I know I’m doing the right thing. At least I’ll know that Josie will be well taken care of.
Josie wipes her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? We could offer the whole thing to Mr. Swish Investor and he could take it off our hands and you could come live with me in Iowa.”
As much as I loathe the idea of being Gage McCabe’s minority-share business partner, I don’t want to give up on my life and my hopes. “I can’t go back to Iowa. I get why you’d want to. It’s where you come from and where you were always going to end up. But not me.”
“I know, Loon. And I know things will work out for you here. It really is a good deal he’s offering. He might not be as bad as you think.”
“Sure. And pigs might fly past our window at sunset.”
She laughs. “What are you going to wear?”
“What do you mean?”
“To the concert tonight.”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You should wear that white dress you bought the other day. It’s so cute on you.”
“This isn’t a date, Josie.”
“So? It’s a business dinner and a concert. You still need to wear something. And that dress is perfect.” She does another Google search and brings up another picture on her laptop. “I can’t believe he’s the Tucker brothers’ cousin. Oh, look, here’s a photo of them together. And wow, yeah, you can definitely see the family resemblance.” The photo is of Gage, Travis, Vaughn, Kade and two other men. It looks like it was taken several years ago. They’re sitting on a dock by a lake. It’s summer. They’re shirtless and tan and glamorous-looking. “You’ve got to admit,” she says, “there’s some killer DNA going on in that family.”
“Whatever,” I murmur, but I watch as she scrolls further down the search results. “Wonderful,” I comment sarcastically. “There he is on his yacht surrounded by supermodels in bikinis. I can hardly wait until he starts banging all our customers.”
She clicks on a link to an article and starts reading. “‘Gage McCabe might be the most eligible bachelor in Chicago’s glitterati dating scene, but good luck pinning him down, ladies. The investment world’s golden boy won’t commit. He’s hot, he’s rich, and according to reliable sources, he’s a superhero in the sack, with stamina to burn and endowments to die for. But don’t expect him to stick around until morning.’”
“‘Endowments to die for’?” I grumble. “Eww.”
Josie laughs. “Better than being hung like a cocktail weenie. Did you see how he was holding his briefcase? Almost like he was trying to—”
“Would you stop? I don’t care how well hung he is! All I care about is putting him on the next plane north.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, girl? This will be fun. You get to spend his money on your dream. You’ll finally be able to do it justice.”
I continue scrolling, through more photos of Gage McCabe. With an heiress. A Victoria’s Secret supermodel. A famous actress. “Looks like he’s slept with most of Chicago, L.A., New York and then some. Oh, and here’s Nashville.”
“No one seems to be complaining.” She’s still grinning at me. “Maybe it’s time for him to conquer Key West.”
“Don’t. You’re a sadist.”
She laughs. “I’m an optimist. Oh my God, look at this one. It’s a Forbes article written by the CEO of FreshFace Cosmetics, who was formerly a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model: ‘I spent six hours in Gage McCabe’s company and WOW, it’s a six hours I will never, ever forget. Mr. McCabe is beyond gifted and has the one-of-a-kind equipment (*ladies, we’re talking huge!!*) you want to call all your girlfriends and sing from the rooftops about. He’s emotionally distant, yes, but refreshingly up front about it. He gives you no illusion that he’s in this for anything other than smokin’ hot sex. And on that front—*fanning myself*—he more than delivers (*I’m still riding that high*). Damn you, Gage McCabe, for ruining me for anyone else. I’ll never forgive you. P.S. call me anytime, sweetie—please!—for another no-strings-attached sess. I’m yours xxx.’”
“Jesus. They write articles about it?”
“Let me help you get dressed for tonight.”
“No. I’m not wearing that dress. It’s way too—”
“Luna. You’re going to see the Tucker Brothers Band in front row VIP seats with your new hot, rich, well-hung business partner. You’ll do as I say. I’m going to blow wave your hair and do your make-up—something understated and sexy. And you’re wearing that dress. It’s my last wish