Chapter 56 – Mindy
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
The return of Twatface
Mindy
Standing at the stovetop in Remi’s kitchen, I stir the potatoes, singing along to “Kiss,” one of my all-time favorite songs. My earbuds are in, and I’m jamming out because seriously… how can you not shake your ass when Prince is blaring in your ears?
I taste a chunk of potato and find it nice and tender, so I turn down the heat. Adding some milk, cream, and butter, I stir before dashing in some salt and pepper.
My eyes flit to the clock over the massive stove, which is big enough to cook a horse if one felt so inclined. I only thought the appliances in my new place were nice. His shit is next level, like, restaurant worthy.
He should be here in about thirty minutes.
Looking down at my “outfit,” I grin. There’s definitely not much to it.
Red panties, and a white ruffly apron make up the entire ensemble.
The apron barely covers my goodies in the front, and it’s completely open in the back, other than the neat bow.
If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll have me as an appetizer.
Reaching for the loaf of fresh garlic bread, I open the package and slide it onto a baking sheet. Then I go back to my soup, stirring it with a wooden spoon while Prince and I hit a crescendo on the song.
Then someone taps me on the shoulder, and I scream like I’m being murdered, throwing the spoon in the air and spraying soup in about a five foot radius as I whirl around and find…
“Serena?”
She waves and says something, but I can’t hear her because Prince is still singing in my ears. With a trembling hand, I remove my earbuds and repeat my question. “Serena?”
With a huge smile, she chirps, “I’m here!”
“I’m… yeah… you’re here,” I say, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. “Why are you here?”
“I’m staying for a few days while my floors are getting redone.” Serena giggles. “What the heck are you wearing?”
Fuck. My face heats in embarrassment.
“Oh, just a thing that… you know, it was hot in the kitchen,” I say stupidly, waving my hand like it’s no big deal.
My brain has a flashback to that time I stripped down on the way to Roger’s kitchen, only to find out his mother was in the house.
I really need to start being more careful with my risqué kitchen seduction efforts.
It’s apparently not my forte. “I’m going to go get changed.
Will you watch the soup while I’m upstairs? ”
Her eyebrows inch together as her eyes flit to the stove as if I’m heating up a bomb. “Like, just stare at it?”
A giggle escapes around the annoyance I’m starting to feel. She’s so damn clueless. “Never mind. I’ll just turn it off until I get back.”
I return a few minutes later, fully dressed, to find Serena at the bar with two glasses of white wine. “I poured you some too.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a long swig before going about the task of cleaning up the mess I’d made.
Needless to say, the evening did not turn out how I expected. Instead of being ravaged by my boyfriend in the kitchen, I had dinner with Remi and Serena before we all ended up on the cushy sofa, watching The Devil Wears Prada on Remi’s wall-sized television. He fell asleep about halfway through.
As the credits roll, Serena gives his sleeping form an amused look. “I think we bored him to death.”
“I’ll get him upstairs,” I say, shaking Remi until he startles awake.
“Gird your loins,” he calls, and Serena and I giggle at him quoting a line from the movie.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” I say, standing and pulling him to his feet.
After getting him to bed, I kiss his messy dark hair and sigh before heading down to my apartment. At least Serena will only be here for a few days.
A few days turns into a week because Serena decided to have her walls painted—white, of course—while the workers already had her furniture moved. She’s become a bit of a fixture in our evenings, which is annoying at times, but I’m trying to be patient.
It’s not all bad. Serena is a spoiled little rich girl, but she’s also witty, and there are times I actually enjoy her company. More often than not, I find myself shaking my head that she doesn’t use that wit toward something productive.
But I never fully let my guard down around her because I remember how she acted that first day we met. Not to mention Gianna Bouvier’s snake emoji warning.
“You two look fantastic,” she beams, clapping as she looks us over.
It's the night of the mayor’s dinner. Remi is in an orgasmic black tuxedo, and I’m wearing a red Valentino sheath dress I found at Neiman Marcus in Houston.
Serena invited herself on my shopping trip, which had me gritting my teeth, but she was actually pretty helpful when I was trying to decide between this one and one with a flowier skirt.
She said this one made my boobs look good.
I tried to encourage her to start up her personal shopping business again, but she told me last time she did, she spent all of her profits shopping for herself as well.
“Let me take some pictures of you,” Serena says, directing us to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in Remi’s living room.
She keeps snapping away until Remi grumpily bites out, “Enough. We’re not going to the fucking senior prom, Serena.”
She clasps her hands beneath her chin and coos, “Oh, but my babies look so beautiful. Make sure to wear your seat belts and be home by nine.”
We arrive at the venue, and Mayor Martinez meets us at the door. She looks beautiful in a long navy suit-dress that flatters her curvy figure.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mindy,” she says, giving me an air kiss to keep from ruining our makeup. “And good to see you again, Remington.” She does the same with him.
“We’re happy to be here,” he replies. “I can’t tell you how honored I am to receive this award.”
“It’s well deserved,” the mayor says before patting his upper arm. “I hear you welcomed a new Hale into the world this week. How are Helix and his wife doing?”
Remi literally radiates pride from every pore. “They’re doing great, and baby Nicholas is healthy. Mindy and I went to see them yesterday.”
“He has the softest little dark curls and the kind of chubby cheeks you just want to pinch,” I add.
Maria makes a gimme motion with her hand. “I know you have pictures. Let me see.”
We chat and the mayor makes a fuss over the photos for a few minutes before she gestures us toward the ballroom of the hotel.
As we enter, my eye catches on the sign perched on an easel just outside the door.
It lists the businesses who have representatives attending the dinner, and one in particular stands out: First National Bank.
“What’s wrong?” Remi asks, sensing my mood immediately.
I tilt my head at the sign. “Twatface’s bank is listed, so he might be here.”
Remi’s brown eyes turn black, and a muscle tics in his jaw. “I’ll tell Martinez to have him removed if he’s here.”
Smiling up at him, I squeeze his arm. “Thank you, but no, don’t do that. It’ll be fine.”
His nostrils flare. “It won’t be fine if I end up in jail for knocking his lights out.”
“Yeah, let’s not do that.” I stroke his arm soothingly. “He’s nothing to me anymore. You’re my everything.”
He pulls me closer. “And you’re mine.”
Mayor Martinez turns around, her eyes showing concern when she looks back and forth between us. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” I say, putting on my brightest smile. “We were just discussing someone I used to know.”
She narrows her eyes but she nods. “Excellent. Come on, and I’ll introduce you to some people.”
We mingle, sip excellent champagne, and visit with business owners and some local politicians. There’s even a senator here, a man Remi has played golf with in the past. Everyone is so nice, and I feel my body relax against Remi’s.
“Would you like another drink, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing his lips across my temple. I love how affectionate he is with me. He’s being honored at this event filled with important people, and yet there hasn’t been a single second when his hand hasn’t been somewhere on my body.
I look down into my almost empty glass and reply, “I would love one.”
“Be right back,” he says, allowing his hand to drift from the small of my back, lightly grazing my ass as he pulls away. The cheeky wink he throws me lets me know he did that on purpose.
I’m admiring Remi’s backside as he props a foot on a barstool and sticks one hand in his pants pocket, making his jacket lift a little, when I hear my name.
Fucking hell.
Turning, I force a smile on my lips as I come face to face with my ex.
“Roger,” I say mildly because I really fucking hate this asshole.
His eyes assess me, raking up and down my body, and I do the same to him. I’m mildly amused to see his hairline seems to have receded about an inch since I saw him a few months ago. Also, his tux is ill-fitting, hanging off his shoulders in an unnatural way.
“You look great,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply, not returning the compliment because seriously… what did I ever see in this man? He’s not unattractive on the surface, but he’s not exactly hot either. Certainly not compared to the man I’m with now. Hell, movie stars pale in comparison to Remington Hale.
“What are you doing here?” Twatface asks. I need to try and remember not to call him that to his face.
“I’m on a date.”
His lips tighten, but then he lifts his chin proudly. “I am too. She’s the first person I’ve dated since…” He makes a little circle in the air with his cocktail glass. “You know.”
“Since you stole all my money and sold my family heirlooms?” I ask sweetly.
A frown flashes across his face, and he averts his gaze from mine. “I thought maybe it would make you want to come back to me.”
I gape at him incredulously, and then my inner smartass rears her head. “That’s certainly worked out well for you, Rog. Good job.” I give him a sarcastic thumbs up. Then I take the last sip of my champagne. “I got my collection back, by the way.”
Twatface’s eyes widen, and he stammers out a response. “B-but how?”