I can’t wait until I can dig into a big event that doesn’t have me feeling severed and sewn up with each step of the process.
Reclining in the chair right beside the spot Durban fucked me on last night, I take a deep breath. I can’t believe we did that. I risked getting discovered, and from the way Jamison was side-eyeing me the rest of the night, there’s a lot of suspicion. I could barely look at Durban until the luncheon was done. I didn’t miss the way January glared at me either.
I don’t know what more she wants. I’m giving herthe wedding of my dreams, and if she thinks I’m sneaking around with Durban, so what? She should be relieved I’m not trying to steal her man. She can have him with a bow on.
I swipe a hand down my face. Time to go get the pavilion prepped. I rise, gather my stuff, and shut off the light. Oh, right, my headphones are charging. I need music to do my admin stuff, or my mind wanders. I dig those out of the wall, and I’m walking toward the door when voices make me stop.
“I don’t know why you insist on having her at the dinner.” As if I conjured January, her voice snakes into the meeting room.
“Keep your voice down, Jan.” Stanford has that tone, the one that used to make me feel so small. He could always put me in my place so effortlessly. Instead of January’s very justified question, he turns it around on her.
Hasn’t she told him she hates that nickname?
“Well, then answer me,” she replies almost as loudly as before. “You’re surrounded by guys. I’m not allowed?—”
“Did I come to your quaint luncheon?”
I almost snort. January’s gathering had four courses. Yes, they included a spinach salad, tiny sandwiches, veggies with some fancy marinade that Chef was excited to try, and mini pastries, but it was an experience. I made sure of it. Just like I’m putting on the most masculine stag party, or whatever Stanford and his buddies are calling it. His prime rib dinner with four different sides and a pistachio-cream-filled cannoli from Dee’s Sweets is going to be so good, the whole wedding party is going to talk about it for years.
Chef’s making a plate for me to eat before the dinner begins, so I don’t miss out. No leftovers for me.
“I know, but it just seems like you’re making this about her and not about us.” January’s whining now.
“Aw, babes-a-million, you know it’s only about us. You wanted our wedding here.”
I hold back a gag on babes-a-million. How did I not see that as red flag number twelve?It’s because you’re one in a million, babe. I roll my eyes at his excuse. Maybe his other exes and I can form a babes-a-million club.
I will January to see that he’s turning this argument on her. Once her eyes are opened, she won’t be able to unsee it. I still care for her, but also, I would love for her to ditch his ass.
Successful career, successful wedding. If I repeat that enough, I’ll make it through tonight and tomorrow.
“I wanted the wedding here, but I didn’t want her to plan it.” January sounds so pouty my lower lip sticks out for her. “She’s gotten fired twice.”
I bristle when he chuckles.
“Thankfully, she can pull her shit together for us.” He says it so smoothly, I almost miss the insult. Bastard. “Tonight, I’m hanging with the guys as a big thank-you for coming out to Nowhere, Montana, with us. My dad and I are going to celebrate that we’ll no longer have to waste time bumming around this big, boring state and can finally get back to civilization. Then tomorrow? Tomorrow, baby, you and I are going to say our vows and we’re going to become one.”
“You and me,” she says in a cringey baby-girl voice.
There’s a loud smooching sound. “Us. And you’re going to show me that new lingerie you bought just for tomorrow night.”
“What if I give you a preview?”
My gag reflex is going to revolt if I keep repressing it. The kissing sounds grow more frequent and somehow deeper. Gross. What if they come in here and know I was listening?
I’d be mortified and look like a pervert. Clothing scrapes along the wall, and adrenaline pours into my veins. I am not going down for eavesdropping when I was in here doing my job.
Thinking fast, I stuff my headphones on and rub my eyes. Then I rush out and pull to a stop when I see them. Stanford yanks himself off her, his eyes hooded and his lips glistening.
Again, gross. I used to be into that. Before Durban, with his dark eyes and the way his mustache marks me like I’m his property.
“Ohmigosh,” I say and fake a yawn. “If you need the meeting room, it’s all yours.”
“Were you sleeping?” Amusement dances across Stanford’s face.
“It’s going to be a late night and a long day tomorrow.” I smile primly when I see the judgment in January’s eyes. “Since I get breaks, you know, legally, I took a siesta. Well. See ya.” I start walking away.
“You heading out to the pavilion?” Stanford asks.
