Page 10 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Oh, get over yourself, Phoebe,” he said, waving his hand to break her stare before pegging her with a warning glare of his own. “You wanted no part in my life, so why start now?”
Over by the bar, Eden was waving at Marisa, brandishing her cocktail shaker like an aircraft marshal’s wand and jutting her chin toward the kitchen door where Angela was scanning the crowd. For Marisa.
Shit.
“You know, I feel terrible about what happened to your dress earlier,” Marisa said, planting her fists on her hips and shaking her head in mock dismay, pretending to scrutinize the garment. “Clearly, the club soda was a little light on the bubbles. I’ll tell you what.” She clapped, hoping to move this show right along. “Why don’t I go back to the kitchen and get you a proper drink, this time fully carbonated. And hey,” she said, putting her hand to the side of her mouth as though she wasn’t drowning under boatloads of embarrassment, “maybe I can even bring you that glass of wine you asked about earlier.”
It seemed like a fair way to sidestep the consequences, until the meager light shifted and Marisa discovered why Alec had to brace himself behind his thick forearms before squaring off with his ex.
Phoebe Boyle, a.k.a. The Plant Nanny, was the most chillingly beautiful creature Marisa had ever had the misfortune to mire. She hadn’t had the opportunity to pay much attention earlier, what with Monica Freeland on the brain, but it was all there in excruciating clarity, as was the unfortunate truth of Marisa’s circumstances and who she’d inadvertently started a war with.
Marisa, my dear. You’ve messed up. Big time.
Long and vibrant copper curls, studded through with sparkling hair clips, cascaded over bare, slim shoulders that caught the eye of every man and several women. She had the kind of hair that Marisa’s muddy curls, which were often too wiry to coil and too frizzy to lie flat, couldn’t achieve in their wildest dreams. And that severe side part that always showed off too much of Marisa’s patchy temples? It was pure side-swept brilliance on Phoebe. Add in the glittery shimmer dust around the woman’s captivating green eyes, which she’d also applied to her ample cleavage and, yeah, well . . . Marisa got the picture, all right?
She’d just pissed off perfection.
Yay. Go team.
Phoebe gestured at Marisa while ignoring her offering. “I’m going to need you to explain this, Alec. I know you’re not dating her.”
Marisa had been steeped in so much deception that evening that the truth should have been a delightful breath of fresh air. She’d never been good at lying and hadn’t been since she’d stolen that twenty-five-cent pack of Juicy Fruit gum when she was seven and never stopped to think that maybe chewing the gum in front of her parents, when they hadn’t purchased any for her, wasn’t the brightest idea. Her mother drove her all the way back to the grocery store to return it, all the while letting her know that her thievery was costing an additional twenty-five cents in gas.
But the truth of her present circumstances hadn’t made her feel lighter at all. Instead, everything made her exceedingly uncomfortable. The too-tight, slip-resistant shoes, the hair tie choking her curls, Angela and her classic you’re-fired scowl scanning the room for her.
Explaining her deception to two glamorous people while her polyester cuffs chafed her wrists, and what the hell was that yellow stain on her boob? Really?
Marisa didn’t need the play-by-play of just how unlikely her lie was, and the fact that her brand-new partner in crime was taking his sweet time answering Phoebe?
No way could she bear to have this woman know the truth. The few remaining scraps of her dignity wouldn’t allow it.
She needed to get out of there. Fast.
Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “Phoebe, you’re not?—”
“Enjoying enough of the party. Go enjoy. Chat soon. Bye!” Marisa yanked Alec away from the conversation, having exactly zero time for any of his thoughts. And hadn’t he been the one who’d gotten her into this mess?
She needed to have words with the man. Big hairy words. Words that were as thick as his shoulders and had more punch to them than every single one of his rolling Rs.
But first, seclusion.
Running out of options and time, Marisa snaked them through the back of the ballroom and out one of the side entrances that emptied into a few hallways. She picked the first one she saw, dragged him well past the bathrooms, and didn’t stop moving until she’d forced them both into a stairwell.
Which he’d let her do, obviously, as there were no real-world scenarios where someone of his size would involuntarily let someone of her size pull him along.
And that just pissed her off even more.
Marisa’s clipped “Explain” landed in time with the door slamming, and she had to hold her hands behind her back to avoid fist-bumping the Universe in thanks for the emphasis.
At least someone’s on my side.
Alec threw his hands up. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You should know that.”
“Then how did it happen?”
“Look, can we start over?”
“Why did you say yes? How did you even know what you were saying yes to? You’ve never met me before, and I sure as hell would have remembered meeting you.” Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that, but hadn’t she, though? Oh, she was making such a hash of this and likely losing her job in the process.
