Chapter 57: Is He That Free

\[Gianna’s POV\]

I stare at Grant, noting his outstretched hand as he waits for me to do as he has asked me and when too much time passes, his gives me a look that screams promise.

“Are you already going back on your word?” He asks.

“Of course not,” I sigh, pulling out my phone and passing it to him. “I just think this is pointless since you can reach out to me.”

“But what if you want to contact me?” He asks and I bite back my retort.

Remaining silent, I watch as he puts his number in my phone and then passes it to me and when I see the name that he has saved it under I feel my annoyance rising again.

“Sneaky Link.” I read and then give him a look that screams anger. “Why the hell would you save your name under that?”

“Because that’s what I was, right?”

For a moment, I don’t respond as I realize that he is intentionally trying to push me.

“Was,” I say, clicking edit and then changing it. “But now this is what you are.”

As I speak, I hold up my phone so that he can read what I’ve put and when a smile of amusement forms on his handsome face, I consider changing the damned name to annoying.

“Uncle,” he reads. “I guess that works, but what will you do if your friends or coworkers catch you sending inappropriate texts or pictures to your uncle?”

“That won’t happen.” I shrug. “Anyway, I really need to get going now. Do reach out and let me know when you want to meet.”

I don’t give him a chance to respond before I’m heading out of the broomcloset and toward the makeup studio where my stylist, Q,  is waiting for me.

“Gia,” he announces, his face twisting into a look of relief. “Where have you been?”

“I got delayed by a pest,” I shrug, taking a seat. “Anyway, I’m here now so you can do your magic, right?”

“Don’t you know that making you look perfect takes time?”

“I believe that my Q is capable of making me look perfect no matter how much time he has.” I counter and earn myself a smug look from the man behind me.

“You’re right,” he agrees, beginning to pull out his tools. “But I prefer to take my time.”

“Sorry,” I tell him as my phone dings and when I pull it out and take a look at it my good mood disappears completely.

“Who is it?” Q asks, peeking over my shoulder. “Uncle?”

“Yeah,” I respond, deciding to look at the message later, but as Q goes through the motions of doing my makeup and hair the phone keeps going off.

Once I’m finished, I’m thoroughly annoyed, but I don’t have the time to let off some steam.

Instead, I head toward the studio where I’m certain the department store president that I’m working with is waiting on me.

For the rest of the day, I focus on doing my job, looking beautiful, taking stellar pics, and smiling so hard my cheeks are screaming at me and once I finish, I collect my things and check my phone to find that many messages wait for me.

“What the hell?” I hiss, taking out my phone to see who the hell would send me so many messages and when I see that it is the one person I don’t want to associate with, I let a frustrated huff escape me.

“Don’t you have a life?” I mutter, opening and scrolling through the messages that are pointless.

G: I’ve arrived at my office.

G: This meeting is boring.

G: Don’t forget our date.

Again and again, the messages appear, but none of them are even worth responding to until I reach the final that gives a location and a time for Friday evening.

“Great,” I sigh, pushing my phone back in my purse and moving. “The sooner I get this over with the sooner he will leave me alone.”

But even after that, he continues to message me and what’s worse, each message is as pointless as the last and I start to get the feeling that he is intentionally sending them to irritate me.

I mean, there was no way he was that free, right?

And there was no way that he was that interested in me after a single evening together?

Or maybe he liked the pussy so much he wants it again badly. My egoist side tells me, but even then, I know that I can’t do anything with him until I was at least in my second trimester and by that point, I was hoping to be free of him completely.

That’s my only hope when Friday finally rolls around and I find a message instructing me to take the car that is waiting for me once I finish working.

When I find it and open the door, I am met by Grant who is dressed handsomely in a black suit that fits his body perfectly.

“I didn’t know that this was a dress up occasion.” I say, looking down at my simple white shirt and jeans. “And if it was, why didn’t you give me the opportunity to change?”

“No need,” Grant tells me, nodding toward our driver who pulls out onto the street. “I’ve already taken care of your outfit for this evening.”

“Have you?” I ask, trying to stop myself from drooling over the man beside me because even if he was getting on my nerves, he was still so damn handsome.

I thought the same thing that night when we first met, but when he was well-kempt with his brown hair slicked back, and his face properly shaven, well, I could overlook the annoyance I felt if I could at least get to play with him.

Stop that, Gia. I hiss inwardly, realizing too late where my mind was going. You can’t get close to him otherwise he will find out about your pregnancy.

Cursing myself for being a sucker for hot men, I tear my gaze away and shift it to the window beside me so that I can watch the city zoom by until we reach a high end department store that even with all the money I had made modeling, I still couldn’t afford a dress from.

“Why are we stopping here?” I ask, unease starting to settle in. “I can’t afford something like this.”

“Didn’t I say that I took care of everything?” Grant asks as his driver climbs out and opens his door for him. “You just have to let me spoil you this evening.”

Spoil me.

Did he think that I was a woman who enjoyed mooching off of other people’s money?

“Don’t worry,” the man in question continues as he appears on my side and opens my door for me. “You can pay me back next time, alright?”

“Who says there will be a next time?” I ask, slowly rising out of the car. “I only agreed to a date, not more than one.”

“We will see,” Grant shrugs, completely unphased. “Why don’t you wait to make a decision at the end of the evening.”

“And if I still feel the same at that time?” I challenge.

“Then I will consider letting you be the one that got away.”