how our relationship can possibly survive.

Then I remember that we don’t actually have a relationship. He held my hand for the first time this afternoon.
This
doesn’t exist. It’s just a reminder of why I need to be careful.

“Dad?” Blake says in a low voice. “What is the
one
thing I asked you to do at this lunch?”

There’s a long pause. “You told me not to be a dick to Tina.”

“I told you not to be a dick to Tina.” His hand squeezes mine. “For one, she’ll hand you your ass, and she won’t be nice about it. But there’s something more important than that.”

He’s talking to his father, but his fingers play with mine, whispering that there is something there. That he cares. I know it’s an illusion, but still…

“I don’t like it when people hurt Tina,” he says. “I keep trying to convince her that she’s wrong, that nothing will break us up.” His hand exerts a subtle pressure on mine. “But you know what? I let you hurt her. If this was a test for any of us, it was a test for me, and I fucked it up. It won’t happen again.”

There is a long moment. I don’t even understand why he’s standing up for me in front of his father. In another handful of months, the truth will come out. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not someone he cares about. I
am
only after his money.

But for a second, the lie seems real. Blake’s eyes blaze. His hand holds mine. I can actually believe that he cares about me, that he’s willing to stand up to his father for me. It’s like Romeo and Juliet.

The version of Romeo and Juliet where the Montagues have nothing and the Capulets can crush them all without thinking, that is. The version where Juliet dies alone in the tomb from a drug overdose and Romeo says, “Oh, shit, I knew I was forgetting something, but I was trying to figure out how to get out of paying ordinary income tax.”

His father’s face becomes solemn. He looks between us. “This is serious.” He reaches for his water glass and frowns at it. “Fuck. Is it too early to drink?” As if in answer to his own question, he grimaces and takes a swallow of water.

“It’s very serious,” Blake assures him. “This is how serious it is: I want her on the Fernanda prototype list.”

His father chokes and spatters water all over the table. For a second, he coughs heavily.

Then—“Hands,” Mr. Reynolds snarls, which makes no sense to me.

Blake brings our intertwined hands up, and sets them on the table.

“No dice,” his father says. “You know the rule. Your girl gets on the prototype list when your ring is on her finger. I don’t see a ring.”

What the fuck? That,
that
was not something Blake mentioned to me.

“We’re not in the same place yet,” Blake says calmly. “But if it’s up to me, you will. One day.”

I know he’s lying, but even so, he could convince me if I was stupid enough to let him do it. I yank my hand from his. He reaches over and takes it back calmly, as if he’s making a statement.

“You know what?” I tell him. “Same holds true for you as for your dad. You don’t get to announce that you’re…you’re…” I choke on the words.
Marrying me.
The concept is completely ridiculous. We don’t even know each other. And even though he’s acting, even though I know this isn’t real, I don’t even know why he’s doing this. “You don’t get to announce that without talking to me about it.”