Chapter Six
Kim
I spend the rest of the day pretending the lunch never happened, even though Salazar keeps shooting hopeful looks in my direction. I know he’s big on keeping his promises, but if it matters that much, he should’ve bet himself, not me. There’s no way I’m going to be Wyatt’s date for anything. Not even for the chocolate crème brûlée. Four weeks’ pay certainly isn’t enough. I’d rather work in a salt mine.
For free.
And Salazar made the tactical error of telling me it won’t affect my five-year bonus, so I have even less reason to bother.
As soon as my laptop clock says it’s five, I go to the barre studio to work out with Hilary and Jo. The three of us hit the studio two or three times a week, partly to exercise and stay healthy, partly to socialize and catch up. If we don’t make an effort, we don’t get to hang out with each other, especially with Hilary being married and her husband wanting her to spend time with him, too.
The workout helps me relax, but only a little. There’s a teenager standing around, looking mulish, waiting for his mom to finish up. Wyatt was like that—all rebellious superiority—when he first saw me at a barre, although that was a ballet studio his sister and I went together. The memory puts me b
ack into a crabby mood again.
Once the session’s over, we head to a bar near the studio to unwind before heading home. It’s our little ritual.
Hilary, Jo and I grab a table and order our usual drinks. While waiting, I suck down some lemon-infused ice water and look at the women I’ve known for years.
Salazar’s daughter-in-law, Hilary, is a gorgeous, statuesque redhead. Her husband Mark has more than enough money to pamper her for life, but she continues to work as an assistant to one of the wealthiest fund managers in the country. I admire that about her—she hasn’t changed just because she married somebody rich.
Of the three of us, Jo is easily the best dressed. Even after our workout, her long, dark brown hair is in place, her clothes absolutely pristine. But then, she’s a fashion consultant and personal shopper. It’s literally her job to look stylish.
“You seem a little grumpy,” Jo says to me. “Anything wrong? You usually like barre.”
“Trust me. My mood’s gone up a lot since lunch.”
“What happened?” Jo asks.
Our waitress brings out cocktails, giving me a moment before I have to answer Jo’s question. And I need to answer; otherwise it’ll turn into a persistent inquisition. She should’ve gotten a job with the CIA.
“Basically, I need a boyfriend.”
Hilary stops in the middle of picking up her martini. “What?”
“Oh my God, is Salazar hitting on you?” Jo asks, thirty percent titillated and seventy percent scandalized.
“Don’t be silly,” Hilary says.
“Absolutely not,” I say at the same time. “He’s totally devoted to his ex-wife.” Even as I say it, I want to shake my head at how ridiculous that sounds. If I saw it on a TV show, I’d throw popcorn at the screen. But it’s true. The outrageous getaway I’ve been planning isn’t for him and some side piece. It’s for his ex-wife, whom he’s decided is the true love of his life after their divorce.
“Fine, fine,” Jo says, raising her hands. “So why do you need a boyfriend?”
Her confusion is understandable. I’ve turned down every single one of her attempts to set me up.
“It’s just…ludicrous.” I explain the basic situation of how Salazar wants me to date some dude I’d rather not, but I don’t share the drunken rock-paper-scissors bet story because it isn’t something I can talk about. No matter how annoyed I am with my boss, I can’t just blurt out something he wants kept quiet.
“It can’t be that hard,” Hilary says when I’m finished. “I mean, it’s only one…maybe two dates, max. And you get a month off.”
“It is that hard. This isn’t just any guy. This is my, like, arch-nemesis from high school, who screwed me and dumped me for my best friend in the same week. And that isn’t even close to the whole story. Later he put a vibrator in my backpack and made sure it fell out in the cafeteria during lunch. I wanted to die on the spot.”
“How the hell did he manage to do that?” Jo asks.
“Black magic. He’s evil,” I say. Even though Wyatt did his best to look innocent, I know he was responsible. The asshole was standing right behind me when it happened.
“Son of a bitch.” Murder flashes in Hilary’s eyes. “You know, I know a guy…”
“Don’t bother,” Jo says sourly. “Hit men aren’t like in movies. They’re incompetent.”