8. Eight

Eight

As Whit eased his Audi out of his father's driveway and onto a winding back road lined with oak trees and evergreens, Nell tried to imagine she was in the midst of some strange, alcohol-induced fever dream. Any moment now, the world would rewind itself, and she'd wake up in her own bed, in her own apartment, where she would fumble toward her phone to text Paige all about the wild and wacky ways of her subconscious. They'd have a good laugh, Paige would tell her to lay off the rosé, and time would spin forward once more, with Nell safe and sound and four hundred miles distant from any member of the O'Rourke family.

Except, of course, that didn't happen. The sun didn't reverse its course overhead. The potholes scattered across the road didn't jolt her awake. She tried squeezing her eyes shut, but when she opened them again, she was still deep in the backwoods of Minnesota, still trapped in a car with the man she'd falsely announced was her boyfriend, and the sudden chiming from her phone wasn't an amused response to her zany nightmare, but a reminder she'd set for herself to start working on cover letters.

That was one bright side to her current catastrophe, she supposed. It made her last catastrophe seem a bit less… well, catastrophic.

Nell blew at a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, aiming a sidelong glance at Whit. She hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd whisked her out of the house and into the car, hustling her along like she was a bomb about to go off. She hardly trusted herself to speak. A single thought kept repeating itself over and over in her mind, like a particularly irritating song stuck on loop: Eleanor Lacey McLean, what have you done?

It was definitely bad when she was using the full-name-scolding tactic on herself .

She didn't know what had come over her. She'd told herself not to get involved. Whatever messy family drama Whit had going on was his business. But one moment she'd been standing in the hall outside his father's office, trying desperately not to eavesdrop on what was clearly a private and deeply personal conversation… the next, she'd found herself striding across the threshold and putting on the performance of her life.

She should've just told the truth. She could hardly have made the situation any worse if she'd laid the facts out plainly. But she didn't know that she'd have made it any better, either. And somehow, for reasons that escaped even herself, she'd needed to make it better. She'd heard the pain in Whit's voice and something inside her had shifted. The same instinct that had cast Whit as the villain in her storybook had now reframed him as the victim. His father was the big bad wolf, all sharp claws and bared teeth, and Whit was the innocent in need of saving; of course she'd had to step in. It had been an act of kindness, of generosity, and if some small part of her—some very, very small part—had felt a guilty thrill at announcing herself as his girlfriend, well, she was only human.

Not that that would matter to her sister. Paige would murder her if she ever found out about this. Unless that whole fever dream thing panned out.

Nell thought it might be a trifle cliché to pinch herself—especially since she knew full well she wasn't actually dreaming—so instead she leaned over and smacked Whit on the arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that he scooted farther over in his seat before turning his head to glance at her.

"What was that for? "

Like he didn't know exactly what that was for. Nell's eyes narrowed. "Where are we going? And if you say anything other than the airport, I'm opening this door, rolling to the side of the road, and staying there until some kind soul shows up to rescue me."

Or until she got run over by a tractor. And given her luck, the tractor seemed a lot more likely.

"You don't think that might be a bit of an overreaction?" Whit asked. In response to her glare, he added, "You weren't going to spend the night at the airport anyway."

She crossed her arms. "So you're taking me to my hotel, then."

"It's more of a farmhouse than a hotel. You're not allergic to cats, are you?"

"You have lost your mind if you think I'm staying with you at your grandfather's."

"I'm sorry, who was it who just told my dad we were dating?"

"That was—"

" I'm Nell ," he said in falsetto. " Whit's girlfriend ." Then he giggled.

"I didn't giggle!" She could feel heat creeping up her face and bit down on her lip. "Anyway, I was doing you a favor."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," he said, tossing her his patented sideways grin. The same grin that had never failed to make her heart do a funny little flip. Which was exactly what it did now. "You were perfect. Except, you know, for that one teensy complication where now my dad thinks we're dating."

"There's no complication. Just tell him I had an emergency or something. In a couple of weeks, you can say we broke up, and then rebound with Paige." Nell winced. That sounded convoluted even to her.

"I think you might need to work on your definition of complicated."

"And your solution is what?"

"It's not a solution so much as a proposition."

Given what he'd said to his father about being invited to dinner—plus the fact that he was currently kidnapping her—Nell had a pretty good idea of just what that proposition was. "You cannot be serious. "

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Were you not about to suggest I spend the next week telling everyone in this town I'm your girlfriend? Because that was a stupid idea when Paige came up with it, and it's an even stupider idea now."

For many reasons, not the least of which was the way her pulse accelerated whenever their eyes met. Or how she could still feel the pressure of his fingertips on her hip from when he'd slipped his arm around her, a physical echo playing itself against her skin.

Or how badly she'd wanted to kiss him earlier.

"I don't think the two of us dating was precisely Paige's idea," said Whit.

" Pretending to date," Nell amended quickly. "And you know what I meant."

"I'm just trying to be specific."

"Well, it was a specifically stupid idea. Both times."

"Yet you still hopped on a plane to convince me to go along with it."

"I have never regretted anything more in my life, believe me."

He chuckled. "Come on, I'm not all that bad, am I?"

Nell wasn't about to take that bait. "I don't see why you need me. We already cleared things up with your dad. Sort of."

"It's not really my dad I'm worried about. General sentiment in Fallen Oaks wasn't exactly favorable toward me even before this morning's developments."

"And I'm supposed to help that how?"

"Same way you did before," he said. "Just act all cute and nervous, and if anyone starts asking questions, flash your dimples at them."

Cute. Like she was some big-eyed baby animal, or a little kid with a missing front tooth. It was depressing how much that bothered her. "I don't have dimples."

"Whatever you did, it was effective."

"You do realize how crazy you sound, right?"

Whit lifted a shoulder. "Hey, it worked on my dad."

Nell floundered, struggling for a response, any response. Between Whit and Paige, Nell would have put money on him being the more sensible of the two. He might be arrogant and argumentative, strolling through life with that air of utter certainty that came from getting everything you want—but he'd always seemed soundly rational. Now he appeared perfectly content to follow Paige's descent into lunacy. Only worse, because he'd somehow decided Nell was his get-out-of-scandal-free card. It was absurd.

Even if it was just the tiniest bit gratifying.

No! It wasn't gratifying, it was ludicrous. And absolutely out of the question.

Finally she sputtered out: "I can't stay here pretending to be your girlfriend!"

"Why not?"

"For one thing, Paige would kill me. I agreed to this to help her. Not you."

"You are helping her. And Paige never even has to know."

"You're suggesting I lie to my sister for a week?"

"Aren't you lying to her now?"

He had a point. Her last text to Paige had been a promise that she would shortly be on her way to Whit's house in Minneapolis to render her apology. Brief and reassuring—and total fiction, something Nell felt guilty enough about already.

"How are we supposed to convince an entire town we're dating?" she asked. "We can't go five minutes without arguing, and in case you've forgotten, you hate me."

"I don't hate you. You're the one losing the insults competition."

A reminder she definitely did not need. "The fact that we have an insults competition doesn't seem like it might be cause for concern?"

"I'm willing to forfeit."

"Wow. How can I say no with that incentive?"

He grinned again.

Nell tried to ignore the way her heart was knocking against her ribs. "My point is, mutual loathing isn't much of a basis for a relationship, fake or otherwise."

"Then why did you try to kiss me?"

"That's it. Stop the car! "

Immediately, Whit slowed the Audi, coasting onto the shoulder before putting the car in park. He shut off the engine and twisted around to face her. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

" Way out of line. And, for the record? Completely untrue."

It was mostly untrue, at any rate. She hadn't actually tried to kiss him. She'd just thought about kissing him. And then imagined, for the briefest of moments, that he'd meant to kiss her.

But she also wasn't going to admit that to him.

"This may come as a shock to you," she continued, "but not every woman in the world is falling all over herself to be slobbered on by the great Whitney O'Rourke."

His grin widened. "Sweetheart, if there's one thing I don't do, it's slobber."

She eyed him balefully.

"Sorry." He shifted in his seat, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, leaving the other draped over the steering wheel. "Not much of a mystery why I can't stay in anyone's good graces, is it?"

He looked—and sounded—entirely repentant, but Nell wasn't in the mood to be charitable. "You weren't exactly in mine to begin with."

"No kidding." When Nell didn't answer, a soft sigh whistled out from between his teeth. "All right, so what's your starting position?"

It was a sign that her mind was permanently located in the gutter that the word position conjured up images of bare limbs and bed sheets. "My what?"

"For negotiations. What do you want? Hit me."

She made an effort not to gape. "Are you trying to hire me to date you?"

" Pretend to date," he said, lifting a hand to wag his finger back and forth. "And I wouldn't have put it in quite those terms."

"You'd better not be backing out on helping Paige."

"I'm not backing out. You'll note I asked what you want. You're gonna have to give me some suggestions here, since I'm guessing season tickets to the Blizz won't be enough to seal the deal. "

Nell opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "If you really need someone to parade around town, I'm sure you can find some other woman to suffer your presence for the week."

"Suffer, huh? Cute. Too bad my dad already thinks you're my girlfriend."

"Well, since I'm not in the market for a signed Whit O'Rourke anything , unless you can somehow get me my job back, our relationship is going to be very short-term and very long distance."

Whit straightened upright, fully alert and alarmingly focused. He leaned toward her, eyes glittering. "How'd you lose it?"

Nell blinked. "I wasn't being serious. You can't actually get me my job back."

"Now I want to know, so ‘fess up."

She fidgeted, playing with the hem of her borrowed hoodie. "I got into an argument with a student's father."

"That's it?"

"The argument was rather heated."

"Mm-hmm. Raised your voice heated or dropped to your knees and told him what a scumbag he is heated?"

"I might have used a worse word than scumbag ."

"And here was I, thinking you didn't swear."

That nettled her. "I teach little kids. Most of the time, I try to keep my language age appropriate."

"I take it this guy said something in appropriate?"

"His son was bullying another student in my class. I asked for a meeting to address the behavior, and it was pretty clear where his kid got it from. It sort of devolved from there."

"Champion of the underdog, huh?"

"No one deserves to be bullied," she answered fiercely.

"Spoken like a woman with no younger siblings." When she shot him a glare, he just smirked. "So what did you say?"

Nell hunched her shoulders, slinking down low in her seat. "I told him to go fuck himself."

Whit, predictably, started laughing.

She hit him again. Harder this time. "It's not funny! "

His laughter stopped, but the amusement in his eyes lingered. The corners of his mouth tipped upward. "I bet it felt good though, didn't it?"

Nell struggled to keep an answering smile from forming on her own lips. It wasn't funny! She should never have lost her temper in a professional setting, no matter the provocation. She was supposed to be a role model, not a cautionary tale. But Whit wasn't wrong. It had felt good—at first. "Right up until I found out his uncle is the school's largest donor. After that it was lose me or lose funding, and the school made the smart choice."

"You don't have a union or something?"

"Bellwater Academy is a private school. They can pretty much do what they want." Her throat tightened, but the wave of panic that normally hit whenever she thought about being fired was notably absent. Which was probably why she went right on talking instead of keeping her mouth shut. "That means I have no job and no money, and unless I figure something out soon, I'll also have no apartment. I'm not really looking forward to spending the next couple of months in Paige's guest room while I job hunt."

"What about your grandmother? Isn't she rich?"

"I wouldn't ask her for money even if I thought she'd give it. You don't get anything from Grandmother unless you're willing to follow her rules."

"Which you're not."

"I don't want to be another prepackaged Forrester product for her to put on display." Realizing what she'd just said, she hastily added, "It's different for Paige. She doesn't mind being in the spotlight, and she's better at manipulating Grandmother than I am. About most things, anyway." It was ridiculous that she felt the need to justify her choices to him, but she couldn't seem to stop to herself. "I never lived up to expectations, and whenever I failed, it was made clear to me that I'd need to find a way to measure up or I wouldn't be"—she made air quotes—"afforded the benefits of the Forrester name."

"Harsh. "

An understatement, but the trouble her grandmother's cosmetics empire would shortly be facing did take a bit of the sting out of it. "I decided I didn't want Grandmother controlling my life, so I cut financial ties after I graduated high school. I had money in a trust fund that paid for college, but that's it."

A calculating look crossed Whit's face. "So you're broke and unemployed. I can work with that." He tapped his long fingers against the steering wheel. "What's this donor's name?"

Nell hesitated. Losing her job had been her mistake; it was her problem, and she didn't need anyone to swoop in and rescue her—least of all Whit. Asking her sister to intervene had been one thing, but using a flimsy connection to a man who couldn't care less about her felt like a line she shouldn't cross. If she did cross it, what then? She couldn't stay in Minnesota for a week. She had responsibilities, and those responsibilities did not include taking care of a grown man who should be more than capable of taking care of himself. Not that it mattered, since she doubted he could actually help her.

But a small voice in her head whispered, What if he can?

Her heart thudded. "Paige already tried talking to him."

"No offense to Paige, but I think I might have a bit more clout."

"I thought you said you weren't much of a celebrity. And what about the video?"

"I'm owed a few favors."

The thin sliver of hope she'd been holding twisted painfully. She fought against it. Making any sort of deal with Whit was out of the question. Absolutely outside the realm of possibility.

Unless it wasn't.

"He's not going to be very receptive," she told Whit. "I called his office so many times his secretary blocked my number."

"I enjoy a challenge."

"They said if I didn't stop showing up at the building, they'd file a restraining order."

" That you're making up. "

"Okay, yes," she admitted, "but the one time I did go there, the receptionist told me Mr. Grantham was unavailable without an appointment and booked until the end of the year."

"Frank Grantham? The sleazy real estate guy?"

She decided to ignore his use of the word sleazy. "You've heard of him?"

"I did live in Chicago for six years," said Whit. "He's the one you need persuaded?"

For a second, Nell could see her classroom with its careful array of desks and brightly colored chairs, the posters and art projects taped to the walls, the reading nook in the corner with its overflowing shelves. She could see her students' eager little faces and the cubbies where they kept their backpacks. She could smell glue sticks and crayons.

You can just get another job , Paige had told her. Nell didn't want another job. She wanted her job. She wanted it back. But she also wanted it back the right way.

"I don't want him pressured into having me reinstated," she said. "I just want a chance to plead my case." That wouldn't be crossing any line. It would just be tiptoeing right up to it. A compromise that she could live with— if it worked.

Whit's sideways smile made another appearance. "Done. But are you sure you can do that without getting, um, ‘heated'? I've met Frank Grantham, and I hate to be the one to tell you this, but dickhead runs in the family."

"I'll do what I have to," Nell answered, trying to sound more self-assured than she felt. "Do you really think you can get me a meeting?"

"How's this: I'll make you a bet. Give me three hours, and I'll get it done. If I'm right, you stay the week. Well, eight days, to be specific, since the groundbreaking is next Saturday."

"And if you're wrong?"

"I won't be. But if I'm wrong, you can name your reward."

"What if I ask for your Audi?"

"I'll buy another."

"What if I ask for a kidney?"

His eyebrows lifted. "Why would you want one of my kidneys? "

"Hypothetically. You said I could name my reward."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not gonna lose."

"You're pretty confident." Or desperate , she thought. The problem was, she was desperate, too. "I don't have any clean clothes."

"I'll take you shopping."

"What am I supposed to tell Paige?"

"Do you need to tell her anything? I thought she was going to Cabo for some resort endorsement. You really think she's going to find time to worry if you're actually back in Chicago? Tell her the apology went off without a hitch and she can happily spend her time networking and recording videos."

Nell frowned. He was right, but… "You're making her sound shallow."

"Not shallow. Just busy. It's her career, I get that. I've done my share of swimsuit modeling."

And nude modeling, she thought, recalling the infamous photo shoot he'd done for the successor of ESPN 's Body Issue. Another reminder she definitely did not need.

But it was true that Paige was going to be distracted for the next week and a half. And if she did happen to find out… Paige might not understand what had prompted Nell to jump to Whit's defense in the first place, but she knew how devastated Nell had been to be fired from Bellwater; she would understand why Nell had stayed.

"All right. You have a deal." Strangely, her whole body felt lighter. Like something that had been dragging against her had subtly loosened its grip. "But I want the meeting right when I get home, not next month and definitely not next year. And you'd better hope you can manage it, because I'm going to spend the next three hours thinking up what to demand if you lose."

"Just as long as you don't go back on your word once I win."

"I never go back on my word, O'Rourke."

"Uh-huh. I guess we'll see about that."

She leaned back in her seat and put her feet on the dashboard again. "I guess we will."