My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,54
to the courthouse?” she yells. “Get Peeping added in front of it.”
Oh. God. This shit’s gone severely sideways.
“Again, I’m so sorry,” I apologize and jet. I really don’t have any interest in waiting around to tell them how to spell my name for the irreconcilable reason on their divorce papers.
I hightail it away from the hostess stand and push through the doors of the women’s restroom. Once I’ve safely locked myself inside one of the stalls, I pull my phone out of my purse and call Lena.
She answers on the second ring.
“Hey, girl.”
Already worked up from nearly breaking up a marriage, I skip the pleasantries altogether.
“Holy shit, I’m on a date and I just went up to the wrong guy and hugged him and he is here with his wife and fucking hell why am I so awkward, Lena? Seriously, I think I might have just inadvertently caused trust issues in someone’s marriage. I can’t believe I just—”
“Take a breath, girl.” She cuts me off on a laugh. “You’re literally talking a million miles a minute.”
I inhale a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s just that shit went down out there by the hostess stand.”
“Okay, so what happened, exactly?”
I explain it to her again, but this time much slower, and by the end of my story, she is laughing her ass off.
“Lena! It’s not that funny!”
“Oh, but it is,” she retorts. “It’s hilarious, Maybe.”
“God help me.” A groan jumps from my lungs. “I should never be allowed out of my apartment.”
“It’s going to be fine,” she reassures. “And anyway, you need to remember that it doesn’t matter how this date actually goes. What matters is if Milo knows you’re on a date. You can be a total hot mess on this date, and it doesn’t matter.”
The realization is liberating. “Okay, you’re right.”
“I know,” she says with her signature confidence. “So, does Milo know you’re on a date?”
“He knows. I asked him for help picking out my outfit.”
Lena doesn’t respond right away, and it makes me freak out a little.
“Wait…oh God…is that bad? Did I screw up Phase 3 of the plan?”
“Honey.” She laughs. “You’re a damn genius. Making him pick out your outfit for a date with another man? Jesus Christ, I hope you sent him pictures in lingerie.”
A laugh of relief leaves my lips. “Not quite, but I did sample a couple of cleavage-boosting dresses.”
“Brilliant.”
I smile. “So now what do I do?”
“Go back into the restaurant and try to find your date. This time, don’t start hugging and schmoozing and shit until you’re sure it’s him.”
“And then?”
“And then just enjoy the free dinner.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Just go back inside the restaurant, eat a giant bowl of fettuccini alfredo, and try to enjoy yourself. No use sitting through a dinner in misery, you know what I mean?”
My stomach growls in the name of fettuccine, and suddenly, I’m at ease. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s eat a bowl of pasta.
“Yeah, for once, I think I do know what you mean.”
Milo
At exactly eight o’clock, I pick Senna up from her apartment in Midtown, and we head toward SoHo where I reserved a table for two at one of my favorite steakhouses.
Senna is all long legs and red lips and long blond hair flowing down her back in a mane of curls and waves. And her tight white dress is probably illegal, even after Labor Day.
When we were escorted from the hostess stand to our table, she turned heads the entire way, and her familiar display of flirtatious eyes and long lashes has been in full effect since I picked her up.
Not to mention, her apparently bare foot is already rubbing against my jeans-covered leg.
She’s happy to see me.
And like with all of our previous “dates,” she’s expecting for things to lead toward sex at my apartment by the end of the night.
“How is your steak?” she asks, her voice slightly purring with her words.
“It’s good.”
“Can I have a bite?”
“Uh…sure,” I respond and go to put a piece on her plate, but in a dramatic display of her cleavage pushed out between her arms, she rests her elbows on the table and opens her red-painted lips, urging me to feed it to her.
So, I do.
And she moans her approval.
“You’re right,” she purrs and licks at her bottom lip. “It’s really good.”
I should be one hundred percent enjoying this display.