“Do you know her ex got a restraining order against her when she showed up in his office, wearing only a trench coat and holding two dildos and a bottle of lube?” Jo asks, her eyes twinkling.
“I might possibly have heard something about that.” I shrug, as mildly vindictive enjoyment tugs at me.
Hilary continues reading off my phone. “‘She’s thirty minutes late. I’m done.’”
“Ooh, ooh, I know this one!” Jo raises a hand. “Remington Brass! She’s always half an hour late. Even if I tell her a fake time to get her to show up when she’s supposed to, she’s still half an hour late! It’s like some kind of dark magic.”
“You’re pretty good at this, Jo,” I say. “Maybe we should do a drinking game.”
“‘This woman only talks about shoes and purses.’” Hilary gives me a mock frown, although her eyes are bright with amusement. “‘Can’t she expand her repertoire?’”
“Maria Gomez, right?” Jo shakes her head. “She’s awful. It was the worst when she hired me. She doesn’t understand she also needs to get a dress, not just the peripherals.”
“But she’s rich and pretty. What more does he need for a wedding date?” But yeah, I do feel a teeny bit of guilt.
Okay, so maybe I’m picking women based on looks and net worth alone, which isn’
t what I’d do if I actually liked Wyatt. I’d consider the woman’s personality and long-term potential. Or maybe just volunteer myself, since it’s only a single afternoon.
At the same time, I don’t think my choices are totally unreasonable. It isn’t like he’s looking for the love of his life. It’s one lousy date to an ex-wife’s wedding. And he’s the one who stipulated nobody off dating apps and no gold diggers. My choices fit his criteria. If he wanted to narrow it down more, he should’ve put that in the contract.
“He’s being picky,” Jo declares. “Just get him an escort.”
“I’m considering that,” I say, although I’m really not. Vi might be going to the ceremony, too. And it’s way outside my comfort zone to put Vi in close proximity to an escort. What if Wyatt suddenly decides he wants his money’s worth?
The thought bugs me. A lot. Like sweaty hair sticking to my neck. Making me itchy.
Think about something else.
My phone beeps. Hilary hands it over, and I check the text.
It’s from my superintendent.
–Annie: The exterminator came by again. I don’t understand how you can still have bugs. But if you want, stop by after work. I’ll be in the office late today.
“What’s wrong?” Jo asks.
“It’s my super. I have a bug problem.” I glare at the phone. “She says she already sent somebody to spray, but I doubt that. Or maybe they half-assed it because I found another huge dead spider in front of my door this morning.”
“Eww.” Hilary and Jo both scrunch their faces.
“I thought your place was pest-free,” Jo says.
“It was. But lately…”
“You could use a live-in man right about now, huh?” Jo asks, gloating slightly.
“Almost. Just so he could take care of the creepy-crawlies,” I say, half serious. Nothing else gets a day started on the wrong foot like seeing a dead bug in front of my home. It isn’t even always spiders. Sometimes it’s crickets or a small mouse. The thing is, no one else on my floor is having the problem. I already asked my neighbors, all except Wyatt, because he’s not a neighbor, but a pest himself.
And speaking of pests…
“What?” Jo asks, leaning forward. “You’ve got that light-bulb-moment look on your face.”
“I didn’t start getting dead bugs in front of my door until Wyatt became my neighbor.” Is there a connection?
“Ooh.” Jo blinks. “You think he’s the one behind it?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. He once dropped a frog on an ice cream sundae I was eating.”