9. Quinn
Quinn
“God, I needed this,” Allegra sighs as she leans back in the pool.
By the way, it’s a kiddie pool, big enough that we can stretch out but not deep enough that we can cover both our knees and our boobs at the same time.
But it’s situated half in the shade under a giant maple tree in Allegra’s backyard, and with Kimbree sleeping in a Pack-n-Play nearby and White Claws in hand, it might as well be a beachfront resort in Tahiti.
“This is life, isn’t it?” she asks. “I’m so glad you had the day off and could come hang out at Roberts Hotel and Spa,”
I chuckle, but my smile fades a little.
“Well. We’ll have to enjoy it while it lasts,” I say, taking a sip of my black cherry seltzer.
“Oh, did you find a donor?” she asks. “I’m sorry, Dustin and I can’t give more.”
“Okay, first of all, five hundred a month is more than generous. Especially since you’re one of the therapists. It’s like negative money for you,” I say.
“It’s a tax break, is what it is. But you know that’s not why we do it,” she waves her hand. “Anyway, did you find someone?”
Allegra obviously already knows all the details on what’s going on. All the therapists I work with do. After all, if they’re going to lose clients, it’s very much their business.
“I did,” I say. “Though it’s the last person I wanted to ask…” I trail off, and Allegra waits. I can’t see through her shades, but I know she’s staring at me. Then, after a long sip of my White Claw, I spill it. “Reid,”
“Reid?” she asks, pushing her shades up. “As in that guy from Dani’s wedding that had you reeling for no less than two weeks?”
“The one and only,” I answer. “And for the record, I’m still reeling. He drives me utterly mad, Allegra.”
“I know he does. So why did you ask him? I’m sure there are plenty of wealthy men you could have charmed into doing it. Ones that don’t make you crazy or believe that love is a myth.”
“Yeah well, I don’t really have time to go hunting for sugar daddies,” I mutter. “And I knew he’d say yes. Though it was a process.”
“Of course it was. He’s a lawyer. A divorce lawyer. What the hell do you offer him in return for the money?” she asks, glancing over at Kimbree to make sure she’s still asleep.
“Not much. I just have to be his date to all the weddings he has to go to this summer,” I answer as casually as possible, though I know she’s not seeing it that way.
“Weddings. The Grim Reaper himself offered to fund We Still Do in exchange for a wedding date? What’s he want you to do? Hold his scythe for him while he does J?gerbombs?” she spits out.
Allegra doesn’t easily get revved up, so I know this is coming as a real shocker to her. And rightfully so. But alas, it is done. And considering I’ve already informed the other therapists of it, I have to follow through.
“I don’t think Reid is really a shots kind of guy,” I say as if it’s relevant at all.
“Of course not. He prefers to sip scotch while tearing marriage licenses in half,” she mutters, taking a long sip of her seltzer.
“He’s not that bad,” I argue, and even I know it’s a lie. He really is that bad. “He has a lot of money…”
At this point, I am just trying to justify it.
“Yeah, dirty money,” she says, putting her shades back on. “The man is literally our enemy, Quinn. What would your dad think?”
Ugh. She would use that against me.
“My dad is also an attorney,” I say.
“Not one that ends marriages,” she points out.
“Look,” I say. “I…I know. But I had no other choice. He was actually the one that suggested the deal. I mean, not the funding part. But he was looking for someone to go to weddings with. Someone to prevent him from looking like a fuckboy…”
“Oh, and taking a girl he hardly knows is supposed to soften his reputation?” she asks.
“Nobody knows we don’t really know each other. The idea is him taking the same girl to every wedding,” I tell her.
“And then what?”
“And then…it’s over,” I say, and Allegra shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just…I got an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. It kind of gives me the ick. And what about his age? Isn’t he like fifty?”
“I think he’s forty-eight,” I say. “But that’s fine. It’s only a twenty-year age gap…”
“I forgot you like em well done,” she says, leaning back.
“I prefer the term seasoned,” I say, and she smiles.
“Yeah, with plenty of salt and pepper,” she teases, and I laugh.
“He is pretty hot,” I admit. “Though I do feel like I’ve seen him before…” I trail off.
“He’s a bigshot Manhattan lawyer. I’m sure he’s got his face plastered on dozens of billboards around the city.’
“Can you imagine?” I giggle.
“Yeah. Love ends. Life shouldn’t,” she laughs.
“Divorce–the final frontier,” I add.
“I un-do,” she cackles, and we both crack up.
Honestly, it’s not funny. Divorce is never funny. But laughing at Reid’s expense isn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon, especially since soon I’m going to be spending weeks on end putting up with his shit.
And the thought of that makes my nerves feel staticky under my skin. For what reason, I’m not a hundred percent sure.