Page 3 of Mr. Wrong
“There’s nothingtospill,” I hiss at her before smiling at the waitress as she flounces by again. She doesn’t even look at me. She’s actively avoiding me. “We talked about—” I catch myself before I say her name out loud. “—his daughter. My qualifications. What he expects of me. Normal job interview stuff.”
“You have to fuck him.” Dani shrugs like it’s the only viable solution for what no one sees as a problem but her.
“Uhhh, no.” I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
“Why?” Now she’s looking at me like she might need a translator.
Because he’s a scary asshole.
“I don’t know—because he’s myboss.” I sit back in my seat and sigh. I’ve known Dani since we were roommates our freshman year in college—nearly seven years, so I’m not sure why the things that come out of her mouth still surprise me.
“So?” She gives me a shrug.
“So…” I repeat, grasping for another reason that won’t blow theLandon Trask is a living godillusion that most everyone clings to. “He’s going to be in Europe, shooting on location, almost the entire time I’ll be working for him.”
“Well…” she sighs, her face collapsing into a frown. “You have to fucksomeone.”
“Did someone roofie you?” I look at her empty glass, letting out a loud bark of laughter that draws more attention than I’m comfortable with.
“I’m completely serious,” she says with a straight face. “How long has it been since you and Douchewad Derek banged?” She holds up a manicured finger to stop me when I open my mouth to answer her. “I meanreallybanged,” she qualifies. “Toe-curling, headboard knocking, tectonic plate shifting,oh-my-god-I-think-my-grandma-in-DeMoines-felt-that-orgasmbanging.”
“My grandma lives in Decatur.”
“Elle.”
“I don’t know.” I’m suddenly irritable. Derek and Ineverbanged. We had nice, well-mannered intercourse at an appropriate volume. My toes never curled. No headboards were knocked. My grandmother never complained about hot flashes. “Awhile.” It’s been ten months. I chalked it up to last semester stress. We were both busy. Worried about the future. The truth was, we got bored with each other. Easy to do when your sexual partner insists on keeping her shirt on and his idea of setting the mood is muting the television.
God, my life is sad.
“Fine, if not your new boss, then just pick someone.” She waves her hand like we’re standing in the Dick Department in Target.
I bobble my head. “Pick someone?” I look around the bar and instantly feel intimidated. Everyone in this place is gorgeous. Even our bitchy waitress looks like a supermodel. “Oh, okay, I’lljust pick someone.” Dani crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head at me. Oh, she’s serious. “Do I need to call Poison Control?”
“You’re single.” She holds up a finger like she’s giving closing arguments in a capital murder case. “You’re hot—despite theunfortunate soccer mom get-up.” She holds up another finger and points it at me when I open my mouth to defend my outfit. “You’re twenty-five years old and have an amazing rack that you insist on covering up with a Mr. Rogers sweater. There’s no excuse for that, Elle—no wonder you’ve been in LA for three whole days and have yet to touch a penis.”
“Maybe I don’twantto touch a penis.” Shit, I said thatwaaayto loud. Now people are definitely looking at me. “You’re completely out of control.” I give up on the waitress and slide out of our booth. “And possibly drugged.”
“Where are you going?” She looks around, probably hoping to see some poor defenseless man to pounce on.
“To the bar.” I say it loud enough that our negligent waitress hears me a few tables over. “To get a drink.”
Two
Lex
It’s been a shitty day.
Super shitty with shit on top.
A complete and utter dumpster fire.
The kind of day that would perfectly justify faking my own death and dropping off the map.
Not that anyone would care if I did—least of all my brother.
The asshole who fired me.
You need a life, Lex.
