Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“What a bitch,” Ronny adds. “She’s just some fame whore who’s pedaling hard to stay relevant.”
I’d like to pedal her right off a pier, I think. Stick the SynCycle so far up her skinny . . .
No, stop, Mila. Those thoughts just make you as bad as her.
“What kind of woman says that sort of stuff about another woman? What happened to sisterhood?”
“All’s fair in love and war,” Ronny says. “Especially when we’re talking TV deals.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Made in Richmond—which, by the way, is the worst TV program I’ve ever watched. The so-called stars are like, so cringe.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I have no desire to watch it.”
“You won’t need to. It’s been canceled. The current season is its last. She’ll be trying to create a name for herself, and she’ll use you as drama, if you let her.”
“I’m not letting her. She’s just doing it,” I mutter.
“Stay classy,” she says. “Don’t get pulled into it.”
“I have no intention of getting involved.”
“But if you do, show her who’s the fucking wife, yeah?”
“Okay.” I eye Ronny from across the small table.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demands, her tone still mildly belligerent.
“I was just thinking that I’ve missed you.”
“Aw, sis! That’s, like, so nice.” Her expression softens.
“Sometimes, I feel like you’re with me even when you’re not.”
She nods, impressed.
“And I find myself thinking, what would Ronny do?”
“Yeah?”
“And then I usually do the opposite.”
“Piss off!” she says, throwing the singular packet of oatmeal my way. “Was Charlotte Shit-for-Brains his ex?” she asks suddenly. “Or were they just hooking up?”
“Neither. They just happened to be in the same place a few times. Photos were taken, and that’s about it.” I mean, why would he lie about it?
Ronny’s mouth twists pensively. “She must have a thing for him, though.”
I make a gesture—kind of so what? “I’m sure she’s not alone.”
Ronny grins as she holds up her hand for a high five. “My girl Mila married the GOAT!”
“Did I?” I answer, meeting her hand awkwardly.
“The ‘greatest of all time,’” she supplies. “So, when did you meet him? Did you meet him before, or was it a case of instant island love?”
“We met about four months ago. At a wedding.” It’s the truth, and I’m sticking to it.
“Cool,” she says before falling quiet.
“What’s with the face?” I ask, waving my finger in front of hers. “What’s going on in this head of yours.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“You’re not thinking about doing anything, are you? To Charlotte, I mean.”
“Like what?”
“I just remember how you wanted to send your mates around to trash Adam’s car.”
“That was just in the heat of the moment,” she says. “And he is a cheating scumbag. Charlotte is just a loser. So no, I wasn’t thinking about retribution.”
“Good. Because I don’t want you to get involved in any of this.”
“Meels, you’re so suspicious,” she admonishes.
“Promise me you won’t.”
“Course. Honestly, I was just thinking about the research I did.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m impressed.”
“That was my aim. And I hope to find it reflected in my wage.”
“You look very happy this evening.”
A few days later, I’m pouring myself a glass of celebratory wine when Fin walks into the kitchen.
“I am. Very!” I brandish the bottle. “Want one?”
“Not a whole bottle, but I could go for a glass.”
“Fun-ee,” I reply in the opposite tone.
But I’m super peppy today. Everything seems a little brighter because business is booming. Earlier this week, I resolved to stop reading posts from A Little Bird, and I’ve managed to get Baba’s kitchen almost clear. Though there’s a lot of stuff in boxes and bags that I need to somehow get down three flights of stairs. I was going to ask Fin’s security guard—the mysterious man in the Mercedes—but we’re both pretending we don’t know anything about him.
As in, I haven’t noticed him, and Fin hasn’t sent him.
As Ronny would say, lol/jokes.
I get that he’s there as a precaution, especially after those kids got mouthy. But that’s all they turned out to be in the end—teenagers looking for a reaction rather than pyromaniac extortionists.
“I signed another client today. Woot!” Being married to Fin is wedding-planner gold dust.
“Congrats.”
Our marriage, our names being linked in the press, and Fin’s status, his high profile, have been such good news for me. Whether it’s curiosity (get to meet the woman who caught the man) or aspiration (meet the wedding planner married to a wealthy man) or something else, I don’t care. Whatever gets them to pick up the phone I’m okay with, because the bookings are ultimately my doing.
“It’s just a cheap bottle,” I preface as I reach for another glass.
“I said yes, Mila,” Fin replies with a soft, slightly exacerbated smile. He strips from his jacket and drops it to the back of one of the stools before his gaze flips down to his chest. “Did I spill something earlier?”