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ChapterSeven
Paislee
Icannot believe that Sebastian invited me to dinner. I head home in a daze, unable to believe what just happened. Sebastian had laid it out in the open and expected me to just go through with it. Why the hell am I even excited at the prospect of dinner with Mr. Vaughn?
Even as I think about it, an excited tremor goes through me. Unable to help myself, I pick up my phone and call Meghan.
“Hey Paislee,” Meghan says, her voice sounding a bit muffled.
“You won't believe what happened today.”
“I just might if you tell me.” Meghan chuckles.
“Mr. Vaughn invited me to dinner.”
“Mr. Vaughn?” Meghan questions confusedly.
“The parent. The proud parent.”
“Oh...the one you have the hots for?”
“I don't have any hots for him.”
“Yet, you're so excited at the idea of dinner with him.”
I swear I can hear Meghan's eyes roll. I hate that she knows me so well.
“Well, he invited me because he thinks it will be a perfect opportunity to bond with his daughter. I'm sure he's not even remotely interested in me.”
“He wouldn't want you in his home if he wasn't dying to know what you taste like.”
“Oh my God.” I groan, dropping onto my bed with a bounce. Meghan can be so crude sometimes.
“Well, it's the truth,” Meghan argues.
“I need to pick out a dress,” I tell her, completely ignoring her last words. There is no way I am going to allow myself to think about Mr. Vaughn's head between—
“How about that dinner dress we purchased on a whim five months ago because of your pigheaded ex?”
“Yes!” I exclaim in excitement, hurrying over to my closet and pushing it open. I peruse my collection and try to find the black gown that I never had the chance to wear for Pete, my ex. When my hands fall on the silky material, I drag it off the hanger and bring it to the bed. I have an hour to get ready and I want to look my best.
“I know something is going to happen,” Meghan tells me.
“I don't think anything will. Contrary to what you might think, the man isn't attracted to me.”
“Well, tell that to your body that is about to get some…”
“You sound like a horny eighteen-year-old.”
“Maybe I'm jealous.”
I cackle.
“Tell me all about it when you get home.”
“Will do,” I reply, more than ready to hang up.
“I'm serious, Paislee.”
