“How would you? It’s not like he lets them have any say. He’s one of those toxic men who think women only belong in the bedroom, not the boardroom.”
This seems a little harsh. I might not like Liam Darcy. But I don’t quite believe this. I worked some with his mom, planning the Christmas event. She didn’t strike me as a doormat, more like a strong woman weighed down with grief.
“That doesn’t sound like Liam.”
“No, of course not. You’re charmed by his good looks and his big bank account. I’m just warning you, the guy’s a bit of a player.”
Now, that I can see. I consider Darcy and his flirtatious banter at the end of the holiday party. Yeah, that tracks.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I can barely tolerate the guy. I’m not under his spell.”
“Yeah, you seem too clever for that.” I beam back at Noah. If I could choose between being called beautiful or clever, I’d choose clever every time. Though that’s probably because I’ve been told I’m pretty all my life.
***
The following week, a refrigerator-sized box arriveson our doorstep. I know immediately it’s the dresses my cousin promised to send.
My roommate finds me struggling to shove the box into our apartment.
“What’s this?” Char asks, walking up the steps to our apartment. Dressed in scrubs with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looks like she just came from work.
“My cousin sent me a selection of evening gowns for my date with Liam.”
“Ooh yes, your cousin, thepop star,” Char says as she helps me push the box through the front door. My cousin is April Rain. Yes, that April Rain, whose peppy love songs get stuck in everyone’s head. And yes, April Rain is her given name or at least her first and middle name. (Don’t laugh. She can’t help that her dad was a TV star.) A few years ago, April decided to step away from music and go to college. At the same time, I was starting my MFA at Iowa State. Eager to get away from Los Angeles, April enrolled at the same school.
For three years, we were roommates. But then, miracle of miracles, I found a job teaching writing at a full-fledged university in Sacramento. It’s not tenure track but a job at a real university. Sure, I had to move across the country and rent here is eye-wateringly expensive. But English department positions are rarer than snow in Sacramento. I feel fortunate to find job at all. Not surprisingly, the gig doesn’t pay well, hence the side hustle at Bennet Parties. On the bright side, my first two self-published books are selling at a steady pace. I hope that after I write a few more, I’ll bring in enough money to quit Bennet Parties and focus solely on writing.
“This is such a pain,” I say as I push our coffee table aside to make room for the large box in our tiny living room. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”
“Because it’s Liam Darcy,” Char says, shutting the front door on the frosty February evening. “The man’s a real-life unicorn. Rich, hot, and decent.”
“We don’t know he’s decent,” I argue, thinking of Noah’s comments.
“He writes thank you cards,” says Char. “Case closed.”
“Those were excellent chocolates.” I muse. “I just don’t get why he asked me.” I search through the junk drawer for a box cutter. “It’s the million-dollar question.”
“More like the billion-dollar question,” corrects Charlotte, who has followed me to the kitchen. “The Pemberley Foods empire is worth more than two billion.”
I swallow. The Darcy family home screams expensive, understated elegance and the cashmere/wool trench coat he wore to the party was so swanky—I looked it up online. Call me naive, but I had no idea they made coats that cost more than ten grand. So, the billionaire thing shouldn’t come as a shock, but it kind of does. I can’t wrap my mind around those numbers. Though I suppose if his mom and sister each own a third of the company, he’s not quite a billionaire. Which means he’s worth... I do the math in my head. Nope, I still can’t wrap my mind around that much money.
“You just proved my point. He could date anyone; why me?” I snatch up the box cutter.
“Because believe it or not, you’re really likable—even when you’re obstinate.” Char takes the few short steps to our cramped living room, now dominated by the cardboard monolith. I hesitate before opening it. Do I really want to go on this date? I don’t think so. Despite what Charlotte says, I don’t trust Liam. My #1 Dating Rule is: Don’t trust the rich, handsome guy. In my experience, most men are already conceited and entitled. Throw in wicked good looks and a bottomless bank account, and you’re guaranteed a selfish prick. I mean, even if someone tries hard to stay grounded, I don’t think that’s possible when wearing a coat worth more than my car.
“Give me that!” Char takes the box cutter out of my hand. She flicks out the blade like a street fighter. “You’re going to this gala and you know it. Let’s see what April sent.” Surgeon that she is, Char smoothly slices down the middle of the box, opens the sides, and goes silent with astonishment.
“What... what is it?” I ask before I peer inside. Five full-length garment bags hang from the rod of the wardrobe box.
“You didn’t tell me there would be an Alexander McQueen and a Versace! Oh, and is this Dior?”
Char pulls out a garment bag and gently holds it to her chest like a newborn kitten. I didn’t know what my cousins would send. I just told April I needed dresses for the gala.
“Can we peek?” Charlotte asks, her hands already on a zipper.
“Yes! Let’s!” Her enthusiasm is contagious.
She unzips the bag and pulls out a gorgeous, sophisticated, strapless black and white dress with a billowing skirt. The ball gown version of a tuxedo, this dress screams old Hollywood glamour. I surprise myself by wanting to try it on. I throw off my tee and shuck my jeans. Char helps me step into the dress, which comes with a netted hoop slip to help fill out the skirt. After pulling up the side zip, we look in the full-length mirror.
