Grumpalicious by Mia Faye
Chapter 9
GENEVIEVE
So, he didn’t like kids. I don’t know why I cared, but for some reason, that really hurt. I looked at him and as handsome as he was, he wasn’t ever going to be my Mister Right. Whatever I was doing or even considering doing, which I sort of hated myself for even thinking of doing, was going to be for the money and my career and nothing more. Yet like an idiot, I still held onto the idea that there might be a tiny glimmer of hope for us.
“What have you got against kids?” Watching his mouth curl into a grimace was probably the only answer I needed but I sat back and waited for him to spout out all the reasons why a selfish fucker like him didn’t want to love and care for children.
“They just aren’t my style,” he said softly.
“Maybe because you think of them as accessories that are out of fashion for your fast car and caviar lifestyle,” I barbed him.
“Or maybe I already have one,” he snapped and then pinched his lips closed.
So. He had a kid. He may not have wanted to tell me about the child he already had, but in his anger he let the truth slip out. Now we were almost on an equal playing field. When he drove up that morning, he held all the power. He’d come to Texas to trap me in my home and offer an obscene amount of money to pretend to be his girlfriend so that the reality television series he was filming with his ex, didn’t expose him as the true and complete dickazoid he really was.
I mean he hadn’t been so bad with me, just cocky with a twist of alpha dominance, but I’d met men like him before. He hadn’t really overstepped, though sitting in my living room without an invitation was almost going too far. I’d never read about him having a kid. It seemed weird, but rich people were strange.
“You do?” it was all I could think of to actually say.
“I do. He’s nine years old, though I’ve never seen him. His mother had him without my consent.”
“Does a woman need your consent to bear her own child?”
“One we didn’t agree to have…” he started in.
“Answer me this. Did you put your dick inside of her?”
“Yes,” he said, gritting back his anger.
“So you have a son. You have a nine-year-old son.”
“Who I will never see,” he added.
I just wanted to punch him.
“Poor guy. Hope his mom married someone nice. Sucks to be a boy without a father. I mean I can only imagine. I was lucky enough for my dad to not only want me but like having me...imagine that?”
“And now you want a whole shit-pile of children?”
I laughed against my better judgment. I was trying to stay strong but the visual of a shit pile of children was funny. “Yes, a whole ass shit-pile…”
“Why?” Suddenly he was serious.
“Maybe because I’m a child at heart. I just have a way with kids, and I love them. They are so smart and funny. They’re these naive little sages. I just, I guess I can’t express it exactly, but I’ve loved kids my whole life. I can’t imagine not being surrounded by children one day.” And that was my dream really; a singing career, a man who loved me, and a minivan full of kids.
“Well, all I see is stress and mess and ways in which your time and energy will be stolen.”
“Guess you solved that problem. What’s your son’s name, or did you care to even ask?”
Cash stared at me for a moment as if raising a white flag.
“If I tell you will you agree to our terms?”
“Why would I? A, we don’t have terms, and B, knowing your son’s name isn’t really a big reveal.”
“You could bury me with the info; no one else knows. I had Sarah sign an NDA.”
“Your poor kid.” I shook my head feeling so sad for the little guy. “Do you even know his name?”
“It’s Alex,” he said quietly. “And his mom hasn’t remarried yet.” His entire demeanor shifted. “And I’m going to ask you respectfully not to say anything about him to anyone but me. I don’t want to have to threaten legal action. I want us to work out.”
“You mean you want our fake relationship to work out so you can dig yourself out of this mess.” I cocked my head at him feeling powerful.
“I guess...fine.”
“I can’t give you three years.” I was firm on that.
“For twenty million dollars?”
“That is an insane amount of money, but I’d be nothing but a very rich whore if I accepted it.”
“I guess in someone’s very broad definition of the word whore...you might be, but at the moment we’ve only kissed. It would be the most expensive kiss I’d ever had, but worth it.” There was a glint in his eye again.
“Six months,” I blurted out.
“Um, twenty million for six months is not good business on my part.” At least he was still smiling.
“For free. I’ll give you six months for free. I work on my career, we can start something I guess, but I get to call the shots sexually. We aren’t doing anything I don’t want to do, since this isn’t going to be a real relationship. In turn, you get me on your arm for whatever it is you need me for and that stupid reality series. All I ask is that we work on my music and just...I don’t know, let’s see where we land after six months. I’ll get paid whatever I’m supposed to be paid as a musician.”
“And after six months?” He didn’t turn me down, so at least he was considering my proposition.
“After six months we can discuss the next steps. I think in six months we’ll know better what I’m up against.”
“I’ll take it.”
I was shocked that he didn’t make me negotiate with him more. “You will?”
“Yes. Now pack a bag, you’re going to be gone for six months.”
“Hold your fire, loverboy. I’m not going to just up and go with you right this very second. You are welcome to stay for dinner. The boys are BBQing and we’re gonna be throwing down a few songs and just having some Saturday night fun. Then tomorrow I’m singing in the church choir and then, maybe then, I’ll get on a plane with you depending on how well you behave around my people.” I stared him down hard.
“You, Miss Genevieve, drive a hard bargain!” He laughed.
“Well, I am my father’s daughter!” I said, hoping it stung.
“What shall I do in the meantime while we wait for your barbequing friends?” He seemed awkward and uncomfortable...good.
“Well, we’re in charge of the condiments, the potato salad, coleslaw, and the pies, so I think it best if you put on an apron and help me get started.” I stood up and walked into the kitchen knowing I freaked him out.
“I’m not much of a cook,” he choked.
“Don’t need to be to chop.” I handed him a head of cabbage and a knife. “Long thin strips, you know, like coleslaw.”
He chuckled. “You are really gonna make me do this?”
“Well, you’re really going to make me do whatever it is we’re gonna do, so yes. This is nothing compared to the sacrifices I’ll be making.”
“You make it sound so bad,” he huffed nervously.
“It is bad, trust me. How can millions of women be wrong about you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it was millions exactly…”
He started in on the cabbage and he was right, he probably had never cooked a day in his life. This was going to be so much fun. I turned Spotify on my Bose wireless speakers and played some local Indy artists I loved. Maybe he’d sign them too as they’d be coming to the BBQ and singing tonight as well. I pulled out the potatoes and started washing them in the sink before I cut them.
“Do you guys do this every Saturday night?”
His cutting skills hadn’t improved but I gave him points for trying.
“We’re all pretty busy so this is the last Saturday of the month kind of thing. Most of us are friends from playing gigs. Peyton has a few art buddies who like to come around as well, you’ll love them,” I said sarcastically.
“Oh, why is that?” he asked nonchalantly.
“They’re cool, sexy, and they could give a fuck. Seriously, they may come in wearing a pet ferret and just not give a fuck,” I laughed as it had happened once. “And they like to have sex with each other.”
“Well, that’ll be entertaining for sure. Should I worry about being recognized? It’s always something I have to think about. Though if we are really doing the six months thing whatever ends up on social media might be good since I’m sure we won’t be finding ourselves doing anything compromising.”
“My friends aren’t douchebags; you’re going to be fine. More than anything you’re going to get roasted for mangling the cabbage because I’ll be throwing you right under the bus for that crap cutting job.” I gave him a playfully disdainful glance.
“What? It’s my first time attempting to make anything in the kitchen, cut me some slack. The best I can do is open up a can of soup and heat it in the microwave.”
“Which would blow the whole place up.” I glared at him.
“In a bowl, of course.” He rolled his eyes as if that was cooking.
It was fun. We were having fun. Somehow taking the money off the table and leaving the sex to my discretion felt better. And I didn’t want to admit it, but Cash Coltrane was getting under my skin. I didn’t hate him, which was an improvement over two days ago when I despised him enough to run away.
“Of course, a bowl. Okay, are you ready to graduate to carrots? You’ve pretty much shredded all of the cabbage, with shredding being a kind overstatement.”
“Well, not if you continue to criticize.” He acted affronted and suddenly I wanted to kiss him again.
Good thing Peyton walked in and saved me from doing something stupid.
“Hey, good you guys started on the sides. Bones just texted, he and the crew are on their way over.” Peyton grabbed a piece of mangled cabbage from the bowl and popped it in her mouth. “Are we going with a rough cut on the slaw this time?” She cocked her head and looked at Cash’s awkwardly cut strands of cabbage that were grossly too big in some places and spindling and small in others.
“Looks like it,” I chimed in.
“Yum. Okay. Let me get this pie going before we start cracking the beers.” Peyton put on an apron that said, A woman’s place is anyplace she fucking wants to be.It was handmade and just as vibrant and ballsy as the rest of Peyton’s art.
“I like your apron.”
“Great. I can make you one,” was Peyton’s nonchalant and offhanded remark. She was too busy washing peaches and doing her pie thing to even notice or care about Cash.
“Sure,” Cash laughed and because he did, I did too. “Now, carrots…” Cash was ready to go, and I had to admit, I loved seeing him make an effort.
