Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
She pulls out a pair of jeans. “These are tight-fitting, right?”
I give them a skeptical look. “Yeah.”
She flings them at my chest. “Put ’em on. Now, where’s that slinky strappy top you wear sometimes?”
“I don’t think I own anything slinky.”
“Yes you do. You just usually wear it under one of those ugly boxy things.”
“A blazer?”
“Whatever.” She waves her hand. “It’s yellow and you look hot in it.”
“You’re thinking of my yellow silk shell, which is definitely meant to be worn under something.”
“Not tonight. Tell me it’s not at the dry cleaner’s.”
“It’s not,” I say. But the second she pulls it out of the closet, I wish I’d lied, because there’s no way I’m wearing this out in public. It’s got tiny spaghetti straps and a lace strip on both the top and bottom hemlines. It’s not tight-fitting necessarily, but it’s definitely low-cut. You don’t notice so much when paired with a blazer and slacks, but . . .
“On. Now.”
Arguing with her is pointless when she’s in mama hen mode, so I do as she says. I spread my arms to the side and expect her to see that I was right.
Instead, she grins. “Perfect. Almost.”
She walks toward me and gently pulls the band out of my hair. “Doesn’t your head hurt from wearing all this heavy hair in a pony all the time?”
“Better than having it in my face.”
“It’s your best feature,” she says, fluffing my hair a bit. “Now, let’s talk shoes. That’s one good thing about you spending all that time in fancy corporate offices. You’ve got nearly as many high heels as I do.”
It’s true. I do have a nice assortment of stilettos. I dress conservatively, but high heels are one area where sexy and business casual have plenty of overlap.
She selects a pair of strappy silver sandals and then practically wrestles me into a chair, where she applies a smoky-eye makeup look.
Gabby turns me toward the mirror. “Well?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t even look like myself.”
“Sure you do. You just don’t recognize this version, because she looks like she wants to have fun.”
“I have fun,” I protest.
She pats my cheek as she steps into her own platform heels. “No, sweetie, you don’t. But tonight, you will.”
17
IAN
Week 3: Friday Night, Late
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Kennedy asks.
“Because we want to get laid,” Matt says. “Well, I want to,” he amends. “You and Ian need to.”
It’s nearly midnight on Friday, and though we’re out at one of my favorite clubs, I . . . can’t get into it. I used to come here a few times a week, but I haven’t been out since before I met Lara, and now the whole thing feels wrong, like a suit that no longer fits quite right.
I take another sip of my drink, determined to get my life back, where things weren’t so fucking complicated, where a certain blonde SEC investigator didn’t have the power to hurt me.
Christ, is that right? Hurt?
Fuck this.
“He’s right,” I tell Kennedy, taking Matt’s side. “I need a woman.”
“Really?” Matt sounds surprised. “Because I’ve gotta tell ya, you don’t look like a man on the prowl.”
“More like Heathcliff,” Kennedy says.
Matt and I both look at him, and he sighs in disgust. “Never mind. So, we all know why Ian needs to get laid—to get over Sassy SEC. Why do I need to?”
“Because you’re a prig,” Matt says.
“Prig?” Kennedy repeats, eyebrows raised.
“And here you thought your pretentious vocabulary would never rub off on us,” I say, clinking my glass against Matt’s with a smirk.
Kennedy rolls his eyes and nods toward the dance floor below. “This is really great,” he says sarcastically. “What thirty-four-year-old adult doesn’t enjoy listening to deafening, God-awful music in the dark while wasted twentysomethings rub all over each other?”
“Hey, it’s not like anyone’s making you endure that,” Matt says. “We’re in the VIP section. Can we just do what we used to do? Find three hot women and forget our troubles for a while?”
I want to. God, how I want to. I just need one night to forget that the carefree life I enjoyed just a month ago is turning to complete shit.
If only I could get a little excited about the prospect.
A waitress in a silver sequin bra and short skirt saunters over to us. “Another round?”
I hold up my empty cocktail glass in confirmation that I want another without taking my gaze off the scene below. Reserving a table requires bottle service, so there’s Grey Goose and mixers on the table, but I’m enough of a regular for the staff to know to keep the Negronis coming.
“So, what’s our plan?” Matt asks, dropping both arms around the back of the booth and studying me.
I turn my attention from the dancers to my friend. I’ll give Matt credit. He’s doing a damn good job acting like this is any other night out on the town. Like me, his shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow, tie loosened, suit jacket long gone. He’s trying for casual, but he comes up short because his eyes are guarded and watchful as he studies me.