Chapter 7 #2
The moment I do, my eyes lock on Jules. She’s leaning against the brick wall, phone in her hand, probably on her work break.
I start to lift my hand to wave—because a wave seems appropriate after what transpired between us the other night—but as soon as she sees me, she walks out of earshot to continue her own phone call.
No. She doesn’t just walk away. She does so with an impressive air of dismissal. I’ve never claimed to be a body language expert, but as Jules turns her back on me, she’s clearly telling me to fuck off.
Well, alrighty then.
I can’t blame her for hating me a little more than usual after I tried to sneak out of her bed, only to get busted by her unexpected houseguest, all in my birthday suit. Yeah. Not my finest moment…
Shaking my head loose of the memory, I bring my attention back to my call with my babysitter. “So you’re sure nothing’s wrong with Cameron?”
“Yeah, Cameron’s still at school until I’m supposed to pick him up in a few hours. But that’s kind of what I wanted to call you about.”
“Oh?” My heart instantly starts pounding. I know how these conversations go.
“I don’t think I can get him from school,” she announces.
Shit.
I’m already pulling up my calendar on my phone, and trying to measure the distance between my afternoon meeting and the school pick-up time. “Well, I might be able to get him today, but definitely not tom—”
“Uh, sorry, I should have been clear. I can’t pick up Cameron at all anymore, Mr. R. Like, ever. I need to”—she clears her throat—“resign.”
“Resign?! You’ve only worked two days. Did Cameron do something? Is the pay not adequate? What’s the problem?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” She clicks her tongue. “Cameron’s great. It’s just that, my dream is to be a fashion influencer, and there’s this mega fashionista event in New York tomorrow, and if I don’t go pursue this right now, I’ll never forgive myself. It’s my calling! I hope you understand.”
Is this really happening right now? I rub at my temples, trying to tamp down my frustration. “So you quit? Today?”
“My cousin got me a plane ticket. It’s economy class. But we’ve all got to start somewhere, right?” she squeals loudly into my ear, amplifying the headache that’s coming on. “Anyway, I leave tonight!”
Fuck.
“Can you at least stay until I get home today?”
“Oh, Mr. R. I wish I could. But I need to get my outfits together, and I haven’t even started packing yet.”
She starts yammering about dresses and skirts and accessories, and I’ve never been more thankful to have a son. Because what the fuck am I supposed to say to all that?
Gabby is still talking. “So anyway, I’ve got to peace out like right now. Is that okay? Cameron will be okay, right?”
Is this okay?! Fuck, no. It’s not! None of this is!
I let out a loud exhale.“This is extremely inconvenient—and sudden—but I’ll figure it out.” I always do.
“Thanks, Mr. R. The fashion world is going to thank you one day! You just wait!”
“Sure.”
When I end my call and turn around, it looks like Jules is doing the same. At first, I think she’s going to finally say hello, but when her eyes dart between my face and the back door, I realize I’m just in her way. I’m blocking her entrance back inside. And she’s not happy about it.
For a moment, I’m tempted to not budge, just to mess with her.
Just to see how long before she finds her manners and says ‘excuse me’.
But I need to get back inside and try to salvage my meeting.
And then try to hire a new babysitter. My to-do list keeps growing and growing.
As fun as she is, I’m afraid I don’t have time for games with Jules today.
I yank open the door, gesturing for her to enter ahead of me. “Ladies first.” I try not to check out her long legs.
Instead of thanking me, she cuts her eyes at me. “Oh, all of a sudden you’re Mr. Etiquette now?”
Wow. So much hostility in this one.
“There’s really no reason for you to have that attitude with me after I gave you such a nice orgasm the other night,” I say snarkily.
Jules grunts. “I faked it.”
I roll my eyes at that. “Liar.”
Her cheeks flame red. She stomps her foot. “You are such a jerk. I can’t believe I touched your penis. You so did not deserve the honor.”
Said penis stirs inside my pants, just happy to be acknowledged. “Can we leave my penis out of this?”
“He started it.” Jules fumes. “He got me into this whole mess.”
I discreetly stroke a hand over my insulted genitalia. He’s been through a heck of a lot over the past few days.
I open my mouth and I say the douchiest words I have ever uttered. “At least I made sure you were taken care of. I’ve been suffering from the most painful case of blue balls since you conveniently ‘fell asleep’ and left me hanging.”
Her nose turns up at me in utter disgust. “Oh, poor you. Cry harder.”
I get it. She’s mad at herself for hopping into bed with someone she hates, so now she’s in defensive mode. The feeling is mutual.
“Look, I don’t want to stand here making small talk about what we did the other night,” Jules bites. “That little roll between the sheets with you might cost me my trust fund. Stupid goddamn morality clause,” she mutters under her breath.
Intrigued by what she just said, I abandon the door handle. The door closes with a soft thud as I wait for her to elaborate. But her lips are now clamped shut.
“Oh, a trust fund baby. Interesting,” I say when she leaves me waiting for a response.
This revelation is quite interesting. It establishes a new and unexpected layer to Jules. Yet another thing I can’t help but be curious about.
A trust fund means family. History. Connection. Backstory.
Getting cut off from said trust fund? Well, that means family drama. And I’m curious about that, too.
For some reason, I want to know more about Jules. A part of me wants to know everything. But I won’t ask. Too much pride for that.
She rolls her eyes up to her hairline. “Stop making assumptions about me. My trust fund is…complicated. Plus, I’m having a shitty day, okay?” She shoots me a dirty look.
I scoff. “You’re not the only one having a shitty day.
I’m having lunch with a bunch of hypocritical philanderers who don’t want to do business with me on the grounds that—” I shut myself up, resisting the urge to yank on my hair.
Rule number one of business—never expose your vulnerabilities to a rival.
But Jules’s narrowed eyes flick up to mine. Something I said caught her attention. “On the grounds that you’re not married…” she states, shocking me shitless.
Before I can control my reaction, my eyebrows dip down on a frown.
Jules chuckles. “I might have overheard some of your business meeting today. I got the gist that they didn’t like you because you’re single? Fucking stupid, if you ask me. But whatever.”
I blink slowly. “Yeah. Whatever.”
A second ago, Jules looked ready to flee, but now she looks curious, too. Maybe the idea that we’re both having a shitty day brings us a connection through our shared misery. Maybe she’ll offer me a little empathy.
Ha! Doubtful. She’s probably just thrilled that I’m failing at life.
“Well, I’m practically about to get cut out of my family estate until I have a husband,” she mutters out of nowhere, kicking at a pebble on the ground.
“Ouch!” I flinch. So that’s what’s got her panties in a bunch…
Jules folds her arms across her chest. “What’s so special about marriage anyway? Why does everyone put it up on a damn pedestal?”
I shrug. “Did it once. It definitely wasn’t for me.”
“Most married couples don’t even like each other,” she tosses out.
I let out a snort. “You and I don’t like each other. Maybe we should get married. It might just solve some of our problems.”
“Don’t joke like that,” Jules mutters. “I’m desperate enough to consider that as a proposal.”
I nearly choke on oxygen, floored by her response. I thought I meant it as a joke, but maybe I’m onto something.
The problem-solving part of my mind starts spinning. Is Jules being serious right now? Am I? Could a marriage actually solve our problems? Would it sort out my business woes, and somehow fix her trust fund drama?
I take a step forward, frowning. “Are you? Desperate enough?”
Jules’s eyes widen. “No. No, no, no. Jeez. Of course not.” She swipes both hands through the air, waving me and the crazy idea away.
“Right. Of course. But hey, I mean if…No, never mind,” I grumble.
Jules gestures toward the door. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work.”
I yank it open again, letting her step through the entranceway. “I’ve got to get back to my dead-end meeting. Good luck with your own shitty day,” I say as we go our separate ways.
“Yeah. Same to you, I guess.” With an awkward little glance over her shoulder, she heads back to the hostess station.
I turn and trudge over to the table where my business associates await me, trying to come up with a Plan B, anything to make this business deal work.
But now, all I can think about is this insane idea bouncing around my head…
Jules in a wedding dress.