Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

ZAYN

T he fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on her face. She looked tired, like she'd been running on fumes for days. The urge to smooth out the lines of stress on her forehead was almost overwhelming, but I knew better than to reach out to her now.

I'd hurt her once before. I wasn't here to make it better; I was here because I needed her. And she wasn't going to make this easy.

"What do you need?" She asked the question with a healthy dose of skepticism.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that wouldn't make me sound insane. "It's complicated. But I promise you, it's not something you'll regret."

Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "Regret? Zayn, the last time I trusted you, I ended up alone in Mallorca with nothing but a plane ticket and a bruised ego. You think I want to make that mistake again?"

I winced at the mention of Mallorca. I'd been a complete asshole by leaving early, and I knew it. But this wasn't the time to rehash the past. I had to stay focused. "I get it. I was a jerk. But this is different. I need your help, and I'm willing to make it worth your while."

"What are you talking about?"

I hesitated, then decided to lay it all out there. "I need a fake fiancée."

Marigold blinked, staring at me like I'd grown a second head. "A fake fiancée? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," I replied, my voice steady. "And you're the perfect person for the job."

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "And why, exactly, do you think I'm perfect for this job ?"

"Well, for starters, you owe me," I said, trying to keep my tone light, though the words tasted bitter in my mouth. I hated making her think she owed me anything. I had done a favor for her. I never expected repayment. "But more than that, I know you can play the part. You think quickly on your feet. And I need someone I can trust. Someone with a squeaky-clean reputation who won't damage what I've worked for."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me, her anger simmering just below the surface. "How do you know I have a good reputation?"

"I know people, Marigold. I had them do some digging." I couldn't quite look her in the eyes as I said that last part.

Her expression darkened, and I could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. "How dare you?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

"I had to be sure, Marigold. I can't afford to make mistakes with this."

I finally looked up to meet her eyes and it was as expected. I would compare her to a dragon, but she would make a dragon look like a soft and cuddly teddy bear. The intensity of her gaze could turn a dragon to stone. Even the most fierce and ferocious creatures would wilt under her piercing scrutiny.

Fury was radiating off her in waves. "You bailed on me, Zayn. You made me feel like I meant nothing to you after everything we shared in Mallorca. And now you want me to pretend to be your fiancée? Why should I even consider helping you?"

"Because I need you," I said, my voice suddenly a mere whisper.

Marigold's eyes widened fractionally before the fury returned. No, not fury. Betrayal. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Really? Now you need me. After everything, now I'm suddenly important to you." Her words came out choked and bitter.

I didn't like seeing her upset, least of all because of me. "Mari," I began softly, hoping the use of a nickname would soften the blow. "I understand if you're angry. Hell, I deserve every bit of it."

For a moment she looked away from me as if she was debating on whether to listen to me any further or march out of the room. Or potentially shoot me with a bolt of flames if she could muster it.

Which, given her current state, I had a feeling she probably could.

I knew this was coming. The anger, the hurt. I'd fucked up, and I wasn't about to pretend otherwise. But I couldn't let her feelings derail what I needed. "You have every right to be pissed at me," I said, keeping my voice even. "But this isn't about what happened in Mallorca. This is about business. You're the best person for the job, and I'm willing to pay you handsomely for it."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Pay me?"

"Half a million dollars."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her surprise. "That's a lot of money."

"It is, but I need this," I said again. "I would pay double if you'll say yes."

"This is insane. I lied at the wedding because it was a one-time, impulsive, silly thing. A blip. A weak moment. This?" She waved a hand in the air between us. "This is premeditated and conscious and… diabolical."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Diabolical? That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

Her eyes flashed with anger. I could see her struggling to find the right words to throw at me. But before she could respond, the door to the break room swung open, and the owner of the diner poked his head in. "Marigold, you've got tables waiting. I don't pay you to sit around and chat."

She deflated under his criticism. I could see the frustration in her eyes as she glanced back at me. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, and I knew this was my moment to push.

"Or," I said, pulling out my checkbook, "I write you a check for half a million dollars right here, right now. You take off that cute little apron, tell this asshat you quit, and walk your ass out the door with me."

I let the offer hang in the air, watching as the manager's eyes widened in disbelief. He looked from Marigold to me, his jaw dropping.

"What's it gonna be, baby?" I asked, holding the checkbook out to her.

For a moment, I thought she might turn me down. I could see the wheels turning in her head, her pride warring with the practicalities of her situation. But then, to my relief, she reached up, untied her apron, and shoved it into the owner's hands.

"You should treat your staff better if you want them to work harder," she said, a defiant grin on her face as she turned back to me. "Twenty bucks in tips every shift isn't enough for anyone to put up with the bullshit doled out here."

I grinned. "Guess you just lost one of your best waitresses," I said, putting my checkbook in my back pocket. I could practically see the steam coming from the owner's ears.

The sight made me chuckle. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Marigold. "Don't expect to use me as a reference."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you think I'm going to schlep shitty fries and get yelled at by ungrateful customers again when I've got fuck-you money?"

The owner of the diner didn't have a reply, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I thought I even saw a small glimmer of fear in his eyes.

"Come on, Marigold," I said casually as I hooked my arm through hers.

She was silent, and I could almost feel her brain buzzing with thoughts, trying to find the right words to say.

I was so proud of her.

And so turned on.

I was going to keep that last bit to myself.

Together, we walked out of the diner. I couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction.

Once we were outside, she hesitated, glancing back at the diner. "I need to grab my stuff from my locker. Dammit. I wanted to flounce."

"Flounce?"

"It was supposed to be my dramatic exit. I screwed it up. I need my purse. I'll be right back."

I nodded, leaning against the hood of my car as she hurried back inside. I'd dragged Marigold into this mess, and even though I was paying her well, I knew I was asking for more than money could buy.

When she returned, her bag slung over her shoulder, I could see the tension in her posture. She was still angry, still hurt, but she was here. And that was all that mattered.

I pulled out my checkbook and scrawled out a check for the promised amount, handing it to her. Her hands trembled as she took it, her eyes widening as she read the number. "Is this real?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I smirked, leaning in closer. "I'm a Bancroft. Of course it's fucking real."

Despite my words, I watched as she inspected the check with the keen eye of someone who worked at a bank. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement. She was thorough, and I respected that.

"I need to go to the bank," she said finally, looking up at me. "I want to make sure it clears."

"Fine," I agreed. "Let's go."

We drove to a branch that stayed open late, the streets nearly empty as we pulled up to the front. I followed her inside, my presence drawing curious glances from the few employees still on duty. Marigold walked up to the teller, her voice steady as she explained she wanted to deposit a check.

The teller's eyes widened as she glanced at the amount. I could see her hesitating. "What's this money for?" she asked, looking between Marigold and me.

"That's none of your damn business," I snapped, flashing my ID. "Just deposit the check."

The teller blinked, taken aback by my tone, but she didn't argue. Instead, she called over the branch manager, who took one look at my ID and quickly made a phone call. Within minutes, the higher-ups had approved the deposit.

The teller turned to Marigold with a nervous smile. "It's cleared and in your account," she said.

Marigold looked like she was about to pass out from the shock of being five-hundred-thousand dollars richer. I placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the bank and into the cool night air.

"See? What did I tell you?" I said, trying to keep the smirk off my face.

She didn't respond, still too stunned to process what had just happened. We walked in silence for a while, circling the block as I gave her time to wrap her head around everything. I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.

Finally, she stopped, turning to face me. "Why me, Zayn? Why not some other woman? Someone who doesn't hate your guts?"

I met her gaze, my expression serious. "Because I trust you, Marigold. Despite everything, I know you're someone I can rely on. And I know you won't screw me over. You're the only person who knows the real me."

She stared at me, her eyes searching mine for any sign of deception. I held her gaze, willing her to see that I was being sincere. Finally, she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Fine. I'll do it. But I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for me."

I smiled, knowing that was the best I could hope for. "That's all I ask."

As we walked back to the car, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a deal with the devil. "You don't hate me, Marigold."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't," I said. "You're annoyed with me. You resent me, maybe. But you don't hate me."

She sighed, turning to face me in the dim light of a streetlamp. The soft glow illuminated her features, highlighting the fatigue that crept into her eyes. I'd pushed her, I knew it, and despite the financial gain, she was tired.

"I don't know what I feel," she responded after a long pause. "But you're not paying me to feel, are you?"