Chapter 15
Megan
“Something’s wrong with me.” I slump across the high-top bar table, sucking mango margarita through a straw. “Maybe I’m crazy or something.”
“You may be right about that.” Nicole leans on her elbows against the table, wearing the cleavage-revealing black tank top worn by every female staff member in Champagne nightclub. “What did he offer you this time? The Pink Star diamond ring?”
I laugh uneasily, not even knowing what that is. Though it does sound outrageously expensive.
It’s been a week since Jameson Vance “proposed” to me, and I’ve been questioning my answer ever since. Maybe especially so since I’m ninety-nine-percent sure most single women, and many men, would’ve said yes to him.
Nicole included.
“Well, last night he sent me this.” I pull up his texts to read it to her. “What if I bought a garden center like the one you worked at in Crooks Creek and you could manage it for me?”
Nicole gapes. “Well, what did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. Do you think he’s serious?”
“He asked you to be his fiancée, right? That seems pretty serious. Did you even ask to see a ring?”
“Of course not. And I could never agree to the garden center thing. I can’t be indebted to a man I barely know over something like that. What if it doesn’t work out? Would I owe him money? I mean, I can’t even afford a lawyer to review a contract for me.” My voice is getting squeaky. “I’m not a businesswoman.”
“So, talk to your brother about it. He’ll make sure you’re protected. Cole must have a lawyer. And also, just so you know, I don’t think he wants you to owe him money, if you know what I mean.”
I frown. “Then he’s trying to buy my loyalty?”
“No, Megz. He’s trying to warm up your coochie by being nice to you.”
“I don’t think it’s like that.” I didn’t actually tell her this part yet; I lean toward her for more privacy, but it’s loud in the nightclub, and we’re alone at this table. “He said we wouldn’t have sex.”
She snorts. “Yeah, right. He’s coming on way too strong for you to believe that. He’s just trying not to scare you away by telling you whatever he thinks you need to hear.”
“You think?”
“What does he need to do, show up with a glass slipper?”
“I… I don’t think he’s trying to charm me.”
“Billions, Megan. The man has billions of dollars. He doesn’t even have to charm women. He’s rich and motherfucking beautiful and you’re cockblocking him. Look around you. This is the big city. There are beautiful women all over the place. Beautiful, hungry women who would be quick to get naked with that man and try to lock him down. And yet he’s laser focused on you.”
“Because of my brother.”
“Honey. No guy cares that much about his best friend’s sister unless he wants to rail her.”
My eyes go wide, and she just shrugs.
Does Jameson Vance want to rail me?
She’s not wrong about the beautiful women. It’s not as if they’re streaming down the streets, but Vancouverites are decidedly more appearance conscious than people are in Crooks Creek, that’s for sure. The women here at Champagne are all dressed to the nines, and the women employed here are invariably beautiful and/or voluptuous.
“Speaking of beautiful women…” I cringe. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you in front of your boss. I don’t think she’ll be calling me. She literally glazed over when I described my work experience.”
“Maybe when someone quits, she’ll call you,” Nicole says easily. “We’re so busy in summer, but we just did all our extra hiring for the season. It’s bad timing.”
“I know. I totally appreciate you putting my name in.”
“Anytime.” She pushes off the table. “I’m off in a few. Just have one more tab to clear up.” She tips her head at a group of well-dressed men who’ve gotten louder with each round she’s served them. “Wish me a big, juicy tip,” she says, then saunters over there.
I watch her go, in awe of her ease working in this massive, glamorous nightclub. She told me this was her favorite hangout, so getting a job here just seemed natural. Of course to her, it would.
I’m really not here to beg her boss for a job, though. I just want to get out of the apartment for an evening. I’ve put in so many hours this week staring at my laptop, scouring job postings and tweaking my résumé.
Searching for a job has become a full-time job in itself.
But I don’t have enough money to cover next month’s share of the rent and utilities, a work wardrobe and transportation, much less going-out-on-the-town money, so this will have to be a rare treat.
My phone lights up with a text, and I check it with an awful feeling in my stomach, like worms writhing. It still happens every time a message or a call comes in: dread that it will be Troy. And usually, it is. He’s more persistent than Jameson, more overbearing, and in a much less enjoyable way.
And, yup. It’s him.
The energy vampire strikes again.
Troy’s text begins with the word I, and I swipe it away into oblivion, feeling exhausted without even reading it. His texts and his voicemails always start with I. I want…I need…I think…
It’s always about him.
As a grade-A narcissist, he doesn’t have any capacity to see me as an individual human. In his warped mind, I’m just an extension of himself. As is everyone who comes into his life.
It’s sad, really.
All I can do is keep reminding myself that his interest will fade. When it gets through to him that I’m not coming back, that he really can’t squeeze anything more out of me, he’ll move on.
Like I have.
I set my phone aside, and as I people watch from my high table, absorbing this budding new life of mine, the sights and sounds thrill me. The music is loud and pumping, sexy, and people keep bumping into my table. Maybe it’s strange that I’m sitting here alone in a busy nightclub, because four different guys—and a girl—have tried to talk to me and buy me a drink. I probably should’ve just said yes, but I always say no. I’m not ready to date someone new, and I don’t want to lead anyone on.
I just want to enjoy the spectacle as people flirt and celebrate their Friday night all around me. The lone bar in Crooks Creek is nothing like this, and this place is just one of many upscale hangouts in downtown Vancouver. The sheer volume of well-dressed people, the energy… Other than the one time my brother flew me to New York City to watch him in a playoff game, then wined and dined me in the Big Apple, I’ve never experienced anything like this.
I’ve been getting to know the city as well as I can on foot, walking from Nicole’s place to Granville Island, along the beautiful Seawall and over the Granville bridge into downtown, and I’ve been falling in love with Vancouver. The fresh, saltwater breeze off False Creek. The majestic mountains that frame downtown. The hustle of big city life, the fast pace and the crowds.
People call Vancouver a “laid-back” city, but to me, it’s pumping and vibrant and thrilling.
I love it all.
I can even see myself hanging out with my brother at his new house, having dinner together and watching hockey games. Both of us living our own lives, but getting to spend more time together.
To his credit, Cole has backed off. He wasn’t thrilled when I told him I’d moved over to Nicole’s apartment, but he’s stopped calling from LA to check on me every day. At first, I thought maybe he’d gotten it through his head that I wanted to do this my way, on my own.
But then I realized Jameson had just taken over the task of butting into my life.
Since I quit the gardening job and moved out of his house, my brother’s best friend has offered me four more jobs, an apartment of my own that he’d pay for, and this morning, he offered me straight-up cash to cover my rent—for the next six months. I haven’t even mentioned those last two to Nicole; if I told her I turned those offers down, she’d drive me straight to the nearest psychiatric ward and ask them to run a full diagnostic check.
I just don’t want my big brother swooping in to save me, no matter how he goes about it. But I do feel guilty about saying no to Jameson’s offers. I know Nicole probably wouldn’t, which just makes me feel worse for freeloading off her right now.
I watch her as she approaches, a smile on her face and a frosty mango margarita in her hand.
“Juicy tip?”
“So juicy. The girls are on their way. I just need to grab my things from the back, then I’ll join you.” She sets the margarita in front of me. “Thought you’d like another before I clock out.”
“Yes, please. But two’s my limit tonight. I’m on a budget.”
“Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me.”
“Ugh. You’re too good to me.”
Really, I shouldn’t be drinking eighteen-dollar margaritas at all. But they’re delicious and I’ve been such a good girl. I’ve done everything I could do this week to get hired somewhere—other than anywhere owned by Jameson Vance.
My prospects going forward are not looking good. If none of the places I’ve applied at this week come through, I’ll have to start widening the search.
“Have you ever heard of a professional cuddler?” I ask Nicole before she can walk away.
She wrinkles her nose. “What is that? Some kind of code for escort?”
“I’m not sure. I’m scared to click on the ad.”
“Don’t get desperate,” she warns me. “You are far too gorgeous to get desperate.”
“Unfortunately, ‘gorgeous’ isn’t a qualification on any of the job postings I’ve seen.”
“Of course it is. You just need to read between the lines.” She leans in. “Speaking of your ravishing good looks. That guy keeps staring at you.” She hooks her eyebrow, and I glance past her shoulder at the man in the plain black suit who’s been loitering by the bouncers at the front entrance.
“I know.”
Jameson’s security guys have been following me around ever since I said no to his proposal. It’s not always the same guy, but they always drive a shiny black SUV and dress head to toe in dress blacks, and while I catch them watching me, none of them ever smile or approach me.
Tonight, it’s the guy I saw in Jameson’s front yard that first day. The one with the permanent scowl. He tailed me to and from Granville Island yesterday, and to a job interview and back a couple of days before.
I’ve let it slide. For now.
“I’m pretty sure he’s being paid to look at me,” I explain to Nicole. “He works for Jameson. They follow me around everywhere I go.”
“Really?” She glances over.
“Yup. I’d be upset about it, but I know this is just Cole’s way of stalking me to make sure I’m okay in the big city, and really, it’s the least of all evils. He hasn’t come to drag me back by my hair like a caveman, and I know it’s hard for him. When I called him to tell him I was leaving Troy, he threatened to come get me and tear Troy a new asshole—with a pitchfork—while he was at it. He meant it. I’m just doing what I can to keep him out of jail at this point.”
Nicole regards me with sympathy and maybe a little envy. “He cares about you.”
“Yeah.”
“So does Jameson,” she purrs.
“Not this again.”
“It’s so obvious he’s into you! He’s got muscle following you around!”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“Well, he saw something he likes.”
“He’s just being loyal to my brother.”
“Uh-huh. Did he text you yet today?”
I sigh. “He’s basically offered me everything but his left kidney to come back.”
“Megan. Open your eyes. The man is guarding you.”
I blink at her. “No he’s not.” I mean, I know he has a security guy literally following me around, but that’s just for general safety and spying purposes. “He’s just being nice. For Cole…”
“God, I love you.” Nicole shakes her head in wonderment. “But you are one crazy blind bitch, Megan Hudson. Go already. Run into the arms of that beautiful billionaire. Do it for every woman who’s ever found herself on a date with a total frog. Kiss the prince. Please.”
I laugh softly and Nicole kind of rolls her eyes, because of course, she’s serious. She turns on her heel to go get her things. “I’ll be back,” she says, in a tone that tells me I’m hopeless.
Maybe I really am.