“No problem, Pascal. You’re family,” Joe says.
“I just think it’s weird. He really seems crazy about you,” Curie says.
“What’s really weird is that I’m still crazy about him.” It doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. My head says he was manipulative and all but lied to me, but my heart goes gooey and achy every time I think of him. I prop my chin in my hand and sigh. “What does that say about me?”
Curie reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You’re in love.”
“I am. Gah.” I stab my salad. “Why him? Why did he have to pay my boss?”
“Maybe it really isn’t that much to him,” Joe says. “He’s a billionaire. He probably doesn’t think about it the way we do.”
He has a point. Didn’t I see how casual Yuna was about money? Court fits right in with people like her. But I don’t. I just can’t wrap my mind around using that kind of money to secure an interview. Argh.
My phone rings. Is it Court again? He’s been calling incessantly, and I considered blocking his number for two seconds before I shoved the phone back in my purse with disgust.
Nope. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I don’t
think it’s Tom, because he’s given up on contacting me after Court’s casually delivered threat. Maybe somebody from work…?
“Hello?”
“Hey, you! You…candy bar!” come slurred words against really loud music in the background.
I frown. The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. And it’s definitely not anyone from the office. So… “Who is this?”
“Forgot already, huh? I tol’ Court women are fickle, Fifty-Buck Hershey Kiss.”
It finally clicks. “Nate?”
“Hey, she remembers! Court, she remembers. Court? Court? Aw, shit.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, worry gnawing at me despite myself. “What did you do to him? How did you get my number?”
“I know shit ’cuz I’m Nate fucking Sterling. We drank. Scotch. Good shit. I only drink good shit, you know. Introduced him to a lot of good shit.”
Oh. My. God. Men are idiots. “You shouldn’t let him get drunk like that!”
“Me? You blamin’ me? It’s yer fault.”
His accusation pricks at my heart, but I ignore the sting. “I’m not even there!”
I look up and notice Curie and Joe staring at me. I point at the phone and mouth, Moron, and move to the living room to deal with the drunken Nate.
Actually, forget that. I need to deal with Court directly. “Nate, put Court on the phone.”
“You’re dumber than Twizzlers. Can’t talk if you’re passed out. He’s a lightweight pussy. We only had, like…fifteen each? Or fifty.” He starts laughing.
That’s it. I give up. Nate’s waaay too drunk for this. “Call an Uber,” I say firmly, while doing my best to hide how pissed off and worried I am. “Do not drive.”
“I called you Snickers, but Court said you were Starburst. Made him happy or some crap like that ’cuz you shoot rainbows out of your ears.”
What?
“But you’re just a bitch. A nut bitch! Did you quit?”
“Quit what?” And why am I having a conversation with a guy who’s so wasted he’s slurring every syllable into sludge?
“The fucking job. If you really think you got it because of his money and yer too proud, you shoulda quit.”