Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
HOLLIS
I fucking hate ties.
Actually, I just hate dress clothes in general.
When I’m at the club, I’m always in a suit. Since moving to LA, though, it’s just t-shirts, jeans, and what Pres calls my slutty sweats.
But not today.
I fiddle with the bow tie around my neck for the hundredth time, letting out a frustrated sigh. My phone starts to vibrate on the dresser beside me.
I pick it up and see Jonas’s name flashing across the screen. I swipe to answer, and his face appears on the video call.
He’s lounging on his leather sofa. The sun has already set on the East Coast, and even though it’s not even Thanksgiving, their apartment is covered in Christmas lights. “Oh damn, you look snazzy.”
My expression turns doubtful. “You can only see me from, like, the chest up.”
He motions with a finger. “You’re standing in front of a mirror, genius. I can see your reflection.”
I raise a brow. “So basically, you’re checking out my ass?”
He snorts. “No, I’m checking out your tux. Is that Armani?”
I set my phone back on the dresser, propping it against a picture so Jonas doesn’t have to stare at the ceiling. I need to get this tie figured out. Pres is in the bathroom finishing up her makeup, and I want to be done by the time she comes out.
“Fuck if I know,” I answer, trying to remember the directions the salesclerk gave me. “Hendrix sent me to this place he goes to. They picked it out.”
“I could have helped you. Hell, I could have just shipped you something from my closet. No—the other way.” He motions with his finger, pointing at my tie. “It goes under, then over.”
I do what he says, but shoot him a sideways glance. “And risk ending up in something in a jewel tone or velvet at my first public outing with the Creeds? No thanks.”
“You could totally pull off emerald green.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I decided to stick with black. I don’t know what Pres is wearing. She wanted to surprise me.”
“Kind of like how I was surprised today when I got a wedding invitation in the mail…from my best friend.”
I abandon my bow tie and grab the phone from the dresser. “Shit. I didn’t know those went out already.” Halloween was less than two weeks ago, and nearly every second we haven’t been working or at the bar, Pres and I have been making up for lost time.
I’ve taken her out on at least half a dozen dates—museums, movie theaters, restaurants. We drove to Malibu and walked on the beach. We went bowling with Hendrix and Zara in Hollywood. And we’ve fucked. A lot.
In that time, I meant to tell Jonas. I wasn’t intentionally keeping anything from him. The club is at a point in the development process where I’m not needed every day, and I may have taken advantage of that. I let the real world go for a moment and just enjoyed being happy for once.
I didn’t realize Tilly would end up accidentally telling him for me, but I guess she wants to make sure people have enough time to plan, since it’s right in the middle of the holiday season.
Jonas’s phone is snatched away from him, and Keisha’s face appears. “What my husband is trying to say is, spill. Now.”
I lick my lips, my eyes darting to the bathroom door where my wife is getting ready. A slow, goofy smile creeps across my face. “Oh shit,” Jonas says. “You’re not coming back, are you?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“Hell fucking yeah, you are!” Jonas shouts out at the same time his wife yells, “That’s our boy!”
They side hug like they’re congratulating each other for a job well done.
I roll my eyes.
“This mean you’re finally gonna unpack all those boxes you’ve been carrying around?” he asks. “I’ll pay to have all that shit from your storage unit shipped myself.”
I shake my head. “No, not quite yet.”
They give each other a quizzical look, and I don’t offer any more on the subject, so Jonas moves on. “So I’m your best man, right?”
I tug at the tight neck of my shirt collar. So fucking tight. “About that—”
“What do you mean about that? You were my best man. Now return the favor.”
Keisha smacks his chest. “It’s not a gift exchange, baby.”
“We’re not having a bridal party,” I explain. “She has too many siblings, and the numbers don’t work out. Too many groomsmen, not enough bridesmaids. Plus, we just want to keep it simple. Her niece is going to be the flower girl, and that’s it.”
A shocked expression paints his face. “So…no best man?”
I give him a knowing grin. Was he really that worried I’d choose someone else? “Nope.”
“All right. I guess I can live with that.”
Keisha pats him on the shoulder, holding back a laugh. “You sure, baby? ’Cause you seemed pretty jealous there for a second.”
I chuckle as I resume the struggle with my tie. I set my phone back on the dresser. “Was not,” he mutters. “Just concerned he was going to put me in some boring ass tux like that.” He gestures toward me, then both his and Keisha’s eyes go wide.
“Oh shit,” Keisha curses. “Nothing is boring about that.”
I turn to see what’s caught their attention. Standing in the middle of the room is my wife in a stunning red satin gown. Her hair is in loose curls and pinned to one side. She’s wearing a pair of sexy red heels, and I swear that slit goes all the way up.
“Jonas, I gotta go,” I say without even bothering to look back. My eyes are glued to the woman in front of me.
“Yeah, you do.” He chuckles, but quickly adds before hanging up, “Happy for you, man.”
“I need help with the zipper,” she says.
“In a minute. Let me just look at you.”
She watches as I stalk toward her. Her gaze drags down my body. “You look really good in that tux.”
“Not as good as you look in this dress.”
“I chose it because of the color. I remember how you kept checking me out in my red summer dress when we were walking down the strip in Vegas.”
I grin as my eyes wander over every inch of her. “Oh, that had nothing to do with the color. I just couldn’t stop staring at your legs. But I do believe red is quickly becoming my new favorite color.”
She instantly blushes. “Do you think we’ll ever remember that night?”
I walk behind her, placing a tender kiss on her shoulder before my hand reaches her zipper. “I hope so. But if not, I’m just happy it brought me here.”
I slowly zip her up, smoothing my hand over the curve of her spine. She’s so fucking beautiful.
“Me too,” she answers, turning in my arms to place a soft kiss on my lips. “But it would still be nice to know who came up with the idea.”
She stares at me innocently, batting her eyelashes. My mouth gapes open. “You think it was me!”
“Well, it wasn’t me.” She laughs. “I would have been way too scared to mess up our friendship.”
“But I wouldn’t? I pined after you for months like one of those sad heroes from those romance novels you have lying all over the apartment.”
Her eyes crinkle with amusement. “It’s called yearning, Hollis. Get it right.”
“Pretty sure it’s just called jacking off every morning with your name on my lips.”
Her mouth falls open, and we both laugh. “You’re probably right, though,” I admit. “I am the one who kissed you that night. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the one who thought up the idea of getting married. Doesn’t alcohol bring out your deepest desires?”
Her eyes soften. “So you’re saying that when we were blackout drunk, your deepest desire wasn’t to get me naked, but to propose marriage?”
“Hell yeah,” I answer. “Why have one night when you can have them all?”
When Pres asked if I was nervous about tonight, I told her no. I was used to the glitz and glamour of wealthy people. I owned an ultra-exclusive nightclub that celebrities frequented.
This was basically the same thing, right?
It was not.
As soon as we stepped out of the limo, I knew I was in over my head. There were cameras flashing, people shouting, and I couldn’t see a damn thing.
“Don’t look at the camera. Save your eyes for the red carpet,” Pres says, as I button my jacket and wrap an arm around her.
“Now you tell me.”
The whole family is here for Lance. He’s been in the industry for decades, and tonight he’s being honored with a lifetime achievement award in artist management.
It’s basically the equivalent of a Grammy in his field, which is why there is so much press.
Nearly every artist Lance represents is here, as well as a bunch of other celebs and people in the industry.
The family met for dinner at a restaurant owned by one of Lance’s old friends. He closed the whole place to accommodate us, allowing everyone to enjoy the meal without worrying about cameras or Manic fans.
That part of the evening is over, though.
Hendrix and Zara are ahead of us and getting most of the attention.
His arm is protectively around her waist as the paparazzi try to get their attention.
They throw out questions about his health and updates about the band.
He gives a polite wave, ignoring their questions and requests to stop for photos.
Pres and I do the same until—
“Presley! Do you have a response to the rumors that your ex threatened to release a sex tape of you?”
My head snaps in the direction of the speaker.
He’s a younger guy, probably mid-twenties.
He has a press pass around his neck, and all I can make out is the huge smile stretched across his face.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I take a step in front of Pres, shielding her from the cameras flashing.
His grin widens, and he takes a step forward. Messy beard. Black beanie. Calculating eyes. “Simply wondering if the rumors are true.”
But that’s the thing. There are no rumors.
On top of hiring a top-notch lawyer, I also recruited the expertise of a cyber tech genius recommended by Detective Cortez.
He’s been monitoring social media, gossip sites, and everything in between to make sure Presley’s name never makes it to the headlines.
And so far, there’s been nothing. Not even a whisper.
So how the fuck does this guy know?