Page 9 of His Weekend Girl
It’d been years since the betrayal yet it felt it was still fresh in Grant’s mind. He had to look at Charlotte at every family and major holiday gathering, while everyone pretended everything was fine. That was how wealthy families operated – keep up appearances, and sweep everything under the rug later.
Minutes passed and Grant forgot about the conversation until Charlotte started up again.
What did you tell her about me?
Don’t worry. You weren’t worth mentioning.
CHAPTER SIX
SO, THIS IS how the 1% lives? I’m sad how quickly I got used to it.
As Trixie relaxed in the passenger seat of Grant’s Rolls Royce, she melted into the butter-like seats. Grant chatted with the caller. It was some bullshit about stocks and options. They wanted to know if they had enough money to buy their teen son athirdLamborghini. Yeah,third.
She ignored all of the commotion and a feeling she could only describe as a cross between rising bile and being butthurt. Instead, she focused on the drive up the 405 to Malibu. She’d been to Malibu once and it was for a drunken get-together back at college.
She briefly remembered she made out with some guy named Todd, who oddly reminded her of Ricky Martin and she kept calling him Ricky Martin the entire night instead of his real name. But then she’d never gone back to Malibu. Maybe she was lowkey afraid of running into Ricky Martin again.
Betterliving la vida locathan some fucked-up family she was about to encounter. She didn’t even know that much about Grant’s family but she knew enough that Grant didn’t even want to be around them. Of course, that meant Trixie was about to have a grand ol’ time, wasn’t she?
She buried a groan under her breath.
Was this going to be a re-enactment ofGet Out? Great. She was about to become another social experiment of someone who wanted to prove they weren’t conservative because they listened to Jay-Z and they forgave Will Smith for slapping Chris Rock.
Trixie glanced down at the car panel before her. No, there wouldn’t be any music playing because who was going to play music while they were on the phone? So, she had to pretend she would like something.
What was a good song to listen to when someone was about to go to slaughter?
“Another One Bites the Dust?”
“99 Problems?”
“Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door?”
Were they going to flash a light in her eyes likeMen in Black? Were they going to waterboard her into some weird cult-like mess? Was she going to be some sort of dog and pony act while they sipped champagne and caviar?
Or were they going to insist she wear Dollar Tree and hand-me-downs while they sported the latest fits from Bloomingdales?
You’re being slightly neurotic right now,Trixie rolled her eyes.
Grant couldn’t help he needed to still do business while he was about to go away for the weekend. He could’ve ignored the phone call, but it sounded urgent. Well, no, it wasn’t urgent. Urgent was deciding between eating and having hot water. Rich people’s problems were not poor people’s problems and Trixie remembered who she was.
Have-Nots.
She swallowed what was left of her pride. One hundred thousand. Grant had already wired half the money to her. She was going to get the other half once the weekend was over. Then, she could decide what she was going to do when she grew up.
And then what? She didn’t have to work for the rest of the year, and she just might end up doing just that. She could go on vacation. She could finally get her car fixed. She could work on her website to get more clients.
Maybe she could honestly get her career started again. Something was better than anything. Still, she was waiting for the shoe to drop. One hundred thousand was a lot of money to play a girlfriend and not be one, especially to a member of one of the wealthiest families.
What was Grant not telling her?
“Sorry about that,” Grant’s deep voice interrupted Trixie out of her thoughts and she smiled over at him. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “That wasn’t for you, by the way. It was for that asshole.”
Trixie couldn’t relate. “Tough client?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Grant harrumphed. “Rich assholes with too much money want my opinion. They’ll get what they want, regardless of what I say.”
“It wasn’t a smart purchase?” Trixie cautiously asked.
