The Arrangement Anthology 2(85)

“Knowing Amber, it already is. Walk away. Come on.” He tugs my good arm and pulls me down the stairwell. I don’t focus on anything until we’re in front of the restaurant.

Marty is sitting across from me and I’m slumped back into the seat, hating myself. “This is why I don’t think you should take the madam job. If this happened to Black--”

“This wouldn’t have happened to Black.”

“My point exactly. Sex is power, Avery. Everyone knows that. It’s not like Amber got into your private life. If you’re going to do this you need to be fearsome. You’re not.”

I groan, okay, it’s more like a whine. “I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do. You fight back, and I could tell you wanted to claw her face off. Dial that down a notch so it’s not clear how you’ll hurt her, but so that she knows it’s coming. Then own it. If you fucked half of Manhattan, own it. Be proud. You chose this life.”

Those last three words do something to me. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but I feel something combust within me. I’m sick of fighting with people and I crave the respect that Miss Black demands. Maybe I won’t be like my mother and make the best meatballs, but who cares when no one respects me?

My gaze drifts up to Marty’s. “I did, and I will. No more hiding. No more half-assed Avery.”

“Bring it.”

“I will, and I won’t get even with Amber, I’ll own her.” A smile snakes across my lips.

“Now, there’s my girl.”





CHAPTER 12



Marty and I are the only one’s ordering ice cream. It isn’t even lunchtime yet. I have forbidden chocolate ice cream with peanut butter sauce and hot fudge. Five scoops. Marty is sitting across from me, trying to show me that he can swallow an entire banana.

“And that would impress a woman, because?” I laugh at him when he chokes. “Give me that.” I take the other banana half from his ice cream and slip it between my lips until all but the very tip disappears.

“Overachiever.”

The way he says it makes me laugh and I start choking. Half the banana goes down and the other half gets chomped off, falls from my mouth, and rolls across the table. Marty’s eyes go wide. “That was truly frightening. My junk just jumped up into my body and I doubt it’ll come down again for weeks.”

I’m laughing and choking. I grab my glass of milk and wash it down. “Your boys need some attention.”

“Not from you. Dear God! You chopped it off!”

We’re both giggling so much that we can’t really speak. When I catch my breath, I manage, “Seriously, Marty. You need to get some action. Date someone. Have a one-nighter.”

He offers me a classic Marty look, with the corner of his mouth tugged up into an Elvis-like smile. “Oh, do you have someone in mind? And what are you charging, Miss Thang? Is that going to be your madam name? Because I totally think it should be. Miss Thang, plus some air snaps.” He does it and watches me.

I poke at my ice cream. “I’m so torn. I want the white picket fence, not an office full of pricks buying girls.”

“So, have both. You can be the suburban madam. Who said you couldn’t have the fence?”

Glancing up at him, I answer, “They don’t go together. That kind of life is sweet and quiet with kids and a dog. The life Black is offering is flash, power, and cash.”

“Like I said, do both.” I’m about to tell him that I can’t, and he cuts me off. “Think long term, Avery. Do this for a little while, enough to get your house and the life you want, and then quit.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“You weren’t a madam this time and you had a run of bad luck.”

“No one would marry me after that. That’s a closet and a half full of skeletons, skeletons in the basement, skeletons in the trunk—they’ll be everywhere by then.” Not to mention the real one decomposing as we speak. The thought makes me nauseous.

I must have turned green, because Marty shoves me his soda. “Drink.” After a moment, he asks, “Feel better?”

I nod. “Yeah, thank you.”

Leaning back in the booth, Marty nods. “And if it’s not too forward, I would.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I shove ice cream into my mouth and concentrate on the chocolate. The fudgy goodness could make a person orgasmic. A person, being me. I nearly moan.

Marty laughs. “I’d give you a jar of hot fudge every day.”

“And I’d be three hundred pounds.”

“And I’d never forget your birthday, and I’d occasionally dress like a cowboy just for kicks.”