Jules’s eyes widen. “No. No, no, no. Jeez. Of course not.” She swipes both hands through the air, waving me and the crazy idea away.
“Right. Of course. But hey, I mean if…No, never mind,” I grumble.
Jules gestures toward the door. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work.”
I yank it open again, letting her step through the entranceway. “I’ve got to get back to my dead-end meeting. Good luck with your own shitty day,”I say as we go our separate ways.
“Yeah. Same to you, I guess.” With an awkward little glance over her shoulder, she heads back to the hostess station.
I turn and trudge over to the table where my business associates await me, trying to come up with a Plan B, anything to make this business deal work.
But now, all I can think about is this insane idea bouncing around my head…
Jules in a wedding dress.
8
JULES
With an exhausted sigh, I drop my phone into my apron pouch, square my shoulders, and get back to work.
Lincoln Raines sure knows how to piss me the fuck off.
His sarcastic little marriage proposal couldn’t have come at a weirder time. But more than that, I’m so annoyed over his outlandish ‘trust fund baby’ remark. Because I’m nothing like my rich, spoiled family.Nothing. Unlike them, I’m actually a good person.
There was hardly a silver spoon in my childhood.More like a plastic spork.One we’d keep on throwing into the drawer and reusing, long after it melted and warped.
My mom and I never had a whole lot, but we got by. Of course, my father has always been a wealthy man, but getting any support from him was always a touchy subject. I guess he was never eager to pay up for the bastard daughter whoalmostbroke up his happy, little Stepford family. And he definitely resented having to spend any time with me.
I never felt loved by him. I felt like nothing but an obligation that he tried to avoid at all costs. Truth be told, if Great-Grandma hadn’t been actively holding him accountable for his fatherly responsibilities toward me, he would have deserted me a long, long time ago.
So being called a ‘trust fund baby’ now made me want to put my fist through Lincoln’s nose.The man has somehow perfected the art of getting under my skin.
Fooling around with him was a massive mistake. Sure, my body enjoyed it in the moment. But now the rest of my life? Shambles. Absolute shambles.
Naturally, my jerk of a half-sister is blackmailing me with the photographic evidence of my indiscretion. She’s calling it a ‘breach’ of Great-Grandma’s new morality clause. Acting like she’s a little angel herself.
Today, I wasted my entire work break sending Hilary text messages, begging her to be reasonable. When those went unanswered, I panic-called her and left a voice message. I pleaded with her to drop this. I asked what she actually expects to gain from this smear campaign. And I might have also finished it off with a thinly veiled threat to revive that long-buried, not-so-appealing coke snorting photo of her if she exposes me to Great-Grandma. Probably not the most diplomatic way to handle Hilary, but I’m desperate.
I pass through the restaurant’s bustling kitchen now, grabbing a fresh pitcher of lemonade to bring to the foyer. But as I step into the hallway leading to the front of the restaurant, I run into my boss, Mr. Drummond.
I groan inwardly. Could the day get any freaking worse?
I avert my eyes, trying to dodge around the man, but he corners me. My feet come to a reluctant halt as he gets too close for comfort.
“Jules. Where’ve you been?”
“On my break.”
He dramatically lifts up his arm and checks his Rolex. “Looks more like two breaks in one, if you ask me. I’m not pleased with all your downtime, Jules. I don’t pay you to just wander around at your whim all day,” Mr. Drummond says, in his nasally, condescending voice.
“I clocked out,” I argue, growing more and more annoyed.
His beady eyes skim down the length of my body. He steps so close I almost gag on his raunchy garlic breath.
“Did you put on some weight? Your skirt looks…tighter,” the creep says suggestively…before I feel his hand on my ass.
Yes. My ass.
