Whoa, there. Definitely needed to nip those thoughts in the bud.
I unpacked yogurt, milk and some bagged salads into the fridge. Unfortunately, I could hear the loud television all the way in here.
So . . . not a total win for me.
Sources close to Jay Z say that . . .
Mmmm. I might need to rethink my strategy. I focused on tuning out the babbling white noise.
Unfortunately, ten minutes later, the television intruded again.
People everywhere have been asking questions about this mysterious photo of Jack Knight-Snow. Why is the man so reclusive? Should we consider this a publicity stunt?
Great. Now Jack would be even more insufferable. When would this all go away?Thatwas the only question I wanted answered.
Gritting my teeth, I stomped back into the drawing room.
“No.” Jack jumped to attention, putting out a hand as if he could prevent me from turning off the television. “You made me listen to Justin Bieber. You owe it to my sexy self to let me watch this.” Jack winked at me.
Oh!
“For the last time, I. Do. Not. Find. You.Sexy!” I growled through gritted teeth.
When reached for comment, Chiara D’Angelo of D’Angelo Enterprises agreed with our own Candy White that Jack Knight-Snow is every bit as sexy in person as he is in his now-famous photo.
I froze.
The horror of that moment.
The intense burn up my neck and cheeks.
Jack’s face lighting up like Christmas morning.
His loud,guffawinglaugh.
Honestly, I hadn’t been this humiliated since the time stupid Jenny Jenkins announced to my entire eighth grade art class that I was drawing a love portrait of Mr. Miller, our art teacher. For the record, Mr. Miller was a looker, and Jenny Jenkins proved herself to be a total self-absorbed narcissist in high school.
But still.
The damage was done.
And judging by the triumphant look on Jack’s face . . . I wouldn’t be living this down anytime soon. I changed the channel to the BBC and tossed the remote onto the couch. Jack opened his mouth, obviously intent on gloating more.
“Save it, Jack. I’m sure you’ll come up with a thousand ways to taunt me with this by morning. Let’s savor the silence until then.”
Jack’s expression dimmed, his brows drawing back.
“Chiara, I—”
“It’s enough, Jack. Let’s just leave it be.”
I finished unpacking everything to the sound of snooty monotone British men arguing over the economic impact of Brexit.
Jack made no comment.
Maybe he felt bad. Maybe I had hurt his feelings somehow. Or maybe he was already plotting all the ways he was going to ‘lord’ this over me. Who knew.
I stomped upstairs and chose the fanciest bedroom for myself before slapping a hastily hand-drawn ‘No Ghosts Allowed’ sign up and crawling into bed.
