I walk into the room because at the very least, I’m not getting fired...yet.
“So, you do know how to make it?” The words slip out on their own.
The first smirk I’ve seen since our night at his penthouse touches his lips. He should be hired by the coffeemaker company to advertise their product. They’d sell out in seconds to women fantasizing about waking up tothisevery morning. A disclaimerwould need to be typed at the bottom of the ad:male model not included with machine.
“Yes, occasionally, I dare to make it for myself.”
Oh my, oh my . . .if this man wasn’t engaged …
“Well, I don’t mind doing it. It is my job.”
My hip presses against the countertop, a safe distance from him. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, feet spread apart, eyes holding me in place. Several tense moments of silence pass between us before he speaks.
“You’ve done well as my PA. I’ll need you at the wedding.”
My heart stops beating.Is he serious? He wants me to be athis wedding? And for what?
“Umm, I...when is it?” I stumble over the words, completely at a loss.
“Two weeks from last Saturday. That’s why I needed the tux to be made. After the ceremony, I’ll be conducting a meeting, which you’ll have to take notes for. I’ll pay for your dress, shoes...whatever else you need.” He turns toward the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup, followed by another one—I assume it’s for me.
My tongue won’t form the sentence I wish I could scream at him.
That he’s a prick and he doesn’t deserve Fallon, or me, or any woman in this world for that matter.
Does he really expect me to go andwatchthem get married?
“I . . . I mean, it’s just a little short notice . . . for a weekend? I, uh . . . think I might already have plans.” I hold my breath, waiting for his response.
He turns to face me again, jaw set. “I need you there as my assistant. Whatever your plans are, I think you can manage to cancel. I’ll pay you triple for weekend hours.”
He isn’t the type of man you can argue with. His deep voice alone makes me want to agree enthusiastically with whatever he says.
I know it’s wrong, and I know he’s hers. It’s still incredibly difficult to think straight when I’m looking right at him and his attention is focused on me. I’m the only person in the room with him, just like when I burned his dinner on Saturday.
I wish things were different. I really wish he weren’t engaged.
Wishes won’t get you anywhere.
Instead of responding, I simply nod as I swallow. At least his request guarantees I have two more weeks at this job and to find a new one.
He seems satisfied with my response, exiting the break room.
“Remember the enormous diamond ring and the beautiful, tall fiancée?” I say out loud to myself.
I could send her an anonymous letter . . .
That’s it. I’ll do everything I can to find a new job in the next two weeks, and I’ll draft up a letter for his fiancée, letting her know she shouldn’t marry him because he cheated with a random girl at a bar. If she chooses to go through with it, that’s on her.
Becky was craving Italian,so we’re hunkered down in the corner booth at Avanti’s.
After my newly cooked-up plan to send an anonymous letter, I want more than ever to secure Becky’s silence on the issue.
Not only did she print out photographs from Facebook, with captions and dates, but she also stayed up all night, creating a chronological order for the timeline of Luke and Fallon’s relationship.
She hasn’t asked me outright if I slept with Mr. Bradshaw, but I know she overheard my conversation with Mel in the restroom. She either heavily suspects it or she just thinkssomethingsketchy happened. Maybe she just assumes that I have a massive crush on him. Either way, I’m not giving away any more information than I absolutely have to.
“Okay, so Fallon and Luke have known each other since they were kids. Her mom even has a photo of them in the bathtub together when he was around four and she was two years old. Her mom clearly has no sense of online privacy. She postseverything.”
