Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
It’s Cammie and Cade’s special day, after all. Their happiness is what matters. Not mine . . .
Lorie Marché touches my arm, whispering close to my ear. “Emerald cut. Four carats minimum. Marlow’s dream is five, though. Platinum band with something special the two of you share engraved on the inside.” She thinks she’s being sneaky, gathering this information and sharing these little nuggets with me throughout the morning. I’m just glad I had an excuse to miss the rehearsal dinner.
“Like a prison tattoo,” I say, unable to stop myself. “Something to mark us, like noting how we’re being sentenced to life with the I dos?” She blinks rapidly.
Opening her mouth like a fish out of water, she holds her finger up and then lowers it again. Her eyes shift to Bob, and then she says, “More along the lines of a phrase you say to her regularly—”
“Stop barging in?”
She tightens her lips and then pops them. “A simple I love you should do the trick.”
“Got it,” I reply.
Unfortunately, Lorie is still clinging to my arm like we’re old friends, or lovers by how close she is to my ear. She has no boundaries, something I assume is a luxury you acquire when you hold power in Hollywood. They never hear no.
Bob and Marlow are already at the edge of the lawn where the grass meets the sand when we catch up to them. Standing in a row, we stare ahead at the vast ocean.
Marlow reaches for my hand, and though I like to fuck with her by shifting, I finally succumb to the inevitable. Our connection elicits the faintest gag sound, causing me to look at Marlow. Leaning over, she says, “It’s like holding hands with my brother.”
“You don’t have a brother.”
She shakes her head. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” I reply, looking down at our joined hands. “Exactly what you mean.”
Lorie steps onto the sand like it’s her stage. “Although you don’t have the ring yet, you could still propose to our sweet Marlow.”
Taken aback, I stare at Lorie with a different intensity than Tealey was talking about last night. Did she just tell me to propose because she wants me to?
Coming closer again, and with her hands clasped together, her ten-carat diamond sparkles in the sunshine. She adds, “Just a bauble—”
This needs to stop. It’s gone on too long. “I’ve got it under control, Lorie. You don’t need to worry yourself about it.”
Bob pulls a set of keys from his pocket and dangles them in front of me, like that damn partnership carrot. “We thought keys to the apartment would be the best way to celebrate the engagement.” That’s all Marlow wanted, and it’s being offered on a silver platter. We did it. I glance at Marlow, who’s already looking at me.
I’ve heard that you should never meet your idols. It’s always a disappointment. Same feeling.
Marlow squeals in delight and takes the keys. Guess that phrase only applies to me.
“Do they come with a deed?” Marlow asks, unashamed to dive right in and humor them in the name of owning a piece of Manhattan real estate. Maybe I should be more understanding. I own my building, so I can’t judge her for wanting her slice of the pie.
We played by the rules set forth by her father, which is to win at all costs. So why does this victory feel like a dirty win? Like we didn’t play fair?
He nods with a jolly grin. “They do indeed.”
All eyes are aimed at me, but it’s Bob who comes to stand face-to-face. Keeping his voice lowered, he asks, “Would it be so bad to get engaged today, Rad? To make my girl happy?” He holds out his hand. “You’ve always been the most suitable for my Marlow. Let’s make it official so we can be here to celebrate the happy occasion.”
Being forced to choose between my career and my personal life makes my blood boil. “Enough.”
This has been taken too far.
Holding hands for five minutes, playing a role on a conference call—that’s all different than what I’m now being expected to do. And there’s no mistaking that it’s expected, not being asked. The partnership is yours if you don’t fuck it up, rings in my ears as if Sable himself is right behind me.
Don’t fuck it up.
I got Bob’s business, even if he isn’t divorcing at this time.
Don’t lose his business.
If Marlow and I “get engaged,” how am I supposed to go public with Tealey?
Don’t lose Tealey.
We leave in the morning and return to our lives. The breakup with Marlow doesn’t even have to be a thing. It can be a call Marlow makes on her own at the end of next week.
Marlow and I have more to gain than to lose with the odds stacked in our corner. Tealey will understand. Making partner means more income and Tealey being able to pursue her own dreams, as well as me setting us up to start our lives together, the real ones, not this pretense bullshit.