Reed, and stride to the counter. “Wow, that was fast. Thank you.”
Charles puts a large cardboard box onto the counter between us. Its side is imprinted with the words Courthouse Copy Service. “This is everything,” he says. “There weren’t a lot of documents in each file. Just the plaintiff’s complaint, the defendant’s answer, and a notice of settlement.”
“Perfect.” I pay for the copies and reach for the box, but Charles doesn’t let go of it. “Why don’t I carry this to your car for you? It’s kind of heavy.”
“I’m strong. I can handle it. Plus, I don’t have a car. But, thanks.”
“Well, how about we grab a coffee, then? I’m due for my break.”
Shit. Seriously? I don’t have time for this. “Thanks for the kind offer. But I’ve actually got a boyfriend, so...” I physically yank the box from Charles’ grasp. “Thank you so much for expediting this for me. You’re a prince. Bye now. Have a great day.” And off I go, as fast as my legs will carry me, while lugging a pretty heavy cardboard box.
When I get outside, I put the box down and pull out my phone. “Siri, where is the nearest coffee place?”
“I think I’ve found what you’re looking for,” Siri replies, showing me several nearby choices. I pick one, rest the box of legal documents onto my hip, and head off, excited to find a quiet spot where I can sip an iced coffee and devour as much of the contents of this box as possible before heading to Reed’s house... where, God willing, he’ll take me to heaven again, the same way he did in his swing this morning... only, this time, perhaps while tied to the four posters of his bed.
Chapter 14
Reed
Me: Where the hell are you, butterfly? It’s 5:18 and my net is rock hard and ready to capture you (so I can thereafter tack your wings to paper and enclose you in an airtight frame).
Georgina: So sorry! I lost track of time reading something at a coffee place downtown, and then got stuck in traffic. My navigation app estimates arrival time of 5:49. Don’t you dare touch your butterfly net before then. Save yourself for me.
Me: I’ll stay locked and loaded for you, baby. Gate code 874593. I’ll be in my bedroom.
Georgina: Can’t wait. PS I’m starving. Is there food?
Me: Amalia’s soup.
Georgina: Oh yeah! So excited. Don’t eat without me! XO
Me: Of course not. See you soon. XO
Smiling like a goof, I toss my phone onto my mattress next to me. For the love of fuck, I just texted her “XO.” I’ve only ever texted that sardonically to Josh. What is this girl doing to me?
My phone on the bed next to me rings, drawing me from my thoughts, and when I glance at the screen, I see it’s Isabel calling me. Fuck. She’s been calling me all day, without ever leaving a voicemail. Sighing, I pick up my phone.
“Hi, Isabel.”
“Finally!” she shouts. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Why haven’t you picked up?”
“I’ve been in meetings. Why didn’t you send a text or leave a voicemail?”
“Because what I’ve got to say has to be said in an actual conversation.”
My heart stops. No. In a flash, my brain hurtles back to that drunken night in the Hamptons. How long ago was that? I wore a condom that night, didn’t I? I’m positive I did... Oh, God, please tell me I wore a condom... and that it didn’t break.
“I’m getting married,” Isabel declares, and every hair on my body wilts in relief.
“Did you just sigh with relief?” Isabel shouts, going from zero to sixty on a dime.
“I sighed, but it was with happiness for you. So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“I call you, out of the blue, to say I’m getting married, and that’s your reaction? I’m happy for you, Isabel, who’s the lucky guy?”
I chuckle. “How should I have reacted? I know you’ve always wanted to get married.”
“To you, dumbass!”
“Well, we both know that was never going to happen, so it’s good you’ve found your Plan B. Now, are you going to identify the lucky man you’re going to pledge yourself to for eternity, or not?”
She pauses for a long beat, before saying, “It’s Howard.”
“Devlin?”
“Obviously, Reed.”
Holy fuck. Even lying here on my bed alone, I make a face like I’ve just swallowed a bite of rancid yogurt. Howard Devlin is a sixty-something-year-old blow-hard billionaire movie producer/studio head who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. He’s always had an obsession with