I’m not lacking self-esteem. What exactly are you trying to say?”
“Cindy Crawford?” he asks, avoiding the actual question. “That’s a little bit of an outdated reference, don’t you think?”
“Cindy is a timeless beauty,” I say through clenched lips. “Now, answer my question.”
He purses his mouth, and his eyes glaze with confusion. I’d like to say it’s fake, but I’m having a hard time knowing for sure. “What question was that exactly?”
“What’s with all of this?” I snap. “I don’t get why you’d need me to be in top form for a work function.”
He winces then, and I scowl. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say now. “Yeah, see…it’s not actually, like, a work work function. Just kind of sort of a family work function.”
“Family work? What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s my dad’s sixty-fifth birthday party.”
My eyes go wide, and my jaw drops to my knees. “Cap!”
“Come on, Ruby! I needed a date.”
I scoff.
“I didn’t want to bring any of my fuck buddies, and you already get along so well with my mother.”
“Oh my God.” I gesture maniacally with both hands. “Your mother is going to be here?”
He nods. “Yeah. She usually shows up for my dad’s birthdays.”
“Why would you do this to me, Cap?” I nearly yell.
“Because I’m thoughtful, goddammit. Appreciate it, for fuck’s sake.”
I look back at the gowns and the shoes and the hair and makeup lady, and then down at myself. The sound of car doors closing grabs my attention, so I scoot over to the window closest to the door to look outside quickly.
When I see people dressed to the nines, arriving for the party, apparently, I cower.
It’s either this or a Shawshank Redemption-style escape.
Son of a bitch.
I guess I don’t have an option.
Briskly, I grab Cap by the arm and drag him out of the room. Just before I close the door in his face, I smile. “I sure hope you’ve accounted for my raise in the budget.”
I can hear his responding laugh through the thick, ornate wood, and I hate that it actually puts a smile on my face.
This guy might literally be the death of me.
But at least you’ll go down looking good. My brain offers a stupid silver lining, and I sigh.
Yeah. Every girl’s dream. Going to the grave in Louboutins and Chanel.
Cap
My dress shoes make a series of muted thuds on the marble floors as I pace the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. I smooth a hand over one sleeve of my tux, adjust the amount of cuff that peeks out from the edge of my jacket, and check the placement of my cuff links four or five times.
I’m a bundle of nerves waiting for Ruby to finish getting ready, and I know it’s mostly because I never expected tonight to go the way it did.
I thought she’d smile—maybe break down into happy tears briefly—and show her gratitude in some sexy way that might lead to other sexy things.
No way did I think she’d get annoyed.
Which she did. She all but punched me in the dick when she saw the racks of gorgeous gowns and rows of expensive shoes.
I mean, what in the hell kind of woman sees a romance novel-caliber gesture and gets mad?
Ruby, apparently—the woman who keeps proving to be the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced in my life.
Law school. Passing the bar exam. Judge Hackett’s courtroom. Pfft. They look easy compared to her. Hell, beads of sweat are threatening to form on my forehead as I attempt to wait patiently for her at the bottom of the stairs.
But she’s been in that room for at least two hours, the last thirty minutes of which I’ve spent waiting, and I don’t know what to expect when she comes out.
Lasers? Rabid dogs? Attack sharks? Ruby is feisty and her backbone is made of steel, and Lord Almighty, she can be creatively evil when inspired. Qualities which usually turn me the fuck on, but right now, there’s no telling what she’ll sic on me.
The front door opens behind me, and two of my father’s VPs from HawCom step inside with their wives. I’ve known them for at least fifteen years, so I nod a hello and give both their wives a smile.
Glen Morris, the younger of the two, looks ready to engage me in a full-blown conversation, so I turn back to the stairs and take out my phone and scroll mindlessly.
Unfortunately, ole Glen is evidently underdeveloped at reading context clues.
“Caplin! Nice to see you,”