Page 55 of Rich Girl
The reality is that I am developing strong feelings for Hayden. She is high maintenance, there’s no doubt in my mind about it. But it’s not like I could not handle it. The only obstacle would be her not returning my feelings.
It is so confusing to me why she’s doing all this. It’s some weird game she’s playing, but maybe taking it a bit far now with the job she knows nothing about and a place to stay that’s very small and uncomfortable. It was perfect for me before, but I was only one person. It’s funny how adding Hayden to the mix shrunk it all down.
On a whim, I pull over into an empty parking lot which allows for enough space for my tow truck. I pick up my phone and open the browser, then type in the very basic information I have on her, hoping that it is enough.
Hayden Benedict from Massachusetts.
I take a deep breath in and tapSearch. As soon as I do that, I get overwhelmed with the number of results showing. There are links with pictures from events she attended before, along with charities she supports, people she associates with, clubs she frequents and boyfriends she’s had over the years.
Boston socialite, Hayden Benedict, is on the prowl again, one headline states.The recently single heiress was seen atClub Xwith a new man only days after breaking it off with Chase Hawthorne. According to an inside source, the reason for their breakup is that she wanted an open relationship while he was ready to settle down.
It goes on and on like that, with each article diving deeper into Hayden’s social life, with a focus on her dating history.
I drop the phone back into the cup holder of my truck, taking a moment to stare out the window. My time with Hayden is very short, the expiration date on our sort of a relationship painfully clear.
There are a couple of options I could go with here. One would be to send Hayden packing. She needs to go home, that’s for sure. Being her plaything was fun for a while, but now that my heart is into it, I don’t like it.
Another option would be to try to make this real. I try to imagine a world where the Hayden Benedict I saw in those pictures would be happy living a quiet life with me. Not happening.
A third option would be to continue playing along with her, pretending like I don’t know what she’s up to or who she is, win my bet and get on with my life.
By the time I make it into town, I am no closer to coming to a decision than I was twenty miles before that. I pull into the large courtyard at my shop, noticing that all the bays are closed and locked for the day. The security lights are on, and I also see a light shining in the window of my apartment above. The Jeep is here so I know Hayden is home.
Hayden is home.
It is such an odd choice of words when this is not her home, nor will it ever be.
I drag my ass out of the truck and up the stairs, not stopping until I make it there. As soon as I open the door, the smell of food hits my nose and my mouth instantly waters.
The lights are dimmed, with the small kitchen table being set for two, a lit candle sitting in the middle.
“You’re home,” her breathy voice sounds from the side.
I about fall over in shock when I see the dress she’s got on. It is some corset contraption, engine fire red. Her feet are encased in the sexiest sandals in existence, with her pretty toes on display.
My eyes eat her up as I take her in, moving up her body until I reach her face. She has makeup on, quite a bit of it too. She still looks beautiful though, just in a different way than how I’ve seenher for the last two weeks. Her hair is perfectly styled, falling to the side in a cascade of curls.
“You have dinner ready for me?”
My stomach growls as soon as I say the words, making us both laugh.
“I didn’t cook it,” she rushes to say. “In case you were hoping for that.”
“I don’t give a fuck who cooked it,” I snort. “As long as I can eat it. It smells amazing in here.”
The look of pride on her face makes me want to grab her and kiss the shit out of her.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her instead. “Any special occasion?”
She takes her time walking toward me, like she is modeling on the runaway.
“I had a rough day today,” she confesses in an almost weak tone. “Work was hard.”
I nod but decide not to tell her that I spoke with Evie about it. I have a feeling that it would not be very well received.
“And I know you work harder than that every day,” she rushes to add.
My heart swells in my chest at hearing her acknowledgement. It means a lot to me that she recognizes and appreciates my hard work.
