Chapter 18 #2
And because he’s the damn best man who should be helping me prevent a disaster, I don’t hesitate before saying, “Mila decided Robbie is cheating on her, so now she’s forcing everyone to investigate it like we’re in an episode of CSI.”
He alternates his gaze between the dining room and the bottle of Merlot he just set on the counter, but never at me. When he wants to insult me, he makes sure everyone knows who he’s talking to.
But I think both of us would rather die than let anyone here see us next to each other… having a conversation.
“Robbie wouldn’t do that.”
“I know he wouldn’t. But whatever you guys are hiding is making her think he is.”
He reaches for the corkscrew, breaks the plastic seal with the metal tip, peels the paper label around the bottle as he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Because I’m a helpless idiot, I remind him.
“Answering unknown calls, disappearing without explanation… Obviously he’s hiding something. And obviously you’re involved because she said she saw you two whispering under the stairs.”
“Me? Involved in some secret scheme of lies?”
“Your entire job is a scheme of lies, Jasper.”
“I never lie in my job, Jules. I just distort the truth. It’s different.” I look at him with the most skeptical face I can make, waiting for him to recall every lie he’s told me. Jasper shrugs. “I lie to you because you look cute when you’re angry.”
The problem with this idiot is that he needs to be in control of everything. Nothing rattles him. Nothing throws him off balance or even gets him slightly confused. No threats or tricks can make him trip over his own words.
And it’s a nightmare because I’m a freaking journalist! My job is literally to get information people don’t plan on giving.
But, hey, the first thing I learned in interviews is: everyone has a weakness.
And once you find it, you strike.
You look cute when you’re angry.
And that’s exactly why I get an idea.
His words echo in my head at the same time I remember the look on his face in the bathroom this afternoon. That was the closest I’ve ever come to making him lose control.
If I managed once, I’m pretty sure I can do it again.
I straighten up, turn half my body toward him, acting bold enough not to care if someone sees it, and say, replacing my impatience with a deliberately wicked smile, “Just so you know, I have good methods for getting the truth out of someone. And I’m not afraid to play dirty.”
Lie. I’m terrified of playing dirty! That’s why I interview athletes for some silly sports website and not… well, politicians or whatever.
Jasper gives me a crooked smile, completely unaffected.
“Are you trying to seduce me or threaten me, Julie?”
“Does it make a difference to you?” I ask, just as steady.
He shrugs, forced to admit, “No, I like both options.”
And now that he’s placed the corkscrew in the bottle, he decides he needs to focus on the task and seems to forget we were even talking.
“You should at least remember that you’re the best man and your main job is to stop any shit from happening before the wedding. At this rate, shit is happening.”
“My main job, Julia, is to keep the groom happy and do whatever he tells me to without question.”
“So he told you to do something?”
“Even if he did, attorney-client confidentiality prevents me from discussing it.”
“He’s not your client, you asshole! He’s your best friend! And he’s about to ruin a wedding that hasn’t even happened yet because of his own stupidity. She’s trying to steal his phone!”
Jasper sighs.
“Does she know the password?”
“No. But Elise already suggested spiking his drink to try figuring it out.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Are you really willing to let this happen, Jasper?” I say his name the way I like it. As if it’s a contagious disease.
“This what, exactly?” he asks, twisting the corkscrew with infuriating calm.
“The bride trying to drug the groom. Invading his phone. Convincing herself he’s cheating,” I list.
“It’s not cheating,” he finally says, glancing around the room again.
I take a step closer.
“Then tell me what it is.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He reaches for another glass in the cabinet. Still acting busy. Still not looking at me. Still pretending we are definitely not talking.
“Does it make a difference, Jules?”
“Don’t call me Jules while you’re lying to me, you jerk!” I snap.
Too loud.
Too much attention.
Only then he looks at me. With the sole purpose of warning me to shut up.
He places two glasses side by side and begins filling them slowly. So slowly it doesn’t seem humanly possible.
He’s just stalling.
“Meet me later and we’ll figure something out.”
“I’m not going to your room if you keep lying to me.”
“Stop saying I’m lying.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Just omitting information.”
I scoff, trying to decide if it’s still worth arguing or if I should give up entirely. He slides the second glass across the counter toward me.
I stare at it, lost in thought, barely noticing when he moves away from the counter with his drink and walks behind me, slowly.
Slow enough to make the hairs on my neck stand on end as he says, “Think of it this way…” he brushes his lips against my hair so subtly I’m not sure it happened, “…in my room you can use other tactics to get what you want out of me, Julie.”
“The only thing I want to get out of you is your head, Assman,” I say, but he’s already walking away.
Not that it matters. I wasn’t exactly telling the truth.
I want to get answers out of him, sure.
I also want to get his clothes off, obviously.
You know it, everyone knows it.
I’m weak.
I’m a crazy pervert. And I’m very, very weak.