She rolls her eyes again, as though she can’t believe how stupid I am. “Well, you’re certainly not going to be doing that next year. Throwing them a party is one thing. Spending time with them is another thing altogether. You’re better than them, Archer. What will people think if they know you fraternize with your employees? It’s weird.”
“Says the woman who has her naked ass posted all over the world wide web.”
She waves me off. “That’s a non-issue. Your mother got me in touch with someone that specializes in wiping things like that from the internet.”
There she goes, bringing up my mother again. “What does my mother have to do with this? Why would she care if you’re flashing your pussy all over the internet for the world to see?”
She cringes. “Must you speak like that? I told you I didn’t mean for you to find out. I said I was sorry. And it’s not like I was that recognizable in the video. If people had known it was me, there would have been no stopping its spread. I contained the situation. What more do you want from me before we can move forward?”
What the hell? I want to shake this woman. Why doesn’t she get it?
“Annabelle. I want you to listen carefully. We will not be moving forward. Nothing is going to happen between us ever again. Please leave me alone.”
She scoffs again, tossing her hair. “Your mother is already planning the engagement party, Archer. Why would she do that if we weren’t getting back together?” She holds her hands up. “But okay, I will leave you be for now. Call me when you get yourself sorted out. Don’t wait too long, though. It will be a summer wedding and you’re going to have to pull strings to get me the venue I want.” She spins and flounces out, hair flowing behind her while she puts an extra wiggle into her ass.
My mind races. My mother is planning an engagement party? What the hell is she thinking? She knows I broke up with Annabelle a year ago. I thought I made it plain that it was over for good.
With a resigned sigh, I take one last look around the ballroom, giving Annabelle time to get downstairs and leave the building before I go to the lobby. I step off the elevator in time to catch Eric jogging into the hotel from the main entrance.
“Hey, man. You might not want to leave yet. I just saw Annabelle out there. Looks like she’s waiting for her driver or something.”
I heave a sigh and rub my hand down my face. “Yeah. She ambushed me. That’s why I took so long to come down. Look, I’m going to cancel on you tonight. I’m not in the mood for the club after all. Turns out my mother’s been meeting up with Annabelle behind my back. Somehow, they’ve both gotten it into their heads that I’m going to take Annabelle back and that we’ll be getting married soon.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. Your mom knows there’s a video out there of Annabelle fucking some other dude, right? Doesn’t that go against her whole make-the-company-look-respectable crusade?”
“She knows. Apparently, she put her in touch with a company that makes that kind of stuff disappear. Annabelle seems to think there’s no trace left.” I wouldn’t know. I didn’t watch it when I first found out about it, and I’m certainly not going to look for it now.
“So what now?”
“I need to find out what my mother has to say for herself, I guess. I’m too fucking exhausted to deal with it tonight, though.” I tilt my head toward the hotel bar. “Grab a drink with me before you head to the club?”
He nods and slaps me on the shoulder. “Yeah, man. Let’s go. I’m buying.”
Eric takes the lead and walks into the hotel bar ahead of me, leading me to the counter before pushing me down onto a stool. “Sit.”
“Dude, I’m fine. It’s not that serious.”
“I know. I just like pushing you around.” He laughs and signals to the bartender. “And if you’re not coming to the club tonight, I need to get my hits in now.”
I turn on my stool to face the bar, and a memory floats into my brain. This is the stool I was sitting on last year when the runaway bride stormed up and ordered her tequila. Her puffy white ballgown, elaborately styled hair, and face full of makeup screamed fruity cocktail more than straight tequila, and I couldn’t tear my attention away from her after that. I can’t help but smile as I remember the way she threw those shots back, like they were nothing more than water.
“Two scotch and sodas, please,” I hear Eric.
“Actually,” I say, turning back around to face the bartender, “I’ll take three shots of tequila and a margarita, please.”
“It’s your funeral,” the guy says as he grabs the tequila from the shelf behind him. “Don’t come crying to me when this tequila comes back to visit you later tonight.”
Eric raises an eyebrow, and I shrug. “It’s nostalgic.”
Eric laughs. “I can’t wait to hear how nostalgic you feel tomorrow morning.”
He’s probably right, but I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow morning. For now, I’m going to enjoy my tequila and attempt to remember the best night of my life.
The bartender drops off the drinks and returns to the other end of the bar.
“Bottom’s up” I tap my shot glass to Eric’s drink before swallowing it back. The liquid burns its way down my throat, making my eyes water. “Fuck,” I splutter. “What the hell? That shit’s just not good.”
So much for nostalgia. How did my runaway bride drink this shit with no reaction? It burns like gasoline all the way down.
