Page 46 of Now That It's You
“Of course not. I catered her wedding for free.” She shrugged. “I did send her flowers the other day though, and thanked her for doing such a beautiful job making the book pretty.”
“See? Debt settled. Just like it was with Matt. He took those photos as a favor to his fiancée. Just because you didn’t walk down the aisle doesn’t negate the fact that he’s the one who volunteered to do the pictures. How many of his office parties did you cater without ever expecting a dime from him?”
“Too many to count,” Meg admitted. “And you’re right, it’s not like I ever demanded a share of the business deals he closed over my bruschetta.”
“Exactly. It’d be like the guy who fixed your laptop showing up to demand a share of book sales because you couldn’t have written it without him.”
“Not exactly like that,” Meg pointed out, feeling a pinprick of guilt between her ribs. “I paid the laptop guy with cash. It’s the barter system that keeps this from being a clear-cut case, according to my agent.”
“Tit for tat,” Kendall muttered. “Or in this case, tit for pic.”
“Ew.”
“Well, it’s true.” Kendall flopped back on the couch. “You two were sleeping together. You were engaged to be married. In a way, you were both swapping sexual favors for each other’s work on a regular basis.”
“Thank you. Bringing prostitution into the equation is exactly what we need to make this less complicated.” Meg sighed. “If I’d finished paying off that damn bill right away, this might not be an issue.”
“You were paying off the wedding,” Kendall pointed out. “Some arbitrary photography fee he imposed just to get back at you was hardly your top priority.”
“Yes, but it’s the backbone of their lawsuit now. The fact that he hadn’t been fully paid when he passed away.”
Kendall chomped another appetizer. “It’s too bad you never had any sort of contract.”
“I never thought we needed to. We were getting married, and we’d had a joint checking account for years by then. Any proceeds would have just gone into that account, and then the book didn’t sell any copies anyway and?—
A knock sounded at the door, cutting off the defense that was starting to sound weak even to Meg’s ears. She and Kendall both turned toward the foyer, gazes fixed on the large figure standing on the other side of the frosted-glass panel in her door.
“Ten bucks says it’s your closet kissing companion,” Kendall murmured.
“No bet.”
“I still can’t believe you ditched me for thirty minutes this afternoon to lock lips among the cleaning supplies.”
“I told you, I was only in the closet ten minutes. The rest of the time I was being cornered by Chloe and the clones.”
“Yeah, after meeting her, I can’t blame you for wanting to run off and gargle bleach.”
The knock sounded again, and Meg pushed herself up off the sofa and headed for the door. Part of her hoped Kendall was right and Kyle would be standing on the other side. She’d wanted to flee the funeral right after Sylvia’s confrontation, but it had taken her a while to find Kendall. Then she’d had another run-in with Chloe, and in all the confusion, she’d never said a proper goodbye to Kyle.
She heard Kendall on her heels, and turned to see her best friend slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You’re leaving?” Meg asked.
“Assuming that’s Kyle, you’re going to need some time alone together. And I need some time alone with my vibrator. Call me later with the details.”
“Ew,” Meg said, swinging open her front door.
“Bye-bye,” Kendall said to Kyle, patting him on the shoulder as she breezed past. “Go easy on her, bud. She’s had a rough day.”
“Unlike the guy who just buried his brother?” Meg muttered, looking up at Kyle. “Sorry about that. She doesn’t think sometimes.”
“It’s okay. He wasn’t buried, anyway.”
“Cremated. You know what I mean.” She bit her lip. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. All things considered, anyway. I wanted to talk about what happened today.”
Meg snorted. “You might have to narrow that down a little. You mean the part where Chloe got drunk and called me a filthy whore before your dad dragged her out to the car?”
“Technically, she called you a filthy hoo-er,” Kyle pointed out. “Thanks to the aforementioned drunkenness, there was an extra syllable in the word.”
