Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
He stares at me, and it’s clear he has no idea how to respond to my retort, whether it’s because I’ve just provided too much information or because it’s not what he was expecting.
Nevertheless, Elias tries again.
“I’m not a commitment phobe—I’m just surrounded by gold diggers. And the last thing I want is to lose a bet against my buddy and his wife. I mean, girlfriend.” He laughs. “They’re attached at the hip, so sometimes I forget they’re not married yet.”
“Ha ha.” I nod, uninterested. “That’s nice. They sound lovely.”
“They’re so happy it’s disgusting.” Elias feigns a gag, and my brows go up.
“Wow, you really hate relationships, don’t you?”
“No! I just… My parents have been together for forty-five years, and it’s clear I’m not going to meet anyone this late in life.”
“You practically have one foot in the grave, you old man you.” I roll my eyes so heavy toward the ceiling it almost hurts. “But what you’re saying is—you’re a quitter.” I study my nails. “Is that what I’m hearing?”
Elias’s mouth falls open, and he sputters, “They are not the same thing. It’s not like I’m quitting a sport. I just don’t think I’m going to meet anyone who isn’t grasping for something I’m not willing to give. Like full financial stability because that’s what they want from me. Does that make sense?”
Yes. Even though he’s making a muddle of the explanation, what he says makes sense. But that still doesn’t detract from the fact that he sounds bitter and jaded. It makes me wonder how many bad relationships he’s been in and how many times he’s been in love with someone using him to climb the social ladder. It’s a common theme among the crowd he moves in; celebrities and famous athletes and professional players.
Male and female.
I sigh, knowing he’s full of shit. From the looks of the photos I saw online, he had no issue dating vain women in the past.
“I’m confused. What’s your motivation here? Keeping gold diggers away from you or winning a bet with your friend?”
“Both.”
I study his face for a few moments, not believing his motives for a second. He’s lying to himself if he believes he’s doing this as part of some bet or because the women he’s dated weren’t with him for the right reasons.
I uncross my arms. “Who hurt you to make you like this?”
Elias scoffs. “Pfft. No one made me like this.”
I begin to close the door. “You’re wasting my time.”
“I’m serious!”
“The answer is no.”
“You’re not even trying to hear me out?”
Nope, I’m not. “No.”
Frustrated, he shifts on his heels. “Once you hear me out…”
“Elias, you said everything you needed to say. You want to win a dumb bet. What are you, in college? You’re acting like a frat boy. You said yourself you haven’t even laid down terms. So it’s not really a bet.”
I’m right, and I can see from the look on his face he knows it.
Boom, roasted.
“So you’re not going to help me because we haven’t laid down terms?”
I shrug. “I’m not going to help you for three reasons. One, I don’t know you. Two, this bet sounds stupid and was clearly devised so your friends could manipulate you into giving your personal life more thought and consideration.” I hold up a third finger. “Three, it’s immature.”
“It was Penelope’s idea, not mine.”
“That’s a technicality. It’s still immature.”
Betting on your personal life?
Dumb.
His mouth opens as if he were about to speak, but I don’t give him the opportunity.
“Have a good night and good luck.”
And with that, I shut the door in his face.
Again.
Is it just me, or did it feel oddly satisfying to do it not once but twice in one night?
Strutting back to my desk, I bring the plate along with me and pick at a slice of cheese before my phone begins vibrating, my mother’s face popping up on the display screen.
She’s video chatting me, so I answer it on my computer. Might as well since I haven’t gotten any work done tonight anyway. The universe is obviously conspiring against me.
"Hey, Mom!” If I’m not cheerful enough, she’ll automatically assume something is wrong.
She frowns anyway. “Hey, sweetie. What are you doing in your office? It’s nine o’clock at night.”
“My plan was to get some things thrown together for a client before our meeting in an hour, but…I keep getting sidetracked.”
“You’re so busy.” She’s smiling at me, so proud as usual.
I could light a bag of shit on fire and sell it for a dime, and my parents would think it was the greatest thing on earth.
It’s a lot of pressure, being the only child and the apple of their eye. They’ve literally focused all their attention on me since I was born, and some days? It’s too much.
“Your dad and I are making lasagna for dinner tomorrow night if you want to come home and eat with us. I know it’s your favorite.”