Hell no, not on his life, but after some soul searching, I’ve decided to play along until after the wedding. Once I know that’s out of the way, he can do his worst. Or maybe I’ll find some way to get out of it altogether. I need to play for more time, either way. I sigh as if he’s finally worn me down. “What would you want me to do?”
“Seriously? You’re actually—” He breaks off. There’s a pause at the other end before his gleeful voice comes through. “I knew you’d come around. We’ll start easy. A date. Monday night? At Figaro’s? I’m buying.”
I try to think of any reason out of a million that Monday’s bad, but other than not wanting to see his cheating-ass face, I don’t have one. “Fine. Monday. Don’t expect too much.”
Like, anything.
“I knew you’d see it my way eventually. Don’t worry, baby. All you need to bring is yourself.” I can practically hear the big shit-eating grin on his face. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
And let him be in charge of my ability to leave? No thanks. “No, I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Figaro’s, Monday, six o’clock. I’ll be there.” I hang up without bothering with goodbyes or waiting to hear him argue about who’s driving.
It’s only a dinner, and it’s in a public place. I can deal with him once or twice before Mom’s big day is over. Unless he tries something, in which case all bets are off. I should probably look up tips on hiding a body beforehand.
Just in case.
And on Declan’s laptop.
I slide my phone into my purse with a shudder, and give my girls a jiggle to make sure they’re firmly in place in my bikini. Pacing back and forth in the little space the elevator gives me, I glare at the floor counter. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five... Each floor takes forever to pass.
The morning assembly started at nine, and it’s already 9:03. If I’d gotten dressed before leaving the house I would’ve been fine, but I had nightmares about getting pulled over in my costume and chickened out. I used one of the downstairs bathrooms so I wouldn’t run into anyone.
I’m pretty proud of my costume, even if it was last minute. Thanks to YouTube, Pinterest, and some old Halloween bits and pieces, my hula girl outfit is pretty rocking if I do say so myself. And I do.
It’s a little skimpy, but strategically placed material that matches my skin tone makes it look more risqué than it really is. The skirt rustles and flows around my knees, giving the illusion of sky high views up to my thighs. Colorful silk flowers are everywhere, around my waist, neck, bikini-top and even my wrists.
When I get to the office, there’s nobody in sight. Everyone is already at the meeting. I drop my bag of regular clothes on my desk and high-tail it to the cafeteria as fast as I can without having my costume fly to pieces. I’m bringing my coat, though, just in case.
The sounds of laughing and clapping spill out the doors as I get close. Cheering even. It does sound like there’s a party going on. Hopefully I’m not too late. Dropping my coat on a bench in the hall, I prepare to make a grand entrance. I’ll get it later. I push open the doors and stride in.
“Thank you. As you know, this acquisition should bring us twenty-three new attorneys, which will increase our capacity greatly. Nothing official, but I’m forecasting...” Garrett trails off mid-sentence when he looks up to see me in all of my Hawaiian glory in front of the still swinging doors. He’s standing on a makeshift podium, and on a screen behind him is some sort of presentation with graphs and pie charts and big dollar values. For several long moments, there’s just an awkward silence.
He’s wearing jeans.
Just about every employee in all of Riordan & Flynn is here, the cafeteria packed. Slowly, one by one, they turn towards me. When the door clicks loudly shut behind me, there are only a couple who’re not looking in my direction with big eyes. Someone laughs, a few more follow.
I can barely breathe.
The room is full of employees in casual clothes, but I’m the only one wearing anything more exciting than a polo shirt. Their expressions range from shock to amusement, to flat out disgust.
My stomach drops. There is no contest. There never was. Maybe there’s a party, but it’s definitely not begun yet. My face burns and my chest tightens. Keeping a straight face is hard when you feel like you’re about to break down.
All I’d wanted was to get through the week with my dignity intact. Apparently that was too much to ask. “I—I’m sorry. I thought—this isn’t—” What am I supposed to say?
Standing near the back on my right, my eyes meet Declan’s. I expect to see nothing but glee on his face, but he looks shocked, and maybe even a little bit guilty. It'd better be guilt. I hope he rots in hell with this moment in his head.