CHAPTER 6 JUSTIN
JUSTIN
“So where’s the ring now?” Brax asked three days later.
After the fight, Melanie had taken a cab to the airport, and Justin hadn’t heard from her since.
But she must have spoken to people in New York, because the news had trickled down the social grapevine and reached Brax’s ears at mid-afternoon today.
Rather than interrogate Justin over the phone, he’d picked him up at seven, then gone to collect Grey Meyer, and now they were in the VIP area of an uncomfortably hip DC joint filled with men who made the wheels of government turn and beautiful women wearing shoes that looked eye-wateringly painful.
Three of the women had already tried approaching Grey, and he’d given each of them a subtle shake of the head.
He’d been forced to tone down his debauchery since being elected to Congress.
Voters on his side of the aisle didn’t tolerate scandal.
The final person at their table was Ava, Grey’s chief of staff, a no-nonsense British import who took it upon herself to act as chaperone.
“The ring is still in the HVAC duct. Do you think I wasn’t supportive enough?”
“Buddy, you paid for her to move to New York to get the job she wanted,” Brax said. “She was a second-rate masseuse before she got involved with you.”
“Not second-rate. I mean, she was great at getting the kinks out of my shoulders.”
Grey smacked his head. “Way to miss the point. Which is that she didn’t have the drive or ambition to make the move until you handed her everything she needed on a plate. Are you still paying the rent on the Brooklyn apartment?”
“I can’t leave her destitute.”
“How much does she earn now?”
“We’ve never gotten into that.”
“And you were planning to get married? She probably makes more than you do. And if you want my thoughts, her ‘doting girlfriend’ mask began to slip right after we advised you to get a prenup. Without it, she would’ve bled you dry.”
Grey wasn’t wrong; Justin just hadn’t wanted to see it.
Brax had been half joking when he mentioned signing a prenup, but Melanie’s reaction rang enough alarm bells that Justin had asked his lawyer to draw up the paperwork, despite her protests that, “We shouldn’t need a piece of paper when we love each other. You do love me, don’t you?”
Ava put a hand on Justin’s. “Look, I know that officially, I should be on Team Sisterhood, but she was taking the bloody piss. Stop being a doormat.”
“I’ve been telling him that for months,” Brax added, and she shot a withering glare in his direction.
“Your opinion is tempered by the fact that you spent a decade married to a psycho. It doesn’t hold much weight.”
Grey tried defending him. “His second wife is remarkably normal.”
“And your longest relationship lasted six weeks, Congressman Charisma.”
“You realise I pay your salary, right?”
“You realise I’m the only person standing between you, some stupid scandal, and having to resign in disgrace?”
Brax snorted into his wine. “She isn’t lying, bud.”
A waitress sashayed over and loaded the two empty wine bottles onto a tray. Unlike the guests, she wore sensible shoes, although her tiny shorts and too-tight shirt still attracted attention. Grey looked her up and down slowly, gave a made-for-TV smile, and asked for another bottle of Merlot.
Ava turned back to Justin. “You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you?”
He tried to brush off the accusation. “Why would I feel guilty?”
“Because for once in your life, you said ‘no’ to someone, and she didn’t take it well. Is it true you only asked her to marry you after she started complaining about your lack of commitment?”
Justin gave Grey the stink eye. “I told you that in confidence.”
“I don’t have any secrets from Ava.”
“Yeah, right.”
Ava carried on regardless. “I imagine you’re also worried about being left on the shelf. What are you now, thirty-five?”
“Thirty-two. I spend a lot of time outdoors, okay?”
“The rugged look suits you. Just have some fun.”
“Fun? Be serious.”
“Okay, fine. Go home and cry into a glass of wine, then burn all the pictures of you and Melanie together and sign up for therapy.”
“Did anyone even invite you tonight?” Brax asked.
“Look, I’m twenty-nine, and do you see me freaking out about my biological clock? No, you do not. There are far worse fates than being single—I could be straight and dating an asshole like Grey, for example.”
“That would be worse,” Justin conceded, at the same time as Grey said, “Hey!”
“Repeat after me,” Ava continued. “No more crazy redheads.”
“’Crazy’ is a strong word. And I don’t think Melanie was insane, not in the clinical sense.”
Justin looked at Grey, and Grey, the man with the minor in psychology, held up his hands.
“Don’t get me involved.”
“No. More. Crazy. Redheads,” Ava repeated. “Pick a brunette. A blonde, even. That pair by the bar keep checking you out.”
Justin glanced sideways and spotted two stunning blondes in skyscraper heels. The one on the left smiled and gave a little wave.
“Fine, no more crazy redheads. But I bet those barflies are more interested in Grey.”
“Fools. Only a masochist, a spy, or a lunatic would want to tangle with Grey. I fall into the first category, by the way, and that’s because he pays me a bunch of money.”
“I should fire you,” Grey muttered.
“No, you shouldn’t. Remember those workplace protections you voted for? You’d end up owing me even more money.”
“Fuck.”
“And who would answer all those pesky procedural queries you come up with at three a.m.? I mean, what does the twenty-eighth amendment cover, Grey? Go on, tell me.”
“Is that the one about the prohibition of liquor?”
Brax groaned.
“What?” Grey asked.
“There are only twenty-seven amendments.”
“Right. Well, you see what I have to work with? A sharp-tongued pain in the ass who asks me trick questions after three glasses of wine.”
“So now you’re blaming your lack of constitutional knowledge on being a lightweight?” Ava asked, and Grey put his head in his hands.
Ava turned her sights back on Justin, and he wanted to hide too.
“So, as I was saying, you should go have hot rebound sex. And do it quickly, because I bet you fifty bucks Melanie will come crawling back once she realises she has to start paying her own rent, and you need to be over her. Ov-er her.” Ava drew out each syllable.
“If I hear you’ve made any kind of apology, I’ll come and perform your lobotomy personally. ”
“There’s an argument to say he’s already had the lobotomy,” Brax said, and Grey flipped a condom in Justin’s direction.
“Have fun, buddy.”
Justin sighed and emptied his fourth glass of wine. With friends like these, who needed enemies?