Kalia had taken one look at them and raised an eyebrow. “Wow, some dude knows what he’s doing. No pansy-ass daisies like that guy who hit on you last time.”
“Daisies are nice,” Juliet had protested while fighting not to fondle the rose petals as she’d been doing since they were delivered.
“Yeah, for another woman.” Kalia had pointed a satay skewer at her. “You’re not daisies, you’re sexy red roses that smell like heaven.” A long breath. “Tell me he’s good in bed. I need it for my fantasies.”
When Juliet almost choked on her own bite of satay chicken, Kalia’s grin had grown to gigantic proportions.
“Oh my gawd. He’s that good?” A shiver. “I hope he screws the bad day right out of you tonight, then lets you parade him through the streets tomorrow to stick it to Reid.”
That last had put a damper on Juliet’s giddy excitement. Roses were easy, private. Anything more public— Juliet, you’re a grade-A idiot.
“Jules, you asleep?”
“No.” She’d just been hit over the head with the fact she was sitting in Jake’s family’s apartment. How much more public could their support get? “Jake, this isn’t going to blow back on—”
“You were Charlotte’s bridesmaid.”
“Oh right.” Slumping back in the sofa on a wave of relief, she said, “Why are you bothering me? I want to get into my pajamas and eat a tub of ice cream.”
“Go check if there’s any in the freezer.”
“Do I look like your slave?” she muttered nonsensically because sparring with Jake was instinct, but she went to check since she really wanted that ice cream. At first she thought she’d struck pay dirt, but when she opened the two-liter tub, she almost cried. “Someone left like a bite of strawberry in here.”
“Danny,” Jake said darkly. “What flavor’s your favorite?”
“Rocky road,” she groused while deciding she might as well eat the measly bite that was left since that was all she was going to get. “Why was Esme grumpy?”
“Poor mistreated thing was cruelly separated from her best buddy.” Dry as dust, Jake’s tone had her grinning. “I pointed out that she’d see Emmaline at school tomorrow and was told that I didn’t understand because I had no best friend.”
“Ouch.” She licked the spoon.
“I tell you, Jules, kids are brutal.” His amused tone didn’t match his words. “Go get into your pj’s. Night concierge will ring up in a bit.” A sound in the background. “Gotta go. Esme just got out of bed for the fifth time to stomp to the bathroom. Time for me to be mean dad again.”
He was gone before she could ask him why the concierge was going to be calling her. Hanging up feeling a whole lot better than she had before his call, she left the empty ice cream container and spoon in the sink for now. She’d wash up and find the internal recycle bin for the container after she’d changed and wiped off her makeup.
It was as she’d just finished braiding her hair into a loose tail, her body clad in a simple gray tank and pink boxer shorts, that the intercom buzzed. Not sure she should answer, she remembered what Jake had said and chanced a wary “Hello?”
“Hello, ma’am,” said a crisp male voice. “We’ve just accepted a food delivery for your apartment. We’ll bring it up now unless you have other instructions?”
Her toes curled into the carpet, a warmth deep inside her gut. “Please leave it outside the door after a knock. I’ll grab it myself when I finish something I’m doing.” She wasn’t about to show off her braless tits to some random man—because said tits were large and the tank didn’t exactly cover them enough for public view.
She was all but bouncing on her toes by the time the knock came. But she forced herself to wait another full minute before she cracked open the door and pulled the insulated carrier inside. Putting it on the counter, she zipped it open to find two tubs of rocky road ice cream.
Yes, some dude definitely knew what he was doing.
Juliet went to sleep full of ice cream and smiles, but when she woke at around six a.m., it was to find her phone’s home screen littered with so many messages and missed-call notifications that it was pure gibberish. Great. One of her contacts had either decided to go into the gossip business or had inadvertently sold her out to a sneaky reporter pretending to be a business contact.
Quickly clearing away the notifications from unknown numbers, she smiled as she came to one from Charlotte. Her friend had called just after ten thirty the previous night, then followed up with a text message: I’ll help you kill him. Gabriel says he’ll dig the hole to bury the body—and he’ll plan the entire thing so no one ever suspects us. Emojis followed—of shovels and pickaxes, then hugs and hearts.
Startled into a much-needed smile, Juliet shot back a reply: I might just take you up on that.
Kalia’s message was a photoshopped image of Reid in which he had a paunch, a bad comb-over, and a unibrow. Below it, she’d written: The future you escaped for the hottie sex god who sends you roses.
Laughing, Juliet sent back a laugh-crying emoji in response.
Everett and Iris had both called yesterday to ensure she was all right. Aroha had also called then—and she’d joined Juliet in verbally eviscerating Reid, his character, and his fading athletic career. It had made Juliet feel so much better. Now she saw her friend had sent another message close to eleven the previous night: Kia kaha, my heart. You’re far tougher than Reid the Pinhead. All my love.
Juliet’s eyes burned. And she’d been feeling so lonely and alone before Jake called her last night. Here was her tribe. Here was her family.
The next message in her queue was from a surprising source: Molly. While she and the other woman had gotten along great, they hadn’t known each other long enough to become friends. Then she remembered that Molly had been through a horrific media onslaught herself. She was probably messaging to commiserate.
But when she read the text, it said: Jake let us know what was happening. You’ll be getting a call from this number. What followed was an American number and the words: Pick up.
She checked, saw that she didn’t have a missed call from that number, but even as she was about to message Molly to ask what she’d meant, her phone lit up with the American number.
“Hello,” she said, unsure what was going on.
“Juliet,” said a confident female voice. “This is Thea Arsana. Molly’s sister.”
“Um, hi?”
“I’m a publicist. And sweetheart, you need a publicist.”
Juliet’s eyes widened as she finally clued in to the woman’s name. Thea repped Fox’s megamillion-dollar rock band. “I can’t afford—”
“As if I’d charge you,” Thea said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You’re one of Molly’s friends. Also, your ex is a dickhead. I have a hard-on for exes who are dickheads.”
Head spinning, Juliet rubbed her forehead. “I don’t need a publicist. It’ll blow over.”
A small pause before Thea said, “Have you seen the video his girlfriend gifted the media last night?”