Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,42
gave him a stupid little wave.
After he left, she went to use the bathroom and ended up staring at the toilet. “You again.” She’d forgotten about the talking contraptions.
She poked a few buttons before sitting down, but this one seemed only to speak Japanese.
Oddly, though, the toilet’s voice was female and sounded mildly submissive. That sort of bothered her, considering what people did in the toilet. Why couldn’t the toilet have been male instead? It also played music and had ten electronic features including a seat warmer and bidet function. I wonder what the other eight buttons do. She’d have to play around with it later.
She then made a quick call to check her voicemail. There was only one message from Jack, which left her dialing back the moment the recording ended.
“I can’t believe you’re sleeping with that sleaze bag Wade! He’s engaged to Victoria Preston. What the hell are you thinking, Tay?”
What in the world was he talking about? And Bennett was engaged again? But hadn’t he just gotten out of a relationship with some woman named Kate?
Of course, Taylor’s return call went into voicemail, and she was left skimming the online gossip magazines—Jack’s secret little addiction that he claimed was for keeping up on the latest fashion in rhinoplasty and breast augmentation, even though his expertise was facial reconstruction for accident victims.
Sadly, it didn’t take her long to find what had riled her brother up: A picture of Bennett and the actress Victoria Preston—big boobs and pouty lips—with her face glowing and hand extended toward the camera. The caption read: Bennett Wade and the glamorous Miss V to tie the knot this summer? The article went on to quote multiple “close friends” of the couple as being very excited about their upcoming nuptials.
However, the worst part came when Taylor toggled down to the next article highlighting a photo of her and Bennett kissing in the back of the car at Ms. Luci’s ranch.
“Who. The fuck! Took that picture?” It wasn’t that Taylor had done anything wrong, but her privacy had been violated. Big time. As she studied it, it became clear from the angle that the driver had done the dirty deed.
The caption read: Bennett Wade, slumming it with the help only two months away from his wedding.
Where did those fuckers get off calling her “the help” and insinuating she was trashy? A-holes! Wait. She suddenly felt nauseous as the other information sank in. Bennett is engaged. Bennett is engaged. Oh my God.
Taylor could not believe that the rat bastard had had the nerve to kiss her.
She fumed for several moments and then decided to take a shower to cool her head. Not like she could do anything at this moment anyway.
After all, Bennett was with his business partners, and she wouldn’t see him until morning. But once again, she found herself wondering how she could let such an unscrupulous man off the hook. Liar. Cheater. User. Womanizer. Every time she felt like taking the high road, something like this popped up and told her that Bennett was the sort of man who gave penises all around the world a bad rap.
—
Wearing her favorite all-occasion little black dress and heels, with a white cardigan thrown over her shoulders, Taylor sat at the small table for two in the elegant steakhouse slash sushi bar in the hotel, surrounded by men in suits having business dinners. Oh, look. An ocean of little multicultural Bennetts. Of course, no one could compare to him on any level—looks, size, success, arrogance, or man-whoring. Yep. He’s cornered the global market.
The odd part for her was knowing that so many of these men probably aspired to work for a man like Bennett. Or be him.
“Taylor, honey!” Candy’s sugary-sweet twang rang out through the restaurant, drawing more than a few heads. She wore a green skirt and blouse that made her red hair pop like the flame on the tip of a match.
“Hi, Candy,” Taylor made a little wave as the woman strutted forth, shamelessly owning the room.
“Thanks for having dinner with me.” Candy took the seat across from Taylor. “I travel so much, it gets old having room service or dinner alone.”
The waiter, a young man wearing a red apron, came over, greeted the two in English and gave them both menus.
“I’ll have a vodka tonic. Make it a double,” Taylor said.
“My my. Are we drinking to something special tonight?” Candy asked.
Taylor opened her menu and grumbled, “Yeah, I’m drinking to men being pigs.”