“Say what you’re going to say.”
“I’m sorry.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot. “For?”
“The shit I pulled at the bachelorette party. It was never about you. I hated the world, didn’t believe in love, and was super edgy. And, if it’s any constellation, I was humbled, in so many ways. And now…this.” I put my hands on my round stomach.
Natasha scoffs. “That’s so…fucked up. I heard it happened in a bathroom.”
“Yes, but please refrain from ever saying that again. We’re working on our conception story.”
“Conception story?”
“Never mind, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, not just for the party, but for all the shit I pulled afterward.”
“I think we were all acting a little childish. It would have helped if you’d told me why you were on the bus, though.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’d like to plead mental insanity, but really, I was just being a bitch.”
“In light of all the weird fucking shit that’s been going on, I’ll give you a pass.”
“Thank you, and if it helps, I’ll do my best to make Slay look like a rockstar.”
“You mean by turning him brown?” she says with an upticked brow.
“I mean by giving him excellent PR advice. I’m helping Carl and will be working with each of the men to help develop their online personalities.”
“Good luck trying to sand his rough edges,” Natasha snickers.
“You know, if you’d like, I can work with you, too.”
“I’m about as boring as white toast.”
I sigh. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, we’re good now, and welcome to the team.”
I exit the backstage area and grab some barbecue. Each of the Hunks congratulates me and welcomes me back. Kilo insists on rubbing my belly, and a newer Hunk named Dragon speaks excitedly about PR opportunities.
“Hey, I have an idea I’d like to run by you,” Armando says, pulling me away. We walk up the street a little, so no one can overhear us.
“My feet are swollen, so I can’t go much farther,” I warn him.
“I was looking to start my own show.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “Why are you telling me this? I work for Carl, and I’m not about to?—”
“It won’t be competing with Carl. I did a DNA test, and it showed I’m related to a circus owner, and that’s a part of my past I’m interested in exploring.”
“Oh,” I say, shocked.
“I’ve already told Carl I’m thinking about reclaiming my roots, and I was wondering if the time ever came, if you could help guide the way.”
I take his hand and give it a squeeze. “I would be happy to.”
A look of relief washes over his face, making me feel good about the work I’m doing.
“We should probably get you back to the bus before Toxic decides to murder me,” Armando says.
