Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
She knew about the dinner.
She knew I was dreading the dinner (as always).
She also knew that I intended to use that day’s interview as a tactic to get through the dinner relatively unscathed.
What I would never imagine was that she’d tell Hale about the dinner.
Although I was certain if I moved a single muscle my head might literally explode, and obviously, I didn’t want that to happen, I said tonelessly, “My fake boyfriend.”
“I mean, can you imagine Oskar’s face, Emilie’s, when you show up with Hale?” she asked.
I could imagine it.
And what I imagined would be amazing.
Even so.
“Let me get this straight,” I said evenly. “You told Hale Wheeler about my family dinner tonight?”
“Just how awesome it would be if he went with you,” one of my best friends, who was now a huge-ass traitor, replied. “You know, as a lark. But they wouldn’t know that, obviously.”
Had she had this planned all along? Was that why she was so adamant about coming?
Truth: only Fliss would take my assertions that some guy was a major asshole and turn that into a scheme to be invited in his presence so she could arrange for him to play my fake date so my brother, sister and mother wouldn’t be too hard on me.
She was punk. She was counterculture. She hadn’t met a rule she hadn’t been happy to find her own unique way to break. I loved all of that about her.
Usually.
Just learned truth: even when the stakes were high, for me, she was still happy to engage in this behavior.
But…what the fuck?
This wasn’t a club.
This was my business.
I was in that apartment in a professional capacity.
And so was she, as a representative of me.
I looked to Hale. “Thank you for your offer, but it’s unnecessary.”
“I’ve got nothing else on,” he shared.
“Again, thank you, but it’ll be fine,” I returned stiffly.
“Maybe, but from the shit Fliss said, it’d be a kick, don’t you think?” Hale asked.
I turned again to Fliss. “From the shit you said?”
She opened her eyes really wide, pressed her lips very tight, and looked left to right without moving her head.
Why was I having this conversation in front of Hale when I could ream her in the Lyft? Then instigate a friend divorce. Immediately.
I returned my attention to him. “Again, thank you, but I’m good.” I tossed out a hand. “And thank you for this morning. It went well. I hope you agree.”
Hale pushed from the couch, his eyes on Fliss. “You go. I’ll have my car take Elsa home.”
Wait.
What?
Fliss was rolling her case toward the elevator. “Cool. Works for me.”
“Hang on,” I said.
Felicity had tagged the button when she remarked, “I think, you talk to Hale, you’ll see the merits of my idea.”
I moved to her, saying, “We can talk about it in the car.”
“I won’t be in your car, you’ll be in his car,” Fliss replied, and the elevator doors opened.
She entered.
I was going to follow her, but Hale circled me and cut me off.
“Hang on!” I snapped.
Fliss leaned to the side so I could see her around Hale’s body and gave me a finger wave. “Ta ta.”
The elevator doors closed.
I tipped my head back to glower at Hale.
“You have a bad habit of standing in my way,” I noted irritably.
“Elsa Cohen, YouTube personality, can take a break. It’s you and me now, babe.”
“There isn’t a you and me, Hale. There’s you, granting an interview to me, and me leaving after said interview was granted. Which is now.”
“It isn’t my place to talk ill of your family, I haven’t met them, but Fliss didn’t paint them in the greatest light. And like I said, I have nothing on, and she made it sound like you could use someone taking your back. I’m happy to be that person.”
“We’re not friends, Hale. And she had no business sharing any of that with you. In fact, I need to apologize for her behavior. It was incredibly unprofessional.”
“She was being real.”
“She doesn’t get to be real with my personal life.”
His brows rose. “You just sat on my couch and asked me dozens of questions about my personal life that you’re going to share with millions of people,” he reminded me.
Tou-fucking-ché.
I didn’t think I’d ever ground my teeth in my life, which was saying something, considering my mother (and brother, and sister).
But I was grinding them right then.
“It’s just dinner,” he pointed out. “Tell me she’s not right and you don’t want to see the looks on their faces when we show and you tell them we’re seeing each other, and on account of my situation, not to mention yours, we’ve been keeping it quiet.”
“You just told the world you’re never going to get married.”
“I didn’t say I’d come as your fake fiancé, just boyfriend.”
“My mother only does fiancés or better,” I lied.
Though that would be her preference, she’d take anything to prove I was cowing to her demands in a way that would bring her closer to grandchildren whose heads she could fill with crap.