by Ali Parker
“Barf.”
“Excuse me?”
Vanny rolled her eyes and leaned forward to mimic my position with my elbows on the table. I made a valiant effort not to glance down at her cleavage, which was whispering my name in a siren’s song. “Spare me, Rhys. You going back to see your asshole friends is completely different than me going back to immerse myself back into a world where everyone knew me as Chris Hampton’s fat little sister.”
I grimaced.
Vanny continued. “I know you think you’re doing me a favor. But I have absolutely zero interest in showing up there in exactly the same spot I was when I graduated.”
“Which is where?”
“Single. Fat. With no significant career prospects on the horizon.”
“You’re way too hard on yourself.”
“Am I?” she challenged. There was a dark edge to her voice I hadn’t heard before. The things she was saying still weighed heavily on her heart. I could hear the pain as clearly as I could see it in her eyes.
And I wanted to make it better.
“What if you changed the game and went back your own way?”
She sighed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, if you could show up under any conditions, what would they be?”
Vanny stared at me thoughtfully. I liked how much of her focus I had. Perhaps for the first time, I hadn’t said something stupid to set her off.
She pursed her lips. “I mean, any conditions?”
“Any.”
“I guess I’d like to be going back in a beautiful dress. And a nice car. And I’d like to have a man on my arm.”
“A boyfriend?”
“A husband would be ideal. Or fiancé.”
I nodded. “So let’s do that then.”
“What?”
I grinned and leaned back in my seat, clasping my hands behind my head. The girl sitting in the chair behind me was forced forward. I heard her friends muttering under their breath but ignored them. “Let’s go to your reunion together. As a newly engaged couple. Consider it my way to make it up to you for overlooking you in high school.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
This girl was a storm of her own chaos. Why the hell did I like it so much?
“I know I don’t. And I’m not doing this as a charity case.” I let my arms fall and folded them across my chest. “Come on. What do you say? If a fiancé gives you the confidence to march into your reunion and show those bozos who you are now, you should go for it.”
Vanny watched me like I was holding a loaded gun. A storm of chaos with trust issues, it seemed. What could I say to convince her? How could I change her mind?
She gnawed at her bottom lip. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure thing.
“There would have to be some conditions.”
“Naturally.”
“One of which being Chris.”
“What about him?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t keep this from him.”
I shrugged. “From where I’m sitting, there’s nothing to keep from him. We’re playing make-believe, aren’t we?” Was that manipulative? Maybe a little. But I knew her brother would put an end to this thing before I had a real chance to get to know her, and I was so close, I could almost taste those damn jalapenos on her tongue.
She made an uneasy sound in the back of her throat that made my cock ache furiously. Then she nodded. “Okay. This might work. We’d have to get to know each other if anyone is going to believe we’re engaged.”
“Any suggestions?”.
“Yes. We’ll have to spend more time together. Do you think you can handle that?”
Handle it? The sweet girl had no idea what she was getting herself into.
“Baby, I can handle it. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m a lot of woman.”
“I have big hands.”
Her cheeks blazed red and she dropped her gaze bashfully. My fake fiancée had the cutest smile, and everyone in that reunion would believe we were together if I could get her to do what she just did just one time. That was all it would take.
Vanny Hampton was mine.
At least for the next two weeks.
Her phone buzzed and she fished it out of her purse to quickly respond to a message from her friend, Kim. She offered me an apology as her thumbs worked at the keyboard on her phone. “Sorry. Kim is begging me to come back so we can dance together.”
“Let me walk you.”
Vanny agreed to let me walk her back to the club. The bouncer stepped aside to let her in when I nodded at him, and she hovered, waiting for me to follow with an expectant smile. “Are you coming in?”
I slid my hands into my pants pockets. “No, you go ahead. You came out to spend the night with Kim. You and I will touch base later in the week to get to know each other better. I’ll call you.”
Vanny glanced at the front doors and then back to me. I might have been mistaken, but she looked a little torn. “Are you sure?” she asked.
I half turned away. “Positive. I’m not the sort of fiancé who won’t let his woman enjoy a night out with her girls.”
To my delight, she threw her head back and laughed. It was easily the best part of the night, and I flashed her a smile before turning and walking down the sidewalk to my driver, who’d been parked outside since I arrived.
Resisting the urge to look back over my shoulder and see if she was still standing at the door was a nearly impossible feat. But I managed.
Chapter 14
Vanessa
The dress shop opened at nine-thirty every morning except for Sundays when it didn’t open until eleven. I rolled in at nine on Tuesday morning and struggled to extract myself, my piping hot vanilla almond latte, my purse, and my lunch bag from my car. I closed the door with my hip and promptly spilled open my purse, which vomited lipsticks, loose change, straw wrappers, two tampons, a compact mirror, my phone, and four restaurant breath mints onto the asphalt.
“Damn it.” Crouching down, I collected everything and crammed it back into the open jaws of my purse, silently telling myself to do the zipper up from now on. This was not the first time I’d made a hot mess of myself in the parking lot outside the shop. It probably wouldn’t be the last, either. I wasn’t the most graceful person. And I certainly wasn’t all that organized. As I straightened, my coffee sloshed in the cup. A great mouthful managed to spring up out of the mouth hole and splattered right against the front of my white button-up.
I hung my head and groaned.
This was not my day.
I trudged along the side of my car, stepped up onto the sidewalk, and stopped at the front door of the dress shop to precariously shoulder all my bags and balance my coffee while I fished out my keys. I unlocked the door and pushed my way in before setting everything down on the sales counter to turn off the alarm, lock the door, and flick on one set of lights. I preferred to spend the first half-hour before the shop was open to customers in half-darkness. I took the time to sip my coffee, sweep the floors, count the float, power on the sales system, and make sure all the clothes on the table displays were neatly folded. I fingered my way through the racks and ensured everything was facing the front of the shop, as per my manager’s mildly OCD request. Although I couldn’t deny it made everything look better.
Then I searched desperately for something I could put on because there was no way I could work the entire day with a giant coffee stain on my chest, spreading from nipple to nipple like a giant uni-boob.
The jeans I was wearing were high waisted, as were all my jeans for obvious reasons. All I needed was a shirt big enough to fit over my boobs. If it was too short, it wouldn’t matter because I could tuck it in. I flipped through rack after rack until I found a floral-printed blouse. It was a silky white fabric with big green palm leaves and pretty pink tropical flowers on it. I stepped into a change room and tugged it on.
It fit. It wasn’t great, but it fit, and for me, that c
ounted as a win.
I stared at my reflection in the fitting-room mirror. I had to open the shop in four minutes. The shirt clung a bit to my boobs. It showed my tummy and the roll of fat under the strap of my bra on my back and my sides. Looked like I wouldn’t be lifting my arms today if I could help it.
Or I could try to find a cardigan to throw over it.
Cardigans fixed everything.
Having a fat day?
Cardigan.
Don’t want to show your arms?
Cardigan.
Perpetually single and desperate for love?
All right, well, a cardigan couldn’t fix that. But neither could anything else I’d tried.
With a heavy sigh, I left the fitting room and went about turning on the rest of the shop lights. I unlocked the door and dragged the sidewalk sign outside. I propped it up and retreated back to the warmth of the shop, where I lit a blush-colored candle on the sales counter that smelled mildly of lilacs and what I imagined diamonds would smell like if they produced a scent.
Then I bided my time until shoppers began making their appearance, which never usually happened until after ten thirty, once they’d had their morning coffee or breakfast dates. Even then, we weren’t especially busy on weekdays. We had plenty of special-order pickups and that sort of thing but not many people coming in just to browse, so time passed sickeningly slowly.
And when time passed so slowly, it was impossible for my mind not to spiral.
And it spiraled right down the rabbit hole I’d been trying to stay out of for the past three days: Rhys Daniels.
He’d told me he would call me after we exchanged numbers when he left me standing outside Caprizee on Friday night. It was now Tuesday and I hadn’t heard a peep from him.
I was starting to wonder if he regretted his decision to take me to my reunion.
Maybe he’d had more drinks that night than I thought. Maybe he’d forgotten altogether.
That seemed most likely. I wasn’t the most memorable girl. Kim on the other hand? She was the definition of memorable in her sexy red number.
I sighed and watched the three flames of the bougie candle flicker and dance like ballerinas. I wasn’t sure how long I stared at those flames, but I was pulled out of my reveries when my stomach started to growl. Not a single person had set foot in the shop all morning, so I pulled out my lunch bag which I stored in a cubby under the sales counter and opened it. There were two donuts in a sealed Tupperware and a bottle of Mountain Dew that was ice cold from the freezer pack at the bottom of my bag.
I twisted the cap off. It let out a soft pop before the carbonation hissed and fizzled. I sipped gratefully before biting into the first donut, a chocolate delicacy covered in sweet icing. I licked my fingers clean before moving onto the second, a scrumptious, powder-dipped treat that helped me drown all my worries about Rhys having forgotten our night together.
The bell above the door chimed.
Two women stepped into the shop as I crammed a bite of donut into my mouth. They were in their late forties to early fifties, if I had to wager a guess, and they each carried brand-name bags in the crooks of their elbows. They had perfectly manicured long nails. One sported a flashy sports-car red while the other rocked a simple white glossy shade. They each wore sunglasses that likely cost more than my last six months' worth of dress-shop paychecks could amount to, and they had their heads bowed together, laughing softly at a joke one of them must have told when they were still outside.
“Hello,” I said cheerfully.
Neither of them bothered to look at me. They continued laughing at their inside joke as the door closed behind them. Then their attention shifted to the racks and display tables, and they began picking their way through the merchandise.
I hurried to find a napkin in my lunch bag. I was sure I had powdered sugar on my lips. Or chin. Or nose. Or everywhere. I hadn’t managed to find it before one of the women glanced up. She had birdlike features. Everything was sharp and pinched, making her look almost predatory.
“Would you blow that candle out?” she asked. “I have a very sensitive nose.”
“Oh.” I hurried to blow the candle out and quickly covered it with the lid to eliminate the fumes. “I’m sorry. I can crack some windows while you shop to—”
“Don’t bother. It’s too cold out there. You shouldn’t have had it burning in the first place. It’s very inconsiderate.”
“Store policy.” Those were the only words I could manage that weren’t fuck off, you cow.
She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow that I was certain had been dyed a darker shade of brown to cover some grays. “Pardon?”
“My manager insists on lighting seasonal candles to create ambiance and a sense of home for our shoppers.”
The half dozen gold and silver bracelets on her wrist jingled when she lifted her hand to remove her sunglasses. She moved toward the counter and her friend followed. “Does your manager also insist that you be defensive around high-paying clientele?”
“What?”
“Do you mean ‘pardon’?”
I felt my eyes narrow. Who did this bitch think she was? I didn’t get paid enough to put up with shit like this. And my day was already not going so smoothly. “No, I didn’t.”
Her eyebrows arched. I was surprised she could manage it. Up close, it was very obvious that she was an avid Botox supporter.
Her friend moved up beside her and tapped a white nail on the counter. “What’s your name, girl?”
You can shove my name up your uptight asshole, I thought bitterly, before saying, “Vanessa.”
I knew full well they were going to call and complain to my manager about me. I didn’t really care. They could call and complain all they wanted.
“And what’s your manager’s phone number?”
“I can’t give you that information.”
“And why not?” she barked.
“Because it’s against policy and safety procedures. You can call the store. The manager will be in tomorrow.”
“What’s the store’s phone number?”
“Google it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You get confused a lot, don’t you?” I asked. I was pushing it. I knew that. But my manager liked me more than the other four girls in his employ. He knew I was a good worker. And he also knew I had little tolerance for dickheads like these women.
She made a clicking sound with her tongue before lifting her chin in the air like a regal bird of prey.
Like a turkey.
“He will be hearing from me about your dismal service.”
“Sounds good.”
“And by the way,” she paused to offer me a sickeningly sweet smile and tapped the corner of her mouth, “you have sugar all over your face. No wonder you’re spilling out of your shirt. Come on, Lesley. Let’s get out of this sorry excuse of a shop.”
The two women marched off, leaving me reeling in their wake about the comments about my weight. The most infuriating part about the whole thing was how right she was. Donuts and Mountain Dew were my saving grace and my worst enemy all at the same time. But on days like this, when the world turned its back on me and I was accosted by women with little to do with their time or their money other than shit on the people “beneath” them, they were the only things that made me feel any better.
I banished the tightness in the back of my throat by drinking my soda greedily, and I filled the hole in my chest with the rest of the sugared donut. As soon as it was gone, I wished I had another one.
Or six.
Chapter 15
Vanessa
My shift at the dress shop ended at closing time. I was out the door just after six o’clock, my bags significantly less heavy than they were when I first arrived, and I managed to pack my car up without spilling anything on myself or my car seats. I slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the radio to drown out the stress of my day. It took a while for the heat to start working in my fifteen-year-old l
ittle hatchback, but once the heat started to flow, I reversed out of my space and pointed my car in the direction of the radio station for my evening shift.
I stopped through a drive-thru for dinner on my way. I opted for a joint with big salads and low-calorie dressings. I ordered, paid, and eyed the disappointing meal riding shotgun all the way to the station.
I left my bags in the back seat and only brought my purse and salad in with me.
Walking into the station was a different experience than walking into the dress shop to start my shift. The hallways were packed with employees and interns with ID cards hanging around their necks, running through open doorway to open doorway, making sure everyone was on track to go on the air in other recording studios.
I entered the office and found my radio manager, Doug, sitting at his desk sipping a mug of steaming green tea. Like me, he used to be a big soda drinker, but after a heart attack scare about eight months ago, he’d switched to caffeine-free green teas and lemon water.
He glanced up from his phone when I walked in. “Hey, Nessa. How was your weekend?”
We didn’t air the show on the weekends, and Doug didn’t work Monday nights, so I hadn’t seen him since our last show on Friday. “It was good. Kim dragged me to Caprizee and I’m still alive to tell the tale, so I’d consider that a victory.”
Doug snorted. “Caprizee, huh? I didn’t think that was your scene.”
“It’s not.” I tucked my purse under his desk and pulled up a chair to one edge, where I sat and dug into my salad. Doug watched my fork move from the plastic container to my mouth, and he frowned. “What the hell is that thing?”
I blinked innocently at the bowl of greens. “Salad.”
Doug’s nose scrunched and his glasses shifted up a quarter inch. “I can see that. Are you on a diet or something?”
“Can’t a girl eat a meal without someone speculating?”
“Sorry.” He sat back but his gaze lingered on my food. “Sorry. You’re right. That was rude.”
Yes, it was. “It’s okay. I was in a hurry to get here and I wanted to change things up is all.” My choice of dinner had absolutely nothing to do with the middle-aged raging twats from the dress shop. Nothing at all.