“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You should wear that white dress you bought the other day. It’s so cute on you.”
“This isn’t a date, Josie.”
“So? It’s a business dinner and a concert. You still need to wear something. And that dress is perfect.” She does another Google search and brings up another picture on her laptop. “I can’t believe he’s the Tucker brothers’ cousin. Oh, look, here’s a photo of them together. And wow, yeah, you can definitely see the family resemblance.” The photo is of Gage, Travis, Vaughn, Kade and two other men. It looks like it was taken several years ago. They’re sitting on a dock by a lake. It’s summer. They’re shirtless and tan and glamorous-looking. “You’ve got to admit,” she says, “there’s some killer DNA going on in that family.”
“Whatever,” I murmur, but I watch as she scrolls further down the search results. “Wonderful,” I comment sarcastically. “There he is on his yacht surrounded by supermodels in bikinis. I can hardly wait until he starts banging all our customers.”
She clicks on a link to an article and starts reading. “‘Gage McCabe might be the most eligible bachelor in Chicago’s glitterati dating scene, but good luck pinning him down, ladies. The investment world’s golden boy won’t commit. He’s hot, he’s rich, and according to reliable sources, he’s a superhero in the sack, with stamina to burn and endowments to die for. But don’t expect him to stick around until morning.’”
“‘Endowments to die for’?” I grumble. “Eww.”
Josie laughs. “Better than being hung like a cocktail weenie. Did you see how he was holding his briefcase? Almost like he was trying to—”
“Would you stop? I don’t care how well hung he is! All I care about is putting him on the next plane north.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, girl? This will be fun. You get to spend his money on your dream. You’ll finally be able to do it justice.”
I continue scrolling, through more photos of Gage McCabe. With an heiress. A Victoria’s Secret supermodel. A famous actress. “Looks like he’s slept with most of Chicago, L.A., New York and then some. Oh, and here’s Nashville.”
“No one seems to be complaining.” She’s still grinning at me. “Maybe it’s time for him to conquer Key West.”
“Don’t. You’re a sadist.”
She laughs. “I’m an optimist. Oh my God, look at this one. It’s a Forbes article written by the CEO of FreshFace Cosmetics, who was formerly a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model: ‘I spent six hours in Gage McCabe’s company and WOW, it’s a six hours I will never, ever forget. Mr. McCabe is beyond gifted and has the one-of-a-kind equipment (*ladies, we’re talking huge!!*) you want to call all your girlfriends and sing from the rooftops about. He’s emotionally distant, yes, but refreshingly up front about it. He gives you no illusion that he’s in this for anything other than smokin’ hot sex. And on that front—*fanning myself*—he more than delivers (*I’m still riding that high*). Damn you, Gage McCabe, for ruining me for anyone else. I’ll never forgive you. P.S. call me anytime, sweetie—please!—for another no-strings-attached sess. I’m yours xxx.’”
“Jesus. They write articles about it?”
“Let me help you get dressed for tonight.”
“No. I’m not wearing that dress. It’s way too—”
“Luna. You’re going to see the Tucker Brothers Band in front row VIP seats with your new hot, rich, well-hung business partner. You’ll do as I say. I’m going to blow wave your hair and do your make-up—something understated and sexy. And you’re wearing that dress. It’s my last wish before I set sail for my life of sleep deprivation and diapers. Indulge me and surrender to the process.”
Her sassy, caring bossiness happens to be the one thing that’s kept me grounded for the past fourteen years. What am I going to do without my best friend? “I’m really going to miss you, Josie.”
“I’m going to miss you too, Loon.” She gives me a hug and I do my best not to sob my heart out.
If only working sixteen hours a day for years had made more of a difference. If only I’d made enough money to prevent this from happening. If only I wasn’t permanently damaged to the point of loathing my new business partner and everything about the way he’s conducted his entire life because he’s one of those, a gorgeous alpha, selected by nature to feel and act in a way that’s entitled and thoughtless and self-serving and cruel, just like someone else I knew for a moment in time that I still haven’t entirely recovered from. “Hurry up and sign that contract before I change my mind.”
“But … are you absolutely sure, honey?”
“Of course I’m sure.” I pick up the pen that’s sitting on the papers and hand it to her. “Do it.”
She scrawls her signature onto the contract.
And that’s it. The decision is final. My life has just taken a major turn down an unknowable highway full of smug gauntlets, well-hung corners and arrogant potholes the size of the Grand Canyon.
What have I just gotten myself into?
It’s no big deal, I convince myself. Another woman, another easy seduction. So what if her initial reaction to me—twice—wasn’t exactly the idolization I’m used to. Let’s not forget who we’re talking about here. Me. Gage McCabe, the guy every woman wants and every man wishes they were.
She just needs a little time. Some gentle (or not so gentle) persuasion. By the end of the evening I have no doubt she’ll be not only screaming with the kind of pleasure only I can give, but also head over heels.
Why am I even worrying about this? Who’s she, after all? A debt-ridden waif from Nowheresville, Iowa with a desperate best friend, a floundering business and no safety net.
Why do I care if she falls for me or not?
I don’t, is the answer to that question.
Not at all.
But … why was she so goddamn dismissive? Didn’t she see me properly?
Maybe she needs glasses.
There: there’s an imperfection, and it can’t be the only one. She’ll probably turn out to be a frigid, vacant bitch who’ll turn me off as soon as we get into any kind of real conversation. Every aspect of her can’t be as perfect as the surface appeal.
If she pulls the ice maiden shtick again tonight, then so be it. I’ll find someone else. I’ll fuck my way through the weekend with a string of women ten times more beautiful than she is. Over the next few weeks I’ll turn this business around, exactly the way I want to do it. I’ll call the shots and who cares if she’s on board with them or not? She’ll have to do what I say, because for all intents and purposes I own her and this is going to play out exactly the way I want it to.
So there.
Most likely she’ll fall helplessly in love with me as I give her the cold shoulder, because she deserves a dose of her own medicine. Fuck it. I don’t need to plead or beg or buy rinky-dink businesses for the sole reason of getting a woman to go to bed with me.