Chapter 1 #2
Having him not show up time and time again has given me a false sense of confidence that he will never be in that crowd while I read an excerpt aloud from what often feels incredibly private. So, wouldn’t it be my luck that this is the book he’s chosen to stand up in the crowd for?
It’s also why I’m not really in the mood to wear a purple chicken snakeskin dress while I do it.
“Surely we can do better than a sparkly feather duster?” I ask sweetly. “I got this other option yesterday that you and Hollis will love.”
I point to my closet and scoot to the edge of my seat, ready to spring off the chair to go grab it.
“Try. It. On,” Simon insists through gritted teeth, pushing it forward until the feathers tickle my knees.
“Hold that thought,” I say, pointing a finger while grabbing my phone off the vanity top.
Simon sighs toward the ceiling while I dial his boss and set the phone on speaker mode.
She immediately answers.
“Heyyy, Holl, I’m not trying to be a drama queen but—”
“But you hate it,” Hollis finishes for me, not bothering with a hello. “I knew you’d hate it. I told Simon you’d hate it.” I swivel my chair toward Simon and widen my eyes. “Simon!” she barks louder, somehow knowing that her second-in-command must be somewhere in the room.
“Sorry.” I grimace.
“You’re not sorry,” Simon mouths back, hopefully amused.
I hold the phone out so they can chat directly.
“Yes, dear?” Simon asks, clasping both hands in front of his waist. Between the brows, the bow tie, and the square spectacles he wears in a variety of coordinated colors each day, Simon reminds me of a younger Eugene Levy.
“I told you the purple would be too much,” Hollis deadpans.
“You know why we went with the purple sequin feather number though.” Simon’s voice lowers, like they’re sharing a secret.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if my best friend is about to break ranks and side with him over whatever they’re conspiring about.
“Babe, it’ll take you two seconds,” she quips, and my shoulders rise right back up to my ears. “It looks better once it’s on. If you still hate it, go with the black.”
I almost shoot back a really solid argument I’ve been silently preparing in my mind when I realize that I never told Hollis about the black dress in my closet.
“Did I tell you I had a black backup option?”
She pauses, then answers, “I assumed.”
Simon smiles to himself while I scoff.
“Am I that predictable?”
“You’re getting featured as the magazine’s book pick of the month, remember?” She begins walking me through the whole vision they have for tonight. “They’re sending a photographer and we don’t want you fading into the background. You’ll match the ink on the page if you go with black, Bay.”
I hop off my chair.
“Okay, yes, I totally get that, but it has this really unexpected neckline. Wait two seconds and I’ll grab it to show you.”
“The. Purple. Bailey,” Hollis puffs each word, sounding suddenly out of breath. “Put it on.”
I hear thousands of sequins shimmy behind me like the fluttering leaves of a poplar tree, and I don’t have to turn around to know that Simon is shaking that thing at me again.
I spin, letting my grin twist as our eyes meet.
The late afternoon sun streams through the window and bounces off the dress at that exact moment, making my room look like a disco.
I frown.
Rhett will have a whole menu of snarky quips to choose from, similar to Merry Catmas, if, after attempting to find me in the crowd, he realizes that the disco ball spinning around the center of the venue is, in fact, me.
I look at my watch again.
“You guys,” I mutter between my teeth, dashing to the closet. “We have no time.”
“Chop! Chop!” Hollis claps her hands on each chop. “You have less than one hour before people start arriving!”
There’s a faint whirring now on the other end of the line. Probably a treadmill.
If multitasking were an Olympic sport, my best friend would have won four gold medals by now. I can’t remember the last time I saw her complete one task at a time.
If she’s talking on the phone? She’s running.
Doing downward dog? Strategizing.
Attempting to relax on vacation? You’ll likely find her in a sparkly pink bathing suit with a margarita in her hand, networking.
“Oh, and we still have to do your blowout,” Simon calls after me as I make a mad dash for the black dress I got at a pop-up on Fifth last week.
“Vibrant colors bring out that vivacious, fiery side in you!” Hollis yells, now panting.
“A vivacious, purple fire?” I ask, carrying out the black option on a hanger. I present it like a gift. “Ta-da!”
Simon snorts.
“We are turning thirty this year,” Hollis reminds me. “Just wear the feathers.”
“Thirty, flirty, and . . . feathery?” Simon musters up under his breath. Lucky for him, it’s too quiet for Hollis to hear.
But not too quiet for me.
I nearly snort as we exchange a look over the phone, where Hollis’ labored breathing is still coming out in little puffs, like a baby dragon.
Cardio. Definitely some type of cardio.
“Has my brother popped over to your place at all?” she asks. “I told Rhett to come early since he typically shows up twenty minutes late. Although I think he’s probably just meeting you there.”
Rhett. My stomach trips over the mere mention of his name, and I remind it not to do that.
Then pair the reminder with a strong internal kick toward my ribs.
Who cares that he grew up, got a body like a Navy SEAL because he is — or was — a SEAL, and now runs a high-profile security business like some type of modern-day James Bond?
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
My breath catches at the possibility of seeing him in a suit tonight.
Does he even own a suit? I’ve never seen him in a suit.
Christ, Bailey, I scold myself.
Suit or not, Hollis has always maintained that her older brother is off-limits.
And that, I’m afraid, has never been up for negotiation.
I’ve sat on the edge of my bed staring at his name on my phone at least four times since finding out that he’d changed his RSVP.
Thumb hovering over the call button, wiggling back and forth.
Weighing the pros and cons of telling him about the book before tonight hits.
But instead of giving him any type of warning, I decided to go with the more predictable option of sticking my head in the sand.
Maybe he won’t notice? Or maybe he will?
I don’t even know which option is better anymore.
My stomach rebels, continuing its twirl like a ballerina performing Swan Lake.
But I try to act cool.
“So, you told Rhett to get to the party early?” My voice is higher than it’s meant to be. I clear my throat to drop the pitch. Twice. It doesn’t work, and now I just look suspicious. “Any idea why he decided to come to this particular book release party?”
“I imagine it’s because you invited him?” Hollis answers, as if it should be obvious why he’d turn up now after six of these parties have gone off without him.
“Right.” I nod, slowly. “But he’s never come before so—”
“What can I say? My brother’s a dingbat. There’s a first time for everything. I recently told him that he needs to have more fun, so maybe that’s it?”
But Rhett is not a dingbat.
Rhett’s the type of guy who has a reason for everything he does. And fun is usually not high on the list anymore, from what I’ve gathered. Not like it used to be.
“Okay, but why this book?” I press, trying to sound cool, like it’s really no big deal. “You don’t think he . . . you know. Saw any similarities between fiction—”
“And your fleshed-out teenage fantasies springing to life on the page? No.”
I can’t tell if she’s serious.
“Right.” I keep fishing. “Is he doing a security job here in the city this weekend? Or—”
Hollis gasps before I can finish, then mutters, “Are you fucking kidding me?” under her breath.
“What? Why? Why are we gasping?”
“Nothing, it has nothing to do with you asking me forty questions about my brother,” she answers, sounding distracted and slightly further away.
“Swallow a bug on that treadmill?” Simons asks, smirking over the screen at me.
My heart pounds. Maybe I asked too many questions. Maybe she’s already figured it out.
“No, Titus just nearly threw a water bottle at the horse trainer.” Her voice comes out clipped.
“I thought I could get in a thirty-minute workout inside my trailer without him losing his shit again, seeing as it’s damn near midnight here, but I might need to jump off this call in a sec.
I have a live feed of the film set rolling in here, just in case I—”
She pauses midsentence.
Simon and I both lean into the phone, waiting to hear what she’s witnessing across the pond right now while her client films a new rendition of Pride and Prejudice.
I peer at Simon just as a string of expert-level cuss words comes streaming out of her mouth to fill the room.
We both shrink away from the speaker while I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.
Titus’ temper has just kicked off Hollis’ equally legendary swearing abilities. If Hollis could win gold for multitasking, she could go platinum for cussing.
“Holl?” I pry, hoping for an update.
“No, no, I think it’s fine. He held it together. Just, hold on, let me make sure he doesn’t — oh fucking hell, he’s unbuckling his leather chaps again. Hang on.”
Simon and I make eye contact, and I swallow down a laugh.
“Again?” I mouth silently.
“And since when does Mr. Darcy wear leather chaps?” Simon whispers back, covering the mouthpiece.
I clasp a hand over my mouth just as Hollis comes back on the line and fills the whole room with a sigh.
“No, I think we’re good. He’s — yeah, no, he’s good.”
There’s some beeping, followed by the sound of a treadmill rolling and her feet pounding again.