P.I.T.A. (L.A. Liaisons #3)(15)

Shayne sighed. "I get it. I do. But I'm feeling the urge to muzzle you before you go out in public now."

"It'll be fine. I'll track down the little twig and tell her-"

"You bloody well better not tell her anything. You've told her enough."

"Would a bitch slap work instead?"

"No."

"What about if I pulled her extensions out?"

"No."

"Jell-O fight?"

"I'm hanging up now. When you get calls from brides denying your services, I might let you cry on my shoulder."

"Not gonna happen, but thanks. Your concern has been noted."

Shayne had been through a media circus when she'd acted as a beard for an A+-list Hollywood movie star, so it was understandable she was cautious. But who cared if I hated weddings and thought marriage was stupid? What was important was that I could make a bride's romantic notions about their special day come true, so I wasn't going anywhere, and neither was that article.



       
         
       
        

Really.





CHAPTER NINE

F.T.S.





YOU KNOW THAT saying, FML? I hate that saying. Really, I do. "Fuck my life." That's a horrendous thing to say, but that night I came super close to uttering those three words. Instead, what came out in a text to the girls was FTS-fuck this shit.

To say the day had been one from the pits of hell was an understatement. I'd lost my client's venue-which, as it turned out, was because the manager had read the article over her morning coffee and decided not to waste her time-had been on the receiving end of the most extraordinary ass reaming I could've imagined for losing said venue, oh, and I'd lost that client. Or should I say clients, since there were at least six voice messages on my phone right now telling me they wouldn't be needing the services of a marriage-hating asshole, or something to that effect.

Weary down to my bones, I pushed open my bedroom door to find just a fabulous capper to my day-Dawson lounging on my bed in a pair of black lounge pants and a matching t-shirt, reading a book that I'd kept on my nightstand.

"Are you lost?" I said, kicking off my heels and setting my purse on my vanity.

He didn't look my way, still fully absorbed in what he was reading. "It's fascinating the way Nora juggles all of the men in this book. She's got the scary sadist ex-boyfriend, the young, innocent boy toy, the married book editor … and that's not even the people she has sex with. She sounds so much like this one woman I know." He tapped his finger against his lips. "Hmm. Fascinating."

"Surely you have something better to do than to debate a fictional dominatrix's sex life. From what I hear, you've got more important things to worry about. Like the fact that your reputation is going downhill, fast."

He flipped a page and didn't look up. "Good. Married men don't have reputations."

"Aww, but Dawson, it'd be a shame to let years of hard work go to waste."

"Do you think Nora actually wants to get it on with Wesley, or is she being a tease?"

"Oh for the love of-" I snatched the book out of his hands and set it back on the nightstand. "Look, I understand that you feel the need to make my life hell by moving in, by invading at every opportunity, and by scaring off all friends and potential lovers, but putting your grubby paws on my escape reads is going too far."

"Touché, love. Rough day?"

I sighed. "I'm just really not in the mood to argue right now."

"You're always in the mood to argue." 

"Oh yeah? Did you not catch a glimpse of this shining bit of goodness today?" I went over to the vanity and pulled the folded newspaper out of my bag. Then I chucked it his way.

Dawson picked it up and ran his eyes over the front page. "Ah. That. Yeah, I guess I got a call about it."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Do you or your cock remember who that girl is that wrote it?"

As he peered at the grainy image of the LA Today columnist, he twisted his lips. "Tiana. Right."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say? She was a stage-five clinger. She used to follow me into bathrooms at clubs, wait at my car after hours, and tell every woman I talked to that I had herpes." He launched the paper back at me. "So this silly article? It doesn't surprise me. I'm more surprised that you're not laughing about it."

"Oh, I was laughing at first, all right."

"So why do you still look as though you want to chop my nuts off? It'll be old news tomorrow."

"Will it? And my career? The one that's plummeting as we speak? What about the damage your little one-night stand is doing to that?"

That caught his attention, and he sat up, his forehead creased. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, this 'silly' article cost me several clients today. As in, they won't do business with me because I"-I held up my fingers as quotations-"'don't respect the institution of marriage,' and how could they work with a big, fat fake." I glared at him. "So, yeah, I'd love to be laughing right now, but I'm more concerned with the future of my career."

He looked appropriately contrite. "I'm sorry."

Shrugging, I pulled out a pair of pajama shorts and a camisole top from my dresser and tossed them on the bed. "It's fine. I'll figure something out."

"I'll help you."

"I can do it."

"Paige-"

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Just turn around. You're lucky I haven't kicked you out already."

Dawson sighed and shut his eyes before putting his arm over his face, and I quickly changed into my nightclothes. No, I wasn't the modest type, but I also wasn't up for offering a free strip show tonight, either.

"Done yet?" he asked, just as my eyes caught on the closed diary I kept sitting on top of a pile of clothes in my reading chair.

Oh fuck, please tell me he hadn't peeked into that. I swiped the leather-bound journal off the chair and quickly stuffed it inside my discarded clothes.

"Maybe," I said.

Dawson's arm dropped back down to the bed, and when he opened his eyes, they found me walking away from the chair to dump my clothes in the hamper. He looked back at the chair and then at me again. "You still write in one of those things?" he asked.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. The diary that was sitting on the chair that mysteriously just disappeared."

I whirled around, heat rushing to my face. "If you read it, I swear to-"

"I didn't read it. Honest. You know I wouldn't do that."

"Dawson-"

"Paige. You know I wouldn't."

I blinked, those words having a déjà vu effect on me that was so unexpected, I gave in to the memory that accompanied it.





MY PARENTS WERE out of town, per usual, and the school's elite-of which I was a new member-had invited themselves over for a last-minute party. Lucy, our chef, had already left for the day, so I'd been able to freely raid the pantry for bags of chips, cookies, and sodas. Yeah, so maybe bribing everyone with a party and snacks wasn't the best way to make friends, but Dawson seemed to think they were okay, so I needed to make an effort for his sake. I didn't want to lose my best friend, and I didn't want him to think I was a loserface incapable of being social, so getting along with the cool kids seemed like the way to go.



       
         
       
        

Making my way down the hallway that led from the kitchen to the main living room and then out to where everyone was lounging on the outside patio, I struggled under the weight of the bags I'd stuffed everything into. Out of the corner of my eye, a dim light caught my attention, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that my bedroom door was wide open.

Huh. I hadn't left that door open, had I? No, I was pretty sure I'd closed it to keep everyone in the main part of the house.

As raucous laughter came roaring up through the hallway, I shrugged and kept going. Maybe Dawson had gone in there to use the attached bathroom or something.

Another round of laughter came from outside, and I walked faster. What was so funny? Maybe they'd put on the new Adam Sandler movie I'd set out earlier by the big screen. It was a gorgeous L.A. evening, cool enough to sit outside, but not warm enough to use the pool, so I figured maybe a movie would be nice. Or maybe they were telling another one of their inside jokes that they all thought was sooooo hysterical. ~Cue eye rolling~

Rounding the corner, I heard someone say my name, though the rest of her words faded out, and then … another burst of the giggles. I didn't know why, but my skin broke out into goosebumps, and there was a sick feeling pooling in the pit of my stomach.

Were they … talking about me? I'd only heard my name, so maybe my paranoid brain was jumping to conclusions, but as I neared the slider door that led out to the outside patio, I felt the urge to stay hidden in the shadows.

"Oh my God, you guys, listen to this: 'Today I heard that Joey Delano wants to ask me out, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I think Joey can be attractive when he spikes his hair, but … he's not really my type.'"