39. Meg
39
MEG
I t took me three days and three nights of texting to finally jolt to the conclusion that I had a crush on BB. If there was something like a crush slut, I was turning into one.
For more than two years, I was fine not having a crush in my life, and now suddenly two men, one right after the other.
The first time I knew there was an inkling of a crush forming for BB was when I realized that even if he looked like a creature from Middle-earth, it would probably not make a lick of difference because our connection was off the charts. With no sexting involved.
It was exciting, right? And as I told myself, oh, surely this new crush, this digital paramour with his dripping wit and smarts, definitely had to erase the crush I had on Byron. Like, kick it to the curb. Render it kaput. Turn it to dust in the wind.
So, I put it to the test.
I opened the secret folder on my phone. The one where I put that pic of Byron in a tuxedo looking the way he did, with the kind of handsome that made you second-guess reality.
And when I laid my eyes on him, there it was, the unmistakable fluttering in my stomach, my breathing hitching in my throat, and my heart beating out of my chest. There should be a warning label on these kinds of feels, like the ones they put on prescription drugs.
I was so not over this man.
Shit.
That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was crushing on two men. Not one after the other, like a normal person, but at the same time . How was this possible? Had I become some sort of hormonal disaster zone? There was no way this was reality.
So, there I was, sitting on my shabby couch, in my red fuzzy pajamas I’d been wearing for three days straight, my hair uncombed for at least forty-eight hours, dirty coffee mugs perched everywhere, and empty take-out bags and a half-eaten pastry I found in the fridge that had to be like a week old.
And I’m thinking, oh my God, I have a crush on two men, and somehow I couldn’t physically date either of them, and why was this happening when I had the job of my dreams and should be living my best life?
You’re probably thinking, how could I crush on a ghost? Honestly, it was impossible to resist all that wit and charm. Besides, all internet searches for a pic yielded zilch, and you have no idea how many Brett Bishops there are until you start looking.
It was high time to take stock of my love life, so I did. On my break, while picking apart one of the Belmont Hotel’s vendor contracts (which, as expected, was in desperate need of a makeover) I had an epiphany.
BB was the yin to my yang, the coffee to my morning, the moon to my stars.
Byron? He was the spark to my flame, the pulse to my desire, the lust in my very soul.
Read that back and tell me I wasn’t spiraling .
What was this nonsense? Please God, make it stop.
You already knew that when Byron and I were in the same room, we bent the laws of physics with sparks ricocheting off the walls. But let me paint you a picture of how BB slinked his way right into my chest.
Meg: If you could live in a book, which one would you choose?
BB: The Princess Bride. It’s got everything—true love, daring escapes, and swordfights. Plus, I’ll happily be your Westley if you’ll be my Buttercup.
Ready for Example #2? Well, ready or not, here we go:
BB: If you could time travel but only to the past, where would you go?
Me: To the night when I told my best friend to follow her destiny, and it ended up breaking her heart.
BB: But you said it could still work out. And I believe it will.
Me: A whole lot of things have to fall perfectly in place for that to happen, but hey, from your lips to God’s ears. Anyway, your turn, where would you go?
BB: I would go back to the moment I met you and do things differently.
Me: At The Pig’s Tail? I gave you my number. What else would you have done?
BB: I would have taken you to a quiet spot and kissed you. I would have kissed you until you couldn’t remember what it felt like not to be kissed by me.
See what I mean? But hold on to your hats, ladies and gents. It got better, or worse, depending on your take on this fix I was in. Example #3:
Me: If you could see your future self 10 years from now, what would you like to see in your life?
BB: I want to be successful at my job, I would love to be married to someone I can’t live without, and I would love to have kids.
Me: Someone you can’t live without…wow, that’s intense.
BB: Here’s a quote for you: “You don't marry someone because you can live with them—you marry someone because you can’t live without them.”
Me: Double wow.
BB: You don’t think it’s possible?
Me: You mean like finding that one person that rocks your world forever?
BB: Yes.
Me: Says the man who’s never even been in love.
BB: If what we have here is real, that reality might be changing.
Me: Oh? Just like that.
BB: Tell me you don’t feel it too.
Me: I don’t even know what you look like.
BB: And does that make you feel any less?
Me: No, it doesn’t. But I have a lot going on. And I have a meeting in the morning. I need to go to bed.
BB: You’re going into work?
Me: Yes, but the meeting is with the big boss. Chances are, I don’t even have to see my nemesis.
BB: Nemesis. Wow, harsh. Well, here’s to hoping you don’t run into him then.
Me: We’ll talk later. G’night, BB.
BB: Night Meg, sweet dreams.
After going through my closet and finding nothing that would make me look like I meant business, I sent Mimi a frantic text.
Me: Will be there at 7am. Important meeting. Need classy dress, and will you do my hair plse?
Hard as I tried to shut them down, BB’s words kept repeating themselves in my head.
Tell me you don’t feel it too.
What a blazing, tangled disaster.
After a night of restless dreams featuring a parade of characters all resembling the letters B, and who I may or may not have been involved with in a thrilling three-way, I woke up with a start.
I was very prepared for the meeting with Roman and the lawyers, and all I had to do was look the part. Taking an Uber to my family home, I texted Steven to have whoever was driving me today pick me up there.
And what do you know, he texted back:
Steven: Then that works out well. A driver is already picking something up for Byron from Mrs. Belfiore.
He had to be shitting me.
And sure enough, when I got to the family home, I found Mom in the kitchen fondly preparing food for her new pen pal, Byron. Or were they conversing now by phone?
“There you are!” she exclaimed, smiling like she wasn’t shamelessly fraternizing with the enemy.
I kissed her on the cheek, the smell of Chicken Marsala making my poor neglected stomach growl.
“Please tell me you’re not doing what I suspect you’re doing?” I begged.
She smiled some more. “It’s Friday. We always have Chicken Marsala and cannoli on Friday. You know that.”
“Why are you making it so early, Mom? Who all is eating this Chicken Marsala?”
“It’s for everyone, but I promised Byron and Nelson some for lunch!” she declared happily. “But don’t worry, I’m making extra for you too. You’ll be at Belmont Manor today, won’t you? Mimi told me so.”
“Nelson, too now?” I whimpered, feeling totally betrayed.
Mimi stormed into the kitchen. When she caught sight of my disheveled state, her jaw practically hit the floor. “What the hell happened to you? When’s the last time your hair saw a brush? And is that dried ketchup on your cheek?”
I gave her a pained look and shuffled toward the stairs, muttering under my breath. “I’ll just go and shower. Did you manage to find me a dress? Oh, and if you could work some magic on my hair while you’re at it, that’d be so great. Also, when you come back up, could you bring me an espresso? Make that a triple shot, please.”
The dress Mimi chose for me to wear was really nice. You could even call it elegant. As I pranced around for their approval, Mimi and Mona eyed me like I was the final move in a game of chess they were both plotting to win.
“Okay, now you look professional, and ready to kick some butt,” Mimi said, snipping a rogue thread from the hem like she was performing delicate surgery on a baby ant.
Mona flicked an invisible speck off my sleeve. “This dress says, I’m available, but not desperate. My biological clock’s ticking, but the countdown’s still a few years off. Marry me now, or someone else will.”
“Oh, please,” I grumbled. “I’m not having kids. And no one’s getting married. That guy is a tool.”
Ever the romantic, Mona sighed. “Wow, really? Well, that hurts me more than it hurts you. I was going to put the new Mazda Miata on my Christmas list.”
“So, you’re willing to pimp me out to some rich dude for a Mazda Miata?” I clapped back. “Maserati, I can understand. But an effing Miata, Mona. Is that all I’m worth to you?”
“Geez, chill,” she whined. “Looks like I’m not getting either of those now.”
“Correct. My job is my only focus, nothing else.”
Mimi held up a pair of silver chandelier earrings like they were the holy grail. “How about these? Just to add a little fun to the prim and proper vibe of the dress.”
I shook my head. “Nice try. You’re still trying to make me look like a catch. No to the earrings. Today, I’m a legal eagle, and nothing else.”
I hardly even noticed the mansion as we drove up the long driveway at Belmont Manor. My mind was on two things and two things only.
One was to kick ass in the meeting and guarantee my longevity at the Belmont Trust. Well, for a year at least.
And the other was to avoid running into Byron.
It became painfully clear that BB was the textbook definition of crush material, effortlessly perfect. Byron, on the other hand? Not so much. Seeing him would only throw fuel on the dumpster fire called my mind.
A doctor’s appointment was in order, too. It was time to check on these wacky hormones of mine. Maybe there was a pill or something to calm the little suckers down.
During the drive, Letitia was generous with her supportive smiles, but she was also wise enough to leave me grappling with my own troublesome thoughts.
And guess who was waiting at the south wing entrance with a welcoming smile, opening the back door of the Navigator for me, ever the good host. Nelson, Byron’s co-conspirator.
“Good morning, young lady,” he greeted me pleasantly. “Don’t you look a picture.”
Which made me wonder where audacity was on sale, because Nelson glanced right past me into the SUV, practically drooling as he did.
With a sneer, I climbed out. “Don’t worry, your lunch is in a cooler bag on the back seat. Byron’s too.”
“Excellent, excellent,” he said, not waiting a hot second to dive inside the car and retrieve the loot. “After tasting your mother’s lasagna the other day, I simply knew I had to taste her Chicken Marsala. That woman is a wizard when it comes to Italian cuisine.”
When his eyes met mine, I speared him with a steely gaze. “ Et tu, Brutus ?”
“It’s actually ‘Et tu, Brute’ …” he corrected me with British smugness.
“Brutus, Brute, who cares? So you’re in this with Byron. Getting my mom to cook your meals when all you have to do is pick up a phone and order gourmet stuff from the Belmont Hotel.”
“Well, there’s nothing quite like a home-cooked meal, done with love, is there now?” he said, oblivious to my frustration and pain. “And besides, it will only be on Fridays, so it’s not as if it’s an everyday thing.”
If looks could kill, we’d be holding a vigil for Nelson. “Over my dead body will she cook you another meal,” I hissed. “Take that from me.”
Nelson gasped. “But next Friday is going to be Chicken Cacciatore and Sweet Ricotta Cheesecake. Don’t come between me and your mother’s Chicken Cacciatore, I beg you, please.”
“Oh my God…whatever,” I scoffed as I made my way into the south wing entrance. The last thing I heard was Nelson making a call to a staff member to come and help carry the two cooler bags inside.