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An unladylike bark of laughter escapes. In the past few days, Thomas and I have struck up an unlikely friendship. It probably helps that it was mostly over emails and phone calls so I didn’t have to see his annoyingly superior facial expressions.
“Mom says Chase agreed to talk to me.”
The sound of his name is enough to wipe the smile from my face. “That’s good.” I clear my throat to stop the emotion from coming up. “I’ve got to go, Chuckles.”
Another sigh. This time sad. The man can run through the whole emotional dictionary on sighs alone. “Thanks for everything, Bell.”
Ten minutes after we hang up, I’m still staring at the skyline. Déjà vu creeps in, but I shake it off. I may be back in the same spot I was before Chase Moore’s call and New York, but I’m not the same person.
As if to make me prove it, Leslie saunters in. “This is bullshit, you know.”
“Hello to you too, Leslie.”
“Complete bullshit.” She falls into one of the chairs in front of my desk. “If you had let me at the jackass I could’ve torn him a new one. We could have at least gotten a hefty price for them terminating the contract early.”
“I know. You’ve said.”
“Then why—”
“Why don’t we go out on Friday?”
I take a minute to marvel at the wonder of a speechless Leslie.
She blinks a few times before regaining her composure. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Friday. You and me.” I hate this idea. But I need it.
She flutters her lashes at me. “Are you asking me out, Campbell King?”
That has me laughing. “You’re too high-maintenance for me. But if you already have plans…”
“No, no, no,” she says, shaking her head. “And even if I did, I’d cancel. I am most definitely available for your… whatever this is.”
“I just want to go out. People do that, you know.”
“Not you. At least very rarely. And usually only to a wine bar for a drink.” She stills. “Wait. Is that what you want? Another boring night at some wine bar?”
She looks too disappointed for me to tell her yes, that was exactly what I’d meant. So I go with, “No, of course not. I was thinking of Wild West.”
She lights up again. “Wild West? Really?” Hooting, she kicks her legs up and down before popping out of the chair. “I’m going to find me a cowboy to ride!”
I can’t help but laugh. “You have a cowboy fetish I didn’t know about?”
“Um… who doesn’t?”
She has a point.
One of her sharp, ladylike, French-tipped fingers points in my direction. “Don’t you wuss out on me now.”
“I won’t,” I promise, palms up.
Her eyes narrow, and I suddenly feel like the unfortunate opposition in court. “And don’t think this is going to make me forget about the shit-storm in New York.”
“Of course not.” I nod solemnly. “You’re much too sharp for that.”
“Damn straight.” She lowers her hand and walks to the door, a bit less stalk and a tad more swagger in her step. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go see a man about a new pair of boots.” She shimmies her ass in my direction. “We’re going dancing.”
I wish a new pair of boots would fix the so-called shit-storm.
