Book 1 - Page 9 (1/2)
I decided that it would be a bad idea to talk to the girls about what was going on. I mean, Sara worked for Henry Ryan and saw Bennett around the building all the time. There was no way I could ask her to keep that kind of secret. Julia on the other hand would kick my a.s.s. For almost a year she’d listened to me complain about what a d.i.c.k he was, and she would not be happy to find out I was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him.
Two hours later I was sitting with my two best friends, drinking mimosas on the patio of our favorite restaurant, talking about men and clothes and work. Julia had surprised me with a dress made from the most sumptuous fabric I’d ever felt. It sat in a garment bag slung over the chair next to me.
“So how’s work going?” Julia asked between bites of her melon. “That douche of a boss still giving you a hard time, Chloe?”
“Oh, Beautiful b.a.s.t.a.r.d.” Sara sighed, and I carefully studied the condensation on my champagne flute. She popped a grape into her mouth and spoke around it. “G.o.d, you should see him, Julia. It’s the most perfect nickname I’ve ever heard. He is a G.o.d. And I mean that. There’s nothing wrong with him, physically. Perfect face, body, clothes, hair . . . Oh, G.o.d, the hair. He’s got that artfully arranged messy thing going on,” she said, motioning above her head. “Looks like he just banged the h.e.l.l out of someone.”
I rolled my eyes. I never needed a reminder about the hair.
“But—and I don’t know what Chloe has told you—he really is awful,” Sara continued, growing serious. “I mean, I wanted to shove a pocket knife into each of his tires within the first fifteen minutes of meeting him. He is the biggest d.i.c.k I’ve ever met.”
I almost choked on a piece of pineapple. If Sara only knew. Truly, the man was blessed in the man-parts department. It was unfair.
“Why is he such a jerk?”
“Who knows?” Sara said, and then blinked away as if she was really considering whether he had a good excuse. “Maybe he had a hard childhood?”
“Have you met his family?” I asked, skeptical. “h.e.l.lo, Norman Rockwell.”
“True,” she conceded. “Maybe it’s some sort of defense mechanism. Like, he’s bitter and feels like he has to work harder and prove himself to everyone all the time because he’s so d.a.m.n pretty?”
I snorted. “There isn’t a deep reason. He thinks everyone should care as much and work as hard as he does, and most people don’t. It p.i.s.ses him off.”
“Are you defending him, Chloe?” Sara asked with a surprised grin.
“Definitely not.”