A few days later at the store, I’m standing behind the front counter making a list of the pros and cons of marrying an arrogant, rich stranger who not only doesn’t love me but whose idea of a compelling compliment is saying I’m nonrepulsive when Viv walks through the door. She’s followed by Harper and Taylor, all of whom look like they spent the night crawling through a prison sewer frantically in search of the exit while dodging bullets and being chased by a pack of wolves.
“Holy shit. What happened to you guys?”
Taylor climbs up onto the counter, stretches out on her back, and closes her eyes. She has dark circles under her eyes and a deathly pallor that her all-black ensemble does nothing to improve.
“Girls’ night. We hit it a little hard.”
I wave the pad of paper over her head, fanning away fumes. “Yeah, I can tell. You smell like you slept in a tequila factory.”
Harper says, “We haven’t slept. We went from clubbing to an after-hours joint to Mickey Ds for breakfast to here.”
Groaning, she collapses into the overstuffed chair near the front window and reclines with her bare legs splayed out and her head hanging over the back. In a miniskirt and flip-flops, her dark hair tangled and her lips chapped, she could be a shipwreck survivor who just washed ashore.
Vivienne, ever the ladylike one in a flowered summer dress that would be pretty if it wasn’t so wrinkled and didn’t have that big red wine stain down the front, burps politely behind her hand, then grimaces. She leans her elbows on Taylor’s thighs and props her chin in her hands.
“Remind me never to mix red wine and fireball shots.”
I snort. “And remind me never to go drinking with three amateurs.”
From her chair, Harper says weakly, “Not everybody has an iron-clad liver.”
“Or a death wish. Why would you girls be mixing alcohol like that? You know better.”
There’s a pause that feels heavy, then Taylor cracks open her bloodshot eyes and gazes up at me. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out.”
“Great. Now I have to freak out.”
She sighs and sits up, crossing her ankles together and cradling her knees. “My mom and stepdad are getting a divorce.”
Examining her unhappy expression, I say, “I would’ve thought that would be good news.”
“It is. Except they’re selling the house.”
“Okay. And?”
“And my mom’s moving to Florida.”
“Florida? Why?”
She runs a hand through her choppy black hair and sighs again. “My grandparents. She’s moving in with them to get back on her feet. And I’d rather die than relocate to Sunnyside Retirement Village in Tampa, which means I’m out of a place to live, effective immediately.”
Harper chimes in, “Which wouldn’t be such a biggie, but now that she’s also out of a job—”
“Harper!” snaps Viv. “Be quiet!”
She listlessly waves a hand in the air. “Sorry, Em. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”
Trying or not, I do. I feel awful that Taylor’s in this position because of me. Setting aside the pad of paper, I say, “Don’t you have any friends you can stay with while you look for work?”
All three of them stare at me like I’ve eaten an entire bag of THC gummies.
Taylor isn’t exactly Ms. Popularity. In fact, she’s probably the most antisocial person I know. The only reason she was so good at her job at Lit Happens is because she loves books so much and can talk to strangers about them. Pretty much all other topics are nonstarters.
Harper says, “I’d have her move in with me, except we don’t have an extra bedroom. Even if we did, Cody’s sick so much…”
“And I’m allergic to kids,” Taylor finishes flatly.
Seeing my dismay, Viv says, “I told her she can stay with me if she wants, but she said no.”
“Why would I want to stay with you? I’d be safer living on the streets!”
When Viv sends Taylor an exasperated look, Taylor turns sheepish. “Fuck. Sorry.”
I demand, “What does that mean, Viv? You’re having problems at your place?”
She scrubs her hands over her face, then drops them to her sides and nods. “Vandalism and stuff.” She glances away, lowering her voice. “Somebody keeps throwing rocks through my windows and breaking into the garage. I’ve already filed a bunch of police reports, but they won’t do anything.”
Taylor says bitterly, “You have to be dead before the cops do anything. My mom stopped calling them when my stepdad would smack her around, because it would take them forever to show up. When they did, it was always the same pair of sexist douchebags who acted like maybe she had it coming.”
I say, “That’s awful!”
Taylor shrugs, as if injustice is the way of the world.
I sometimes can’t believe that poor girl is only twenty-one years old. She has the air of someone who’s been dealing with heavy shit for centuries.
Viv says, “So I need to find a new place. Only the place I’m in now is under rent control, so it’s super cheap…”
When she bites her lip, I realize she didn’t intend to reveal that. She didn’t want to make me feel worse than I already do.
But of course I feel worse, considering I know that first and last month’s rent plus a security deposit on a new apartment anywhere in LA that isn’t rent controlled will run her at the very least ten grand.
Which I know she doesn’t have.
And can’t save up for because she’s out of a job.
Because her boss is a fucking loser.
When my eyes well with moisture, Viv runs around to my side of the counter and seizes my hands. Sounding dismayed, she cries, “No! Don’t be upset! None of this is your fault, Em!”
“Good fucking going, Viv,” says Taylor in disgust. “You made her cry.”
“You’re the one who started it!”
Harper rises from the dead to shuffle toward us at the counter. “Nobody’s crying without me. If anybody here has a good reason to cry, it’s this girl. My cheap son-of-a-bitch ex-husband is taking me back to court to reduce his already miniscule childcare payments! What does he think I’m supposed to take care of my son with, my good looks?”
When Viv and Taylor glare at her in outrage, she stops where she is, makes a face, and pulls her shoulders up around her ears. “Oops.”
So that’s why they all had to go on a drinking binge.
I’ve ruined their lives.
Sabine and Murph have probably already carried out the suicide pact I imagine they made after that depressing dinner at Jameson’s.
I’m about to cover my face with my hands and burst into tears, but at that exact moment, Callum McCord walks through the front door.
He stops in the entry, looks at the one emotional and three bedraggled women staring at him, and produces a smile so blindingly gorgeous, we all suck in a collective breath.
“Good morning, ladies. Please pardon the interruption.”
Vivienne looks him up and down, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Harper stares at him with obvious lust, as if he’s a new Birkin bag. Even Taylor looks dazzled, blinking like a vampire in daylight.
Accustomed to stunning females into silence, Callum smiles wider. “I have some paperwork to drop off for Emery.”
In no particular hurry, he swaggers toward us.
Today, he’s in a deep blue suit that was probably handmade in Italy by a group of virgin monks and flown across the Atlantic on the back of a unicorn. His hair is perfectly combed. His beard is perfectly trimmed. His aura of sexual magnetism is perfectly devastating.
He stops on the other side of the counter and looks at Taylor sitting there. Noticing the tattoo on her exposed shoulder, he reads it aloud. “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
He looks into her eyes, then says softly, “Bronte’s a favorite of mine too. Not that anyone could love a monster like Heathcliff in real life, but what’s a good book if not an escape from that very thing?”
Taylor’s tattoo doesn’t include the name of the author who wrote that quote.
Which means that Callum not only knows one of the greatest works of classical literature—a novel written by a feminist before there was such a thing and considered by many to be the greatest love story of all time—he knows it by heart.
If the sound of ovaries screaming was audible, we’d all be deafened.
Two spots of pink appear on Taylor’s pale cheeks. Her voice hoarse, she says, “Yeah.”
Satisfied he’s seared her frontal cortex so badly, she’ll never be able to produce more than grunts ever again, Callum turns his attention to me.
“Hello, darling.” He holds up the manila envelope in his hand. “The contract. I look forward to your feedback.”
He sets the envelope on the counter, turns on his heel, and walks out.
When the door has closed behind him and the cloud of testosterone clears, my three friends turn to stare at me.
“Oh, stop gaping at me like that,” I say, having gone from weepy to irritated by witnessing yet another Callum McCord slay-the-ladies performance.
Viv breathes, “Who. Was. That?”
“A super-hot super baller,” says Harper. She lifts a hand to her cheek. “My face is tingling.”
“My cooch is tingling,” says Taylor, staring after him in wonder. “That dude knows Wuthering Heights?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Maybe there’s hope for humanity after all.”
I snatch up the envelope and tear it open. “Everybody calm down. He’s not that great.”
They look at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“You guys, seriously. Just because he’s rich, attractive, dresses well, and has read Wuthering Heights doesn’t mean he’s all that.”
Taylor says drily, “Pretty sure that’s exactly what it means, dumbass.”
“No, it doesn’t, because he’s also arrogant.”
I get no response. Everyone continues to look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. Obviously, they require more evidence.
“And impatient.”
Nothing. Nada. Crickets.
I say louder, “And inflexible. Plus, he always thinks he’s right!”
“Duh,” says Taylor, laughing. “He’s a man. He’s still a fine piece of ass, though.”
“Wait, don’t tell me you like him? You don’t like anyone!”
“I like him enough to peg him on the kitchen floor.”
“What does ‘peg’ mean? Have sex with?”
Her smile is condescending.
“Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“What’s that contract he was talking about?” asks Viv, edging closer and eyeing the paperwork in my hands.
“Yeah,” says Harper. “And why did he call you ‘darling’ if you hate him so much?”
“I didn’t say I hated him. I just think he’s a lunatic, that’s all. As for the contract…”
I slide the sheaf of papers out of the envelope and look at the top page. “It’s for our marriage.”
Silence.
After a moment, Viv says tentatively, “You’re getting married?”
Taylor says disbelievingly, “You’re getting married?”
And Harper says loudly, “You’re getting married? To him?”
“I haven’t decided yet. He is offering me ten million dollars, though. And you should see the ring! It’s bigger than my first car.”
Three pairs of eyes bulge as they stare at me.
I sigh, flipping through the pages. “It’s a long story.”
“Fuck yes!” says Taylor, swinging her legs around so they dangle off the edge of the counter. “It’s story time, girls.”
I can tell by the way they’re all salivating that I won’t be getting off the hook until I give them something, so I grudgingly relent. “Fine. I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.” I briefly sum up my encounters and conversations with Callum so far, then roll my eyes at the expressions on their faces.
“I know. It’s totally weird, right?”
“Weird?” repeats Harper with a dry laugh. “No, Em. It’s not weird. It’s amazing.”
“So you’d say yes?”
“Are you kidding me? I’d say yes, then climb that man like he was a tree and fuck him silly!”
“Same,” says Taylor, nodding.
I look at Vivienne. Appearing disturbed, she thinks for a moment. “I admit it’s tempting. But what about love?”
“What about it?” demands Harper, who’s now draped over the countertop on the other side of Taylor. “Love is overrated, in my opinion, and an unreliable basis for something as serious as marriage. I was madly in love with Chad, and look where that got me.”
Taylor nods. “My mom was madly in love with my stepdad too. All it got her was a broken heart and some broken bones to go along with it. The only love that works is in books.”
Vivienne says, “You guys are wrong. Not all relationships end up like that. Love is the only thing that really matters.”
Harper sighs. “Says the girl who’s never been in love before. Call me in a few years after you’ve had your heart broken several times, and we’ll have a good laugh about how naïve you were.”
Vivienne crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. “Well, I still believe in love. And I wouldn’t marry someone for his money.”
I say, “So two votes for, one against.”
“What does Dani think about all this?” Harper asks.
“She’s on team Marry for Money.”
Vivienne insists, “It’s a bad idea. What happens if you marry this guy, then in a year you meet the love of your life?”
I look at the paperwork in my hands. “I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s something in here about that. Callum’s nothing if not thorough.”
Harper says, “The more likely scenario is that they’ll get married, then she’ll fall in love with him.” She sends me a meaningful look. “And I think we can all agree that a guy that rich and good-looking could never be faithful. He has too many options.”
I’m disturbed by the thought of being emotionally attached to Callum. That would be like being in love with some exotic zoo animal that was always trying to escape from its cage and eat me.
“I’m not falling in love with anybody. And after what I went through with my last few relationships, I honestly hope I never will.”
Harper’s expression darkens. “That reminds me. We saw Ben last night.”
Stunned, I stare at her. My heart starts pounding. “My Ben? Mr. Disappearing Act?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“At the club we went to, this new place in the Valley. He was there with a couple of his buddies.”
I’m so shocked by this news, I can’t form a coherent response.
After a serious year-long relationship, Ben broke up with me without a word of explanation, blocked my phone number, moved without telling me where he was going, and left me reeling in hurt and confusion, thinking maybe he was entering the witness protection program because that was the only logical explanation for his actions. And the whole time he’s been living in the San Fernando Valley, not even an hour away?
“Did he see you?”
“Yeah, though it looked like he wished he hadn’t. I could tell he didn’t want to talk to me.”
“You talked to him?”
“I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass to tell him what an ass he was for the way he left you! So yeah, I talked to him.”
My heart pounds so hard, I have to press my hand over my chest to catch my breath. “What did he say?”
Harper straightens and runs her hands through her disheveled hair. “After I gave him a piece of my mind, he just stood there all weird and nervy for a minute. Then he said he was sorry, but he had to go.”
I can tell there’s more by the way she and Taylor exchange a fleeting glance. “What are you leaving out?”
She hesitates, but then says, “He turned around and walked away, but after a few steps, he turned back. And he said, ‘Tell her to watch out.’ Then he walked away again. I didn’t see him after that. I think he left the club.”
I’m flabbergasted. “He threatened me?”
Taylor says, “It doesn’t mean anything. He’s a lying piece of shit. He was playing games, that’s all.”
Vivienne nods in agreement. “Plus, he was probably drunk.”
But Ben never drinks enough to get drunk. At least he didn’t when we were together. And why would he choose to say that, of all things?
I think I might ask Callum if he’d let me borrow his private detective. I want to find out where Ben’s living and go knock on his door.
No, I don’t. What am I thinking? He left me! He broke my heart!
“Uh-oh,” says Viv, watching me. “The gears are turning.”
“I told you we shouldn’t say anything about it,” grouses Harper, who’s also watching me worriedly.
They start to bicker, but I tune them out, my mind consumed with thoughts of Ben. I can’t believe that after all this time, he was just a short drive away. And now he’s warning me to watch out? What does that even mean?
I try to be angry, reminding myself that he was a jerk for leaving me without any explanation. If nothing else, he should’ve at least had the courtesy of giving me closure. The way he broke things off was cruel.
Despite all that, a feeling of unease settles in my stomach. For all his shortcomings, Ben wasn’t a liar. And no matter what Taylor thinks of him, he also wasn’t one for playing games.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I know I need to do something. Sighing, I look down at the paperwork in my hands.
First, I have to decide whether or not I’m going to marry Callum McCord.
