Chapter 9
DANNY
I walkarm-in-arm with Ava into the ballroom of some luxury hotel in downtown Portland that I’m certain I’ll never remember the name of, clad in a designer tux that costs more than three months’ of my teacher salary. I gaze, in awe of the opulent, baroque-inspired space decked out in crystal chandeliers and gold-plated everything.
Well, my broke adjunct-professor ass is without a doubt the least classy person in this place. Weirdly though, I’m not nervous. I’m here to do a job: to make Ava feel comfortable and to show up her cheating ex. And there’s something about having a clear, concrete goal that settles me.
I peer over at Ava, taking in how she’s sinking her dazzling white teeth into her crimson bottom lip for a split second before she goes back to smiling at everyone. Her grip on my arm tightens. She’s nervous.
“Ava, baby. Have I told you just how stunning you look tonight?” I make sure we’re close to people when I say it.
I aim my gaze along the line of her body. She’s wearing a slinky, red gown that’s the exact same shade as her lipstick. An older couple near us makes “aww” sounds, and Ava’s expression eases. This time when she smiles, it looks more natural.
“Thank you, honey.” She presses a kiss to my cheek.
We went over all this tonight while getting ready at her penthouse—light physical PDA, compliments, and pet names to make us appear believable.
A server stops by with a tray of champagne flutes. I take two and hand one to Ava. Together we sip.
“So. How are you holding up?” I ask quietly.
She makes an affirming noise while guzzling half her glass.
“That good, huh?”
“My nerves are going haywire anticipating seeing Brock in such a public venue. Especially after the way things ended between us.”
Her blue eyes dim. I think back to the other day in her penthouse office when, while we were drinking champagne, she explained to Eden and me how things ended with her and Brock. She caught him making out with a random woman at a crowded dance club in London—on her birthday. When she confronted him, he called her a jealous bitch in front of everyone, claiming they were never exclusive in the first place. She burst into tears and he proceeded to TikTok Live-stream himself drunkenly announcing that he was a “free man” before making out with three more women that night.
My blood boils just thinking about it. Yeah, I’m only getting Ava’s side of their relationship and breakup story. I’m sure she wasn’t perfect—no one is. But no matter what she may have done, there’s no excuse for the shitty way Brock treated her. And given all the stuff I read about him online while researching him in preparation for tonight—rich playboy socialite with no real job who parties with his parents’ money—I can’t wait to put that cheating prick in his place.
I grab her hand and squeeze it gently in mine. “Just focus on enjoying yourself for the moment. Promise you won’t have to deal with him alone.”
Pure relief washes over her face. “God, you’re worth every penny for that sweet pep talk alone.”
Just then, a small group of people come up to Ava. She introduces me as her new boyfriend, and I do my best to charm them by seeming engaged in their conversation and answering whatever questions they have about me. I tell them I’m a college art professor who travels in my spare time and played college baseball.
I take in the murmured “Oh wows” with a smile.
“Our girl Ava is lucky to have such a well-rounded, intelligent, and handsome man.”
“Oh no. I’m the lucky one. No contest.”
I slide my arm around her waist and kiss her cheek, nearly laughing when all of them go starry-eyed at the sight of us. Damn, is this really all it takes to impress Ava’s social circle? Just be gainfully employed, engaging, polite, and dote on my date? Ava and her crew must deal with some next-level jerkoffs in their dating lives.
I can feel the muscles in my shoulders tense. God, what is it with a lot of men? So many are just fucking terrible.
“Seriously, why haven’t you introduced us to him sooner? He’s an absolute dreamboat.”
I smile politely while focusing my attention on Ava.
“I guess I’ve just been a bit skittish about bringing around anyone new since you-know-who.” Her mouth twitches slightly.
“Oh god, speaking of the devil. Look who’s here.”
“And look who he brought!”
Someone gasps. I twist to see who Ava’s friends are whispering about and see a familiar head of jet-black hair. Brock. On his arm is a young woman I recognize from the TikTok Live that Ava showed me and Eden. His date is the woman he cheated on Ava with.
Ava stiffens in my hold.
“Hey.” I aim what I hope is a comforting smile at her. “It’s okay. I’ve got this. And so do you.”
Brock makes his way through the crowd, flashing a blinding smile. God, does this guy whiten his teeth with fluorescent bleach? That shade of white isn’t human.
I lean down to see how Ava’s doing, when I feel someone bump into me. I hear a male voice muttering about how people need to watch where they’re going.
When I glance up, I see it’s Brock that’s bumped me. Instead of looking at me, though, he’s aiming an irritated gaze at Ava.
“Ava. Fancy seeing you here.” He sounds bored and annoyed all at once, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. Like he’s gearing for a confrontation. Jesus, this guy. I haven’t even officially met him and already I hate him.
“It’s my family’s charity event, Brock. Kind of makes sense why I’d be here.”
He mutters something unintelligible before looking off to the side. I swear I catch the tail end of an eye roll.
When he looks back over, he seems to finally notice me holding the arm of his ex-girlfriend. He straightens to his full height, rolls his shoulders back, and narrows his gaze on me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. This guy is such a toxic masculine stereotype, thinking he’s going to physically intimidate me.
“Who’s this?” he says while looking right at me.
Ava smiles up at me. “Danny. My date.”
“Huh.”
Brock looks me up and down, like a boxer sizing me up before a match. His jaw muscle bulges like it’s about to rip clear through his skin. He’s pissed at the sight of me and something about that is so damn satisfying—that I have to do so little to get a rise out of this douchebag. He’s that insecure.
He reaches his hand out for me to shake it, which I do. I grip his hand so tight he starts to frown before pulling away.
“Pleasure to meet you, Brock,” I say politely with a smile on my face. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Well, I haven’t heard much about you. What do you do? You a finance man, like half the people in this room?”
“No, I’m an art professor at Portland State College, actually.”
When he snorts a laugh, his date’s eyes go wide. From the corner of my eye, I catch Ava glowering at him. I have to resist the urge to tell her that this worthless prick’s opinion of me means less than nothing—I’m happy and secure with my career. And I’m here to do a job: be a doting date to her and show up her ex.
“Good for you. Teaching’s a noble profession, especially given how criminally underpaid it is.” He flashes what’s clearly a mock-sincere expression. I almost laugh. This guy is such a cliché.
“Do you find it hard to live in Portland? On your salary, I mean.”
“God, Brock,” Ava mutters under her breath. I turn to her, quietly letting her know that I’m fine, that this guy doesn’t faze me at all.
“I manage,” I say, my tone easy, yet firm. “I’m sure it would be easier if I were a trust fund kid who had everything handed to me, like some people. The kind of people who don’t have to rely on an actual work ethic to get by because they have everything handed to them on a silver platter.” I go quiet for a few seconds, but keep my gaze trained on Brock so he knows I’m talking about his mediocre privileged ass.
Behind me, I hear one of Ava’s friends chuckle at what I said.
Brock glares at me for a half-second before blinking and schooling his expression.
“Yeah, well, I guess some of us are just lucky.” He clears his throat. “So, what do you do when you’re not shaping the minds of America’s youth?”
“I’m a painter.”
Brock makes a face like he’s struggling to hold in a laugh. “Impressive.”
Seriously, enough with this guy. Time to put this jerk in his place.
I take a step closer so I’m in his space. We’re practically the same height with a similar build, and judging by the way he pushed through the crowd earlier, he’s used to mowing over the people around him. Not anymore.
“Is it impressive?”
He scoffs. “Excuse me?”
“Cut the crap, Brock. Based on your condescending tone and the way you could barely hold back a laugh a second ago when I told you what I do for a living, clearly you think I’m a piece of shit. Beneath you. Because, you know, I’m a criminally underpaid professor.”
Brock holds up a hand. “Look, man, I don’t know why you’re so rude and sensitive all of a sudden. I was just being nice.”
“Bullshit. I highly doubt that a garbage human being like you has ever been truly, genuinely nice.”
Brock’s jaw is bulging once more. He starts to stammer, but I continue speaking. “Because here’s the thing, Brock. Truly nice people don’t cheat on their partners and laugh about it on social media. Truly nice people don’t get their rich parents to use money to cover their flaws. Like when they fail out of school or get their eleventh DUI. Truly nice people don’t live off of their family wealth instead of getting a job and doing an honest day’s work.”
Brock’s mouth is open, but only a croaking sound emerges.
“Your consulting business is a joke, Brock. Anyone who bothers to look you up knows that. You just go around using that as a pick-up line on unsuspecting women.”
The woman he’s with jerks her hand out of his. “You said you ran a modeling agency. That’s not true?”
“It’s not true,” Ava and I say in unison.
She kicks Brock in the shin before spinning around and storming off. Behind me, I hear one of Ava’s friends burst out laughing while another mutters, “Nice shot.”
Groaning, Brock leans down to rub the front of his leg. “What the…How did you…”
“I did my homework, Brock. Something you should have done.”
Around us, people gawk at Brock, whispering and quietly laughing amongst themselves. His face reddens as he aims one last glare at me before stumbling away.
I turn to Ava, who grins from ear to ear before grabbing my face in her hands and planting a kiss on me.
“That. Was. Epic,” she whispers into my ear.
I wink at her and accept the congratulatory glass of champagne one of her friends hands me.
“You’ve got a good one, Ava,” she says.
She fist-bumps me and I laugh. “Don’t I know it,” she responds.