“Have some respect,” he says stiffly. “Stop trying to make yourself look better by showing me a fake wedding invitation and fake diamond. There’s no way he would go for a girl like you.”
“I understand your skepticism. The idea thatyoumanaged to date a girl good enough for a man like Huxley—even for a little while—must be difficult to wrap your mind around. But you’re welcome to come to the ceremony and see for yourself.”
He snorts. “If you’rereallymarrying a billionaire like him, why are you insisting I pay for your bed and sheets?”
“Because you soiled them. You break it, you buy it.”
“Just launder them!”
“I don’t think so. I’m not reusing sheets and a mattress that have been soiled with the fluids of another woman and a cheating piece of sewage scum like you.”
“You’re such a bitch! Ask your rich fiancé for the money!”
“Just as soon as you tell me why he should pay for your screwup.” I give him an expectant look.
“I’m not giving you a penny!”
“Hey,” comes an impatient voice, “if you’re too poor to donate to the charity, why don’t you get out of my way?”
I turn to look at the new visitor, who seems average in every way—height, weight and looks. Nobody would findhim memorable, except for an exceptionally high forehead and flaming orange hair. He is far better dressed than Peter. Although he’s just in a button-down shirt and slacks, the material is expensive and well tailored.
“Who the fuck are you?” Peter demands.
“Joey,” Mr. Orange Hair says with his chest puffed out. “And you are…?” He looks Peter up and down with slight distaste, as though he were a used dildo at a garage sale.
“Peter Olivier.” Pushing the jacket back, my ex puts a hand on his hip and juts his chin like an MMA fighter before a match, then use his height to look down on his opponent. “I’m a lawyer.”
Joey scoffs. “Oh, one of those two-hundred-thousand-dollar-a-year rent-a-dicks? Pathetic.” He makes a shooing gesture. “Get lost before I sic a better and bigger lawyer on you.”
“I work at Huxley & Webber.” Peter drops the name like a nuke.
“Excellent. In that case, Jeremiah Huxley won’t need to hunt you down like a dog to sue your ass.”
Peter immediately flinches, blood draining from his face. He often told me one of the scariest lawyers he’s ever met is Jeremiah Huxley.
“Now get lost unless you want me to permanently fuck you up.”
Peter blanches and, with a final venomous glance at me, turns and leaves.
“Loser,” Joey mutters with a smirk.
“Totally.” I smile at him. “Thank you.”
“Eh, all in a day’s work. I just hate people who think they’re better than they are.” He beams at me. “So! You must be Grace Lain.”
“Yes. Um… Do I know you?” I say it as pleasantly as I can. He mentioned something about donating to the charity, so he mightbe a donor, although I don’t remember anyone named Joey. Or with that hair.
“I’mtheJoey. Joey Martin.” He pauses and regards me expectantly.
“Ah, of course. I see.”Who is this guy?I smile, hoping I don’t look as awkward as I feel.
“I’m here for the invitation. Ted hasn’t received it.”
Why does this man keep acting like I should know who he’s talking about? “Ted…?”
“Ted Lasker? The greatest movie producer of all time? Huxley’s father?” He cocks an eyebrow. “TheTed Lasker? Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“Ah… Actually, Huxley never told me.” Now I sound as awkward as I feel. Great.
