Page 162 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
"You have to admit there are serious sparks between the two of you. Maybe that’s why you don’t want to keep the appointment?"
"I don’t have to. I could sign the divorce papers, mail them to him. Then go tell him to stuff the job offer where the sun don’t shine."
"You could." She relaxes into the sofa, places the computer on the side. "Or you could tell him to his face."
I grab a strand of my hair, bring it to my lips. "Imagine the look on his face, huh?"
She nods. "Bet he wouldn’t be able to deal with the fact that someone could actually turn him down."
That’s true.
She places her fingers together in front of her, "You’d have the last word. You’d enjoy that."
That would be cool.I raise my shoulders, and let them drop, "Well, nobody’s perfect."
She snorts. "You’re a long way from that, girlfriend."
"Gotcha." I clap my hands.
"Wait. What?" She sits up. "I'm confused."
"That last line of mine?" I chuckle, "It's from Some Like It Hot."
"Not fair, Summer." She scowls.
"I got a point on you." I pump my fists in the air, then fling out my arms and do a shimmy. "Woohoo." It's childish of me, but gosh does it feel good to let off some steam.
"I'm not as obsessed with movie trivia." She tosses her head, "So I keep missing things. Not that I'm competing or anything."
"Such a sore loser." I grin.
"Now it’s you changing the topic." She waggles a finger at me.
"Yeah." I sober, straighten my shoulders, "What should I wear tomorrow?"
