Chapter 7 #3
“Out?” Abi asks, giving me that damn Vulcan eyebrow of hers again.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I don’t respond to the hook and she continues.
“Last time I saw you, you were literally hanging on my brother as Ross was leading you out of Club Red, and you didn’t answer your phone this morning.
Soooo . . . can you give me the PG edited version?
He’s my brother, so I don’t need all the gory details. ”
Archie slaps Abi’s arm, psshawing. “Then gee-tee-eff-oh if you don’t wanna hear.
I live for this shit, and Virgin Violet ain’t usually got any good stories to tell.
Something tells me that’s not the case today.
So spill all of those filthy, dirty details to Daddy Archie, girl. You owe me good sex stories, remember?”
“Nothing to edit,” I reply, pinching the bridge of my nose as I start tapping that spot behind my ear I read helps with headaches. “I was drunk, and he took me back to his place and put me to bed. And before you say it, there’s no double meaning in that.”
Even though I’m telling the truth, it’s hard not to blush as I think of what I saw and some of the thoughts that have been running through my head all day. Because, damn it all, Ross is sexy as hell. And not just in that cute, older guy way I used to think. No, he’s all grown up now . . . all over.
Yeah, he demanded my ‘obedience,’ saying that we might need to practice that part of our arrangement since I’m such a ball-buster, but he did it with such a roguish charm, a sort of gentlemanly imperiousness, that I still felt like he was doting over me.
Deep inside, I liked that he thought I was tough too, not some vapid little girl chasing after him but rather a challenge, an equal, with thoughts and opinions of my own.
Like shopping for my engagement ring. At first, I was going to pick out the simplest ring that I could see not embarrassing him, but when I tried, he took my hand and looked me in the eyes.
“This is going to be the only engagement ring I’m ever going to give you,” he said to me while the salesgirl practically drooled over him and silently begged him to seed her ovaries.
“I want our ring to reflect that . . . so pick out your dream ring.”
I’m still not sure what to make of that, but how could I refuse?
“So?” Abi asks, pulling my attention back to the office. “Did you tell him about your problem?”
“Yes,” I reply, cutting my eyes to Archie. “Can you get me a coffee? As black and thick as possible.”
He snaps, “One Lizzo special, coming right up.”
“Thanks,” I tell him as he disappears through the doorway, but I know he’s still listening. “And he told me about his problem too. For the record, we’re both going to kick your ass for scheming like that.”
“It’d be worth it,” Abi says with the sort of brutal honesty that makes her my best friend. “So, what’s the plan?”
My answer’s simple as I pull out my engagement ring and show it to her, her squeal jacking my headache up by a few notches. “Goddamn, girl, it’s beautiful!”
Her excitement has Archie hustling back with a half-full coffee cup that he basically drops in front of me so his hands are free to grab at the ring. He holds it up to the light. “Nice ice, ice, baby.”
“You know my head feels like I’ve been skull fucked all night, right?” I reply, cringing at their volume before regretting my words. “And again, no fucking went on between us.” I point back and forth from Abi to Archie to make sure they have that clear.
“Well, guess I’ll need to get those invitations reworked and ready, then,” Abi says. “So put the ring on!”
“We agreed to wait, make it a public proposal,” I answer, putting the ring away. “Don’t know when, but it’ll have to be fast. Two weeks and all.”
“Whirlwind romances can be the best, though,” Abi says hopefully.
Archie’s lips curl. “So, Boss Lady, speaking of public . . . in your whirlwind of an unexpected day off, did you see the paper, by any chance?”
I shake my head, confused. “No, why?”
He intones, “Dun-dun-dun-duuuuuuun . . .” He disappears back out to his desk for a split second and then slaps it open in front of me.
The gossip column headline blares out at me. Playboy Ross Andrews Has Another One on the Hook.
There’s a picture, and I wonder just how shitfaced I got last night based on my relaxed facial expression and unfocused eyes. Reluctantly, I read the copy, anger pulsing behind my eyeballs as I do. “A low-level interior designer wannabe?” I ask, seething. “I’m going to kick this bitch’s ass!”
“Relax,” Abi says soothingly. “Seriously, that writer always rips on whoever Ross gets photographed with. We think she has a crush on him, but we can handle that. Lord knows, Dad has had to call the paper before to threaten lawsuits if they don’t cease and desist.”
“But my reputation—” I start, groaning when my phone rings and I see the name. Mom. “Nope, not answering that.”
As soon as it stops, the office phone starts to ring, and Abi reaches for it and I try to stop her. “Uh-uh! Leave that damn thing down!”
“Why? It’s not like anything’s official yet,” Abi says, and before I know it, we’re struggling over the cordless phone.
Archie, unperturbed, sips at the coffee he got for me. That thief. “Two girls, one phone . . . so not my thing.”
“Dammit, Abi, please!” I beg, finally snatching the phone from her. “Let me think!”
“What do you need to think about?” Abi asks, grinning in confusion. “You are linked to Ross now. He’s agreed to be your husband and you’re going to be his wife. Now, I know he’s an asshole sometimes, but he’s got a good side to him. He just . . . needs to be cajoled to show it a little more.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know how to do that!” I seethe, putting the phone back down and silently vowing to call my mother later. “We’re going to kill each other before we even get down the aisle!”
The big picture of walking down the aisle with Papa and Ross standing there to greet me hits me all at once and I blanch. “Oh, my God, I’m marrying Ross Andrews!”
Abi is still smiling, though, even as I have a minor mental breakdown. “You two always fight like cats and dogs, but that’ll just make the makeup sex better.”
I’m starting to wonder about my best friend’s sanity because she seems to think this is no biggie.
And shouldn’t she be weirded out to talk about her big brother’s sex life?
Like, a few minutes ago, she was saying she wanted an edited version of the night and now she’s telling me to have crazy, wild makeup sex with Ross. Her brother.
Or is that just what I’m picturing?
“I’ll help you with Ross. I know he drives you nuts sometimes,” she says patiently.
“And half of the state’s going to think I’m some social-climbing gold digger,” I grumble, regretting signing that damn NDA more and more each minute. “I’m going to be ruined.”
“Nonsense. This will all blow over before you know it. Especially when the papers start reporting that you and Ross are dating, meeting the family, and engaged. A few starry-eyed pictures where you two look like lovebirds, and maybe some well-designed PDAs, and you’ll be the romance story of the millennials.
The childhood friends who finally ignite in fiery passion that can’t be stopped long enough to plan a proper wedding.
Oh, no, the way this story goes . . . you two are ready for your forever, right now. ”
She makes it sound plausible and easy. Maybe she’s right and I’m overreacting?
Seeing that I’m calming somewhat, she starts handing out instructions. “For now, you’re going to get a few hours of work in, send a few emails, and then . . . Paradise Burgers,” Abi says, grinning. “The big ones, with tomato, those four types of cheese you like, and . . .”
“You’re evil. You know I’ve been dieting to get into the dress. The dress I haven’t even found yet,” I remind us all sharply.
“ And the garlic aioli you adore, with milkshakes,” Abi continues, ignoring my interruption. “Come on, their milkshake brings all us girls to the—”
“Stop!” I finally laugh, shaking my head. “You know if you keep it up, Archie’s going to start twerking!”
“Won’t ever happen,” he says dryly, but we all know he was popping his shoulders left and right a bit and I can see the song lyrics running through his head.
Hell, if Abi kept singing, he’d probably hop up and do a little whacking for us, the arm-twirling dancing kind, not the ‘call HR type’, and finish with a death drop.
But before he can, Abi’s and my phones both buzz, and I look at mine to see a text from Ross.
Dinner tonight with family. 8 PM. Dress nice . . . honey.
There’s a wink emoji after ‘honey’ and I know it’s in reference to our discussion to not call me Shnookums. I guess he’s trying out terms of endearment.
“Ooh, that son of a . . .” I hiss, showing Abi my phone.
She holds hers up too, showing me a much nicer, much more polite text from Ross inviting her to the family home for ‘an important family dinner’. “I’m so gonna get him.”
“Good,” Abi says, taking her phone back and slipping it into her pocket.
“In the meantime, I’ll help you learn how to get under Ross’s skin, how to cajole him to be nice.
When we’re done with him, he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.
I’ve got a few years’ experience in driving guys crazy, especially my brother.
And coupled with your track record, we should be golden. Let the games begin.”
I hold my breath and count to ten, gathering myself. “Okay . . . so how do I twist Ross around my little finger and make this whole thing not so ridiculous?”