22. Ill Cross That Bridge When I Get There
Chapter twenty-two
I'll Cross That Bridge When I Get There
M y phone vibrated to wake me up the next morning. Groggily, I pulled it off the nightstand, hoping maybe it was a selfie and a goodbye text from Ben.
Then I realized I was stupid because Ben’s flight had taken off three hours earlier and we’d agreed that things were over and also, it was Anne-Marie.
Annie
Remy’s coworker Jorge mentioned he was looking for a ticket to the Diamond Gala
I groaned, closing my eyes again, then told myself I needed to text her back and reopened them.
I wish I could’ve said it was because I finally decided to be the bigger person, but it wasn’t like Anne-Marie knew I was trying to be the bigger person. But the Diamond Gala was only a couple of days away and if Anne-Marie thought I’d been avoiding her to keep the secret of who was taking me, she’d think there was even more going on than there actually was.
Not that I was ready to tell her that secret. I’d cross that bridge when I got there, even though Anne-Marie was doing her best to cast a line off the riverbank near that bridge in her hunt for details.
Me
Hope he can find one. I’d help him out if I could but I think my dad would flip if I gave him my ticket
Annie
True. Perhaps you could take him as a date
Me
Haha. Now there’s an idea
It wasn’t the best response on my part since it opened the door nicely for her to ask why I couldn’t take Jorge or who I was going with instead, but maybe Remy was too chivalrous when it came to opening doors for her or something because Anne-Marie didn’t even try to turn the knob.
Though she knocked on the metaphorical door again a few hours later, and the next day, and again after I’d arrived in Montreal on Thursday afternoon since my dad had insisted I come to town two days early so he didn’t have to risk me not showing up.
Annie
Ugh, you know what Charlotte told me? Clinton asked her if she knew what colour dress you would be wearing to the gala
Me
Wow. Why would he even care?
Annie
So you are not going to the gala with him?
Me
Ew, no. You were with me when I told him I wasn’t
Annie
Well yes, but I wasn’t sure if anything had changed since the last time you saw him
The answer to that was technically no, since I’d already had a date the last time I saw him. But it was also yes, since… well.
I hadn’t heard from JP since that night. That wasn’t exactly weird, but part of me was worried he’d changed his mind. I kept trying to tell myself that was unfounded, that JP wouldn’t do that to me, that the whole… whatever that had happened last time wouldn’t be enough for him to decide I wasn’t worth helping anymore. Just because everything had gotten weird and deep and serious didn’t mean he was going to back out on me.
And if he was, well, that was another bridge I’d cross when I got to it.
Except when I’d arrived in Montreal earlier that day, I’d glanced at the Marchands’ driveway for no reason other than that it was there and noticed a certain BMW parked in its usual spot for no reason other than it wasn’t there.
Which, like, wasn’t a big deal. It was Thursday afternoon and he was a fancy lawyer with a day job and clients and shit, so he was at work.
Probably.
Except, I told myself after bringing my suitcase to my bedroom, that bridge was really going to fuck me over if it turned out it had collapsed before I got there. And then I’d be scrambling to build a raft or a swinging rope or something , scrambling at the last minute just like Anne-Marie said I always did.
So to spite her, even though she had no idea I was doing it in the first place, I flopped onto my bed and pulled out my phone, then thought for a minute or eight before messaging him.
Me
Hey
I sent it, cringed, and quickly typed a second message.
Me
How’s it going?
He saw both messages almost immediately, which was good, and when the bubbles appeared to show he was typing, I let out a tense breath.
Bastard
I’m trying to figure out the professional way to tell a client to stop fighting with the other party via redlines on the contract instead of scheduling a fucking phone call to discuss why a termination for convenience clause is even necessary, since I am not, in fact, a fucking babysitter and doing another round of redlines just so they can be sassy is, in fact, a waste of their fucking money.
Yikes.
JP wasn’t shy about swearing, but three “fuckings” in one text message made it sound like he was a little on edge. Maybe that meant it wasn’t the best time for me to badger him about Saturday.
Or, I thought, twisting my mouth to the side, maybe it was the best time.
Me
“While I understand the desire for my involvement in the base-level discussion for what necessitates a termination for convenience clause, it would be unconscionable for me to not advise that this is both outside my scope as legal counsel and an inefficient use of your retainer. This matter would best be discussed via phone call prior to redlining the contract a fucktonillianth time.”
He read the message right away, but the typing bubbles didn’t appear before his response of five laughing emojis came through.
Bastard
Not doing much to convince me you weren’t born to be a lawyer, babe
My heart skipped a beat and my body felt about eighty pounds lighter when he called me babe. Not because he called me babe , which I’d told him not to do a fucktonillian times, but because he called me babe.
That had to be a good sign.
Bastard
So did you text me to save me from losing a long-time client or was there something else that triggered this random Thursday afternoon message?
I chewed on my bottom lip, then propped myself up a bit so I could bend my left leg under my right knee and sit on it while I thought of my response.
Me
Yeah. I was wondering about this weekend.
Bastard
It happens in two days, I believe
Me
Ha, ha. Are we still on for Saturday?
Bastard
Ohhhh. You’re texting me because you need something from me
The lightness faded and I bit my lip harder. Yeah, it could be hard to read tone over text, but that didn’t exactly sound like playful teasing.
Me
Did you think I didn’t?
Bastard
Well between the silent treatment and not telling me the colour of your dress so I could make sure I had something complementary, I figured you were all good and I should make other plans
My stomach dropped like a rock.
No, not like a rock.
It fell like a bullet shot at the ground. Explosive and destructive and painfully loud, shrapnel bursting out around it in a blasting circle and making me freeze in place, staring at the phone with my heart in my throat and a stinging blurriness in my eyes.
Fuck.
Just… fuck .
He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t right, either; I hadn’t been giving him the silent treatment, but I definitely hadn’t texted him the colour of my dress. In fairness, I didn’t know what colour it was. I wasn’t trying it on until later that night. But I could’ve messaged to check on him after everything that went down last weekend. It would’ve probably been the nice thing to do considering what he told me after the funeral.
But also, JP and I weren’t friends.
We weren’t friends.
Not like that.
Not at all, really, if he was going to do something like that to me.
But there wasn’t much I could do about it now.
Me
Alright. I understand.
I put my phone face down and flopped backwards on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
This was it. There was no other option.
I wasn’t sure if I should tell my dad right away. If I put it off, maybe Clinton would break both his arms and fall into the river before Saturday. There was a whole Friday to happen still, after all. Or maybe I could get Anne-Marie to tell me where I could find Ives Clement and see if he’d ever found an actual hitman.
Not that I’d hire a hitman to kill Clinton, per se, but maybe just… you know.
Break his arms a little.
And then take him swimming.
Beside me, my phone vibrated once, probably with JP telling me good luck or something. I ignored it as I reminded myself that two days wasn’t a lot of time to find a quality hitman and that I wouldn’t do well in prison.
Then it buzzed again, and again, like it was ringing.
Which it was.
I nearly dropped the phone onto my face when I saw the name Bastard flashing on the screen. Sitting up so aggressively I nearly punched myself, I jammed the phone to my ear. “What the fuck are you doing calling me?!”
“Great to hear your voice too, babe,” JP said, chuckling.
“Ha fucking ha,” I said. “Why the hell are you phoning me? What do you want?”
“Can’t a guy call to get sworn at without having a reason?”
“I’m hanging up on you.”
He laughed. “Okay, alright. I wanted to make sure you got my last text telling you I was joking before you went and did something stupid like tell your dad you need Clinton to be your date.”
Joking.
He was fucking joking.
“You thought that was a good thing to joke about?” I asked.
“I mean… yeah.” He didn’t sound entirely confident, but still managed a laugh. “I was definitely joking, Nell. Of course I’m still coming on Saturday.”
I gritted my teeth. It was a stupid fucking thing to joke about, but… well, I wasn’t sure what would come from me pointing that out.
“You’ll be at the event too, though, right?” I asked, trying to sound light-hearted.
“As long as you didn’t ask Clinton the Fuckwit to take you.”
“I didn’t.”
“Okay,” he said. “Good.”
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Good?”
“Of course. I’ve gotta go through with it to get my end of the deal. And by my end, I mean your back end.”
I made a noise of disgust, which made him laugh. “I thought you were at work.”
“I am,” he said through his chuckles.
“And that’s how you talk to people while you’re at work?”
“While my office door is closed, sure,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “You have an office to yourself?”
“Once in a while, I lean into the nepotism,” he said, but there was a hint of bitterness behind it.
“I mean, I might too, if it got me a private office.”
“Yeah, well… it comes with a cost.”
I picked at my thumbnail. “Right. Okay, well. If that’s everything…?”
“One more thing, actually,” he said. “I need you to be serious with me for a sec.”
Shit. “Why?”
“Because we need to talk about something important.”
Shit . “We do?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I tensed. “Alright. What is it?”
“I need you to tell me the honest truth, okay?”
Shitshitshit. “About what, JP?”
“What colour is it?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“The dress, babe. What colour is your dress.”
The fucker. “Oh. I don’t know.”
He laughed incredulously. “How do you not know?”
“I haven’t seen it. But I have a fitting tonight. I’ll… I’ll send you a picture.”
“You better. And then send another one after you put the dress on, okay?”
“Bastard,” I muttered, and hung up on him while he was still laughing.