Your what now?
1920 Words
Percy
Norma leaves us, and I meet Jordan’s amused and… curious gaze. Squaring my shoulder, I clear one side of the table but stop him with my hand up before he can sit.
“You have one chance to explain yourself. If I don’t like what I’m hearing, I’m out of here. And there are a few rules.” I pause, watching the amused glint in his eyes with an equally angry one.
“One: no touching me stuff. Two: no tasting my food. Three: Keep your hands to yourself. Got it?”
“Yep, sounds easy enough.”
“Good. Now to the questions….”
Jordan raises an eyebrow at me; I continue, ignoring him.
“Are you squeamish?”
“Not really, no.” His brows furrowing even more in confusion, he shrugs, and the fabric of his shirt twists slightly against his obvious pecs. I mean, they are half out. No need to look hard there.
“Will you close 3-5 buttons on your shirt if I asked you to? I wanna eat, and it’s nauseating.”
The smirk Jordan shoots me states he doesn’t believe me, but his hands go up to his collar, buttoning it up until only one is left open.
“Anything else?”
“Purple or orange?”
It’s stupid and childish, and at this point, I honestly just wanna make fun of him and keep him standing there for longer. So, I cover the brightly orange Baltimore Orioles sticker on my notebook with one hand. God, my obsession with baseball is unhealthy. Something passes over Jordan’s face before a satisfied look takes over.
“Orange… although I stand alone against a family of purples… well, OK, it’s two against….” He uses his fingers to count them down, and it’s strangely endearing. “2:14… or more.”
Wordlessly, I motion toward the seat across from me. Once he slit in, putting his jacket next to himself, Norma is right there pushing a plate with a mountain of food in front of each of us and a milkshake toward me.
“Благодарю вас (thank you).” See, I’m not all b*tch. I dig in with a wide smile. Ugh, this is food heaven.
When I look over at Jordan, he hasn’t touched his yet, just looking at me amused, another emotion written in his eyes that I don’t want to see on anyone’s face. Because it’s never real.
“Oh god, please don’t.”
“Huh?” He looks like I woke him from a trance.
“Don’t fall for me.”
Jordan lets out a chuckle. “Someone’s a little full of themselves. What makes you say that?”
I square my shoulder and impale one more potato. “Men always do, that’s not just me being conceited. At work, that’s nice. Those are the days when I get the highest tips.” I put the fork in my mouth, chew a few times, then swallow.
“But those tips always come with expectations. And no matter if at the club or outside of it, I really don’t have time or the intention to meet them.” Pushing some food around, I look up at him and find him meeting my gaze.
“It’s never ‘just’ tips. And it’s never ‘JUST’ coffee. At least not in my experience. So, I minimize the contact. Especially with you, that sounds like the only sane option. Plus, I can already tell you that I’m definitely nothing like you picture me in your head. No woman is.”
Jordan just sits there, and the silence is starting to make me feel uncomfortable. I don’t do well with quiet unless I choose it, so I add, “Whatever you thought about me or what you decided was ‘cute’ is just in your head.”
“What a speech. Well, I’ll still take my chances.” He winks, and I have to suppress an indignant snort.
Jesus, he’s one of those. Why does it feel like my cheeks are heating, though? Note to self: Stop vascular response to Jordan Araújo and dimples, green eyes, and nice colognes in general. God, he smells better than the Blini on my plate, and that’s impossible.
Putting my fork down, I force myself to cross my arms over my chest again. “What’s it that you wanted to propose?”
Jordan lets out a long breath. “How much of what unfolded over the last week have you followed?”
I shrug. “I read about the human trafficking allegations.”
“So all of it, great.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Paparazzi have been following me for years, and usually, I’m better about handling them." AT him mentioning them, my gaze moves over to the window. Jordan looks over there too and then something dark passes in his eyes. "Today, I made sure they didn't follow me. But about two weeks ago, I was… distracted.” His gaze bores into me, but I hold it. “I ran into my sister-in-law and my niece.” His fingers start fiddling with one of the cloth napkins.
“For about a year, we’ve been successful at hiding my brother’s relationships, as well as my younger sister’s. But with that photo…” He trails off, his hands aimlessly waving while he searches for words.
“You exposed them with it, and that’s why you went on that podcast.” Jordan nods quietly, and a strange feeling of sympathy blooms in my stomach. The media destroying your life sounds familiar. Even someone as c*cky as him doesn’t deserve that. And if people like his parents can’t save their kids from this, maybe I shouldn’t be as hard on my mom for selling me out as she did. Yeah, no, she’s still a b*tch.
“When we were on there, I saw how uncomfortable being in the limelight made all of them and… I felt like I needed to fix it.”
“Well, how do you plan on doing that? And how do I fit into that plan?" I'm still confused about this. "Given that you’re here… What is it you want from me? More importantly: How the hell did you find me?"
An unexpected smirk tilts the corners of his lips, and I suppress an involuntary shudder. Get it together!
“ Well, P.L. Lawson. Took me long enough, didn’t it?” I c*ck an eyebrow at him. “One of my brothers tracked down your credit card and checked where you use it most. Not going to lie: I drove around the area for 2 hours until I saw you sitting here.”
“Oh, so you ARE a stalker.”
Jordan grimaces, his hands flexing on the table, and I hate myself for noticing the prominent veins on the back of them— med-student porn.
“I would say I’m sorry, but I just don’t think my cousin’s strategy will pay off. As much as I love running around telling people I wanna f*ck till me d**k falls off.”
His voice is strangely quiet, and I feel his gaze move over my face.
“And your idea is so much better?” I challenge.
Jordan leans back in his seat, pushing his empty plate into the middle of the table. When the hell did that happen?
“Yep. I want to hire you to play my girlfriend.”
The snorting laughter that leaves me is cut short abruptly when I register that he’s still looking at me seriously.
“No.”
“At least think about it for longer than 20 seconds.” And he has the audacity to sound butthurt.
“I don’t have to. The answer is no.”
I jolt when his warm palm closes around my hand on the table. “Please. I could really use your help with this.” His earnest gaze bores into mine, and I swallow a little harder than I’d like to admit.
“I need someone to play my girlfriend to take the heat off the others. It doesn’t even have to be for an extensive time, but I want to give them the chance to have some peace and quiet during-
I just want all eyes off them. I’m used to this kind of attention. And getting someone to play the part means I can control the narrative.” He shrugs.
“You could make up your own back story, a fake name if you wanted to.”
“Why me? Go into any downtown bar, close your eyes, and point, and you will find a girl willing to play charades with you. Not me, though, sorry.”
Jordan’s head c*cks to the side. “What about ’Stiltzer’? Do you really think they will lay off your case because you declined their calls a few times?”
“Ignoring them will get them to stop eventually, yeah. If you keep your distance.”
Shaking his head, he lets out a disbelieving noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a huff. “I don’t want to burst your little bubble there, but they have no intention of stopping. Not until you give them what they want. You might have thought they let you go, but I can tell you they have kept track of you since you left their office that day.” That dark thing flares in his eyes, and his pupils turn to slits. What the... “Those people don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. But we can—
“There is no ‘we,’” I interrupt him.
“Hypothetically. Humor me……—” He cuts himself off looking apologetic. “What does ‘P’ stand for?”
“Percy,” I say reluctantly.
“Percy... Percy... Percy.” It sounds almost as if Jordan lets it roll around on his tongue until he’s satisfied with—- whatever.
“Short for something?”
“Percival. Now, don’t deflect.” Again with the vascular response. My face feels like it’s on fire just because some guy looks at me with heightened interest.
“Alright, alright. Here’s the deal: I need someone to help me take the heat off my siblings and play my girlfriend for a few months, perks included. And you need to get a multimillion-dollar corporation to believe they get to have a sample of one of the heirs to the throne. Plus, we can probably flush out a huge threat to the supernatural community there.” He smirks at me. “Win-win-win… that’s why you’re perfect for this.”
“Oh, am I now? What exactly qualifies me apart from my connection to ‘Stiltzer’? Is it the part where I have already been dragged and shamed publicly for months? Or is it me, the crazy pyromaniac that almost chopped her stepfather’s d**k off?”
He doesn’t flinch. I give him that much. One of those sentences would have been enough to send most people running. But Jordan just leans forward. Does he know about my past? My heart rate picks up. I'm not ashamed. I'm not ashamed! I'm-
“Mmmh, means you have all the more reason to clear your name… and actually something to gain from this. You’re going to do just fine as my mate.” Oh, so he doesn't know- I almost blow out a relieved breath. Then my stomach churns. Did he just call me his-
“You’re what now?”
- Writer
