Page 10 of One Weekend in Los Angeles

I nodded, watching her anxiety rise. At this point she appeared on the verge of telling me no way in hell.

Taking out my phone, I typed a quick text. “Ollie will schedule someone to do your hair and makeup and give you a few dress options to choose from. They can come to your place, or you’re welcome to get ready at mine.”

She chewed on her adorable bottom lip, causing me almost to groan out loud at the inadvertently sexy action.

“Your place would be better.”

That made sense considering she still shared a house with her ex. “I’ll have a car pick you up at your place at two o’clock. That’ll allow you to finish your appointment here and get home. You’ll have plenty of time then at my place to get hair and makeup done before we head to the venue.”

Not that she needed help with her hair or makeup. From the moment she’d walked into the room, I’d been struck by how beautiful she was even with her face devoid of makeup or any artificial enhancers. This was especially true when she smiled. And I intended to ensure she did a lot of that this weekend.

“What do you say, Andi? Wanna make some plans for the weekend?”

She blew out a breath and held out her hand. “All right. I’m in.”

There it was again. An unmistakable pulse of energy the moment my hand touched hers. But unlike my actions up on stage, I pulled away quickly. We’d agreed to fake dating, nothing else.

I left Andrea to her massage appointment, slipped out the back door of the spa and into the passenger seat of Ollie’s SUV.

“I take it things went well if you have me booking a glam squad for this afternoon?” he asked immediately.

“Thankfully, she agreed to the weekend.” I wasn’t sure why I’d been anxious she might not. After all, I was a grown man who could go to the wedding by myself. But the thought of spending more time with her made me happy.

“You tell her about Nina being the bride?”

“Of course. I want her to be aware of what she’s getting into. Now tell me what I’m getting into on Saturday? How can I best support her through what’s bound to be hell at the wrap party where her husband will be with his mistress?”

He sighed. “Honestly, it’s bad enough Jeff hates Andrea getting sympathy and him being painted the bad guy, but he will absolutely lose his shit at seeing she has moved on so quickly—and with you, of all people. His ego won’t be able to handle the idea of her trading up. Mark my words, he’ll throw a tantrum. Good news is he’ll show his true colors. Bad news is he’ll attempt to demolish her self-esteem on his way down.”

My temper flared in just thinking about it.

“Best thing you can do is keep your cool and turn on your charm.”

“And the best thing she can do?”

“Not engage. Make it clear he doesn’t have any claim to her life any longer. They might have the house and legal affairs to sort out, but she doesn’t need to grant him any more of her time.”

“She have a good divorce attorney?”

His pause had me worried. “The best are overpriced, so she went with one who is more reasonable. Time will tell as to how good he is.”

I had to remind myself this wasn’t my business. Andrea was a virtual stranger, and she’d figure out her divorce the same as countless others out there had done. “Guess I’ll see you at my house later too?”

He smiled. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss the beginning of the revenge weekend.”

Chapter Seven

ANDREA

“There’s no way I can wear this.” I couldn’t believe the slinky dress fit, but evidently I’d shed a few pounds over the last couple weeks.

Ollie glanced up from his phone and smiled as I walked out of the bedroom that had been converted into a dressing room for me in Deacon’s spacious Los Angeles home.

Ollie was already at Deacon’s place, along with Portia for wardrobe and a man named Miguel for makeup and hair. The goal was to pick out two dresses from the rack that had been provided. One was for the wedding and one was for the party tomorrow night. I’d started working on the outfit for tomorrow since Portia thought it might be the harder one to choose. She wasn’t wrong. I’d been through four choices already. Revenge was complicated.

She pulled at the straps holding up the black silk dress. With its plunging back and slit up the side, the garment left nothing to the imagination except for the question of what kind of underwear I could possibly wear with it.

“It’s the perfect fuck-you dress for your cheating bastard of an ex-husband,” she remarked in a thick accent, taking pins from her mouth and tagging up the hem as well as the waistline. “I can do alterations tonight and drop it off tomorrow morning.”