Powerful (The Driven World) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,17
and you owe me three dollars for the cookie.”
Nearly choking on the cookie, I splutter, “T-Three dollars?”
“Yes, three dollars. It’s a good cookie, isn’t it?”
It is a good cookie, but I don’t want to admit it to TB, so I shrug.
“When are rehearsals?”
“Tomorrow night at the chapel and dinner afterward at the yacht club.”
“Oh, fancy,” I tease TB. “Why then?”
“I know it’s tradition, but Ashley didn’t want to have it the night before the big day. My petal wants to look her best, and the yacht club… well, nothing but the finest for my bride.”
The kitchen area is spotless. The tables gleam, and the floor is clean enough to eat off. TB takes pride in his work.
“I went to see Athena.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Dad told me she got attacked?”
TB stops what he’s doing, and with his hands on his hips, he looks at me. “She didn’t want you to know. She made me promise not to tell you.”
“What happened?”
TB frowns, then continues pulling another cake out of the oven. “Not my place to tell you.”
“For fuck’s sake, you’re my best friend.”
“And Athena is my sister. Ask her.”
“I did.”
This stops him in his tracks, and he scrutinizes me. “Ahh, she didn’t tell you.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Can’t blame her. I’m still not going to tell you.”
“You suck.”
The waitress, Shannon, comes bustling into the area. “TB, I need some help out front, we’ve been inundated with customers.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see the press has taken up residence at all the available tables. Smirking at him, I swipe another cookie from the bench and begin to walk backward out of the café.
“Hey! That’s six dollars now.”
I shrug. “I’m good for it. Besides, they’re all here for me.”
“They could be here for my world-famous chowder.”
I laugh, and Shannon frowns at me.
“It is very good. You should try it,” says Shannon as she goes back out the front.
I follow her, and the cameras all flash at once.
“Okay, okay,” I say loud enough that the whole café can hear me. “You are all going to order something off the menu, on me, and take as many pictures as you want, but if any of you ruin my best friend’s wedding, you’ll never get another photo of me again. Understand?”
One of the photographers laughs, so I pin him with a look.
“Ever. I will only do photoshoots, and I swear, I will wear a paper bag over my head… every. Single. Time. I’m in public, which includes the Oscars. You, especially you, will never get another candid photo of me again.”
The photographer sits further back into his chair, smirking at me.
“So, you’re going to wear a paper bag on your head when you go out to dinner?” he says smugly.
“You bet your ass I will, or I’ll have dinner delivered to my home. Try me. See how far you get,” I reply with ice in my tone.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat under my gaze.
“Kris, you have to know this is a big deal. The rumor is it’s you who’s getting married,” says a female reporter.
TB bursts out laughing. I shake my head at him and look back at the pack of hyenas.
“I give you my solemn word, I am not getting married.”
“We’ve had it confirmed from a reliable source,” says another.
I hold up my hands. “You guys follow me everywhere. Have you seen me go to Tiffany’s or any other jewelry store?”
“You could have had it delivered,” counters another.
I raise my eyebrows, shake my head, and look around the room. “To get married, I’d have to be in love. I’m not getting married.”
“What about Sophia Thorne?”
I frown, shake my head again, and pin the reporter with a look. “I’ve only been with Sophia for a few weeks—”
“Three months,” says another.
“Fine, three months. I like her, she’s my girlfriend, we have a good time, but we aren’t anywhere near there yet. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
The room goes quiet, and a few of them exchange glances. I look over my shoulder at TB whose arms are crossed, and he nods at me once.
“Okay, so order up big. Tomorrow night we are going to be going to the yacht club. Sophia and I will pose for photos at the marina for a half-hour at five o’clock. It’ll be beautiful, the sun will be setting, and you can ask us anything.”
“Anything?” asks a pretty female.
“Yep, anything.” I smile widely at the room. “I might not answer, but you can ask.”
This draws laughter from a few of them.
I look at TB.