Page 60 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“Want me to stick around?”

“No. Go enjoy your night.”

“All right, but for the record, I think you should give fling boy another go.”

I cross my arms. “Why would you say that? You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to.” He cocks a grin. “Any guy who can get you to blow off work and rattle the unflappable Dr. Montgomery must have rocked your world.”

“Did I ask for your advice?” I snap.

“That’s the great thing about our friendship. You don’t have to ask. But that testiness is a definite indicator that you could use a little more rattling.”

“Out.” I point to the door, trying to keep a straight face.

“I’m just saying—”

“Ten. Nine.” I stalk toward him like I did when we were kids and he would say things just to yank my chain.

He grabs his jacket from the chair and walks backward, laughing. “He really did rattle you.”

“Eight.” I speed up my steps. “Seven.”

He stumbles into the hall, walking faster as I close in on him. “Can you just give me his number?”

“Why? Are you suddenly into hot guys?”

“No. I haven’t seen you this worked up since we were kids. I want to thank him.”

“I swear on all that is holy, Ravi Bhandara, I will give you the mother of all titty twisters if you say one more word about that man.” Another childhood threat. My favorite, because he hates it.

“Okay, fine,” he relents. “I’ll get his number from Dash!” He turns and bolts down the hall, his laughter trailing behind him as he flees out the office door, setting off the chimes above.

“Fool.” I laugh and head back to my office.

As I come around my desk, I nearly step on the contents of my bag strewn across the floor. The mess is far too similar to my chaotic thoughts lately. I kneel and start gathering my things. My gaze catches on the strip of pictures Clay and I took in the photo booth.

I pick it up, taking in the black-and-white images of us laughing, kissing, and making silly faces. I miss him so much, it hurts. I don’t understand how it happened so fast. Tears spring to my eyes, and just like that, he’s rattled my world again.

Chapter Sixteen

Clay

“You’re avoiding me,” Tiffany says when I answer my cell Wednesday evening.

I look out the window of the New York City cab, on my way to meet Seth, Victory, Flynn, and Sutton at one of Seth’s restaurants for dinner and imagine my cutthroat agent pacing her office on four-inch heels, her blond hair flowing over her shoulders. “Hello to you, too, Tiff.”

“Don’t Tiff me. I’ve been texting you for days.”

“Didn’t Doogie text you back?”

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Braden. You know damn well Doogie doesn’t get back from the lavish honeymoon you sent him on until next Friday.”

Shit. “Would you believe I’ve been so busy with sponsorships, I totally forgot?”

“No. I’d be more likely to believe that you’ve been shacking up with a hot young thing you hooked up with in Paris.”

Don’t I wish. But the only woman I’m interested in will once again barely give me the time of day.