“Hey, I asked.” He nudged her elbow, making her hand fall away from the mouse. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She checked her phone. “I have to go meet with a caterer friend of mine, but next time we talk, it’s your turn for a bitch session. Any topic welcome.”
“Deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE PARTY PLANNING was coming along swimmingly. Brit had a caterer booked, and she just finished faxing over the contract to the owners of the building where the event would be held. Saffron was having lunch with one of her theater friends to try to figure out how to get a hold of some theater-style curtains for sound dampening.
As it turned out, the building wasn’t abandoned, and it took some doing to figure out who actually owned the place. She had to contact Autumn from SMS who had to contact someone else from the magazine, and then give Brit the owner’s name, and the owner ended up being on holiday and took a few days to return her call.
Flyers were hung at prominent locations in high-end clubs and restaurants, and Brit sent out a couple dozen invitations to VIPs she knew she wanted to be there. On one hand, she wanted the event to be exclusive. On the other hand, she knew Lander wanted the event to be packed. The space couldn’t accommodate too many, so Brit was shooting for a happy medium.
She was back in her father’s office booting up the rolodex software to find out how to get into contact with DJ Knight’s manager. Her phone beeped next to her, and she checked the text message. It was from J.J.
J.J. MACKDADDY: Don’t hate me.
Oh no. Was he going to change the dress code again and decide everyone else should be in rainbow colors, and he would be in white?
BRIT: Sup?
Brit was too anxious to resume her search for the phone number. She wanted everything to be perfect. She needed everything to be perfect, so she was steeling herself for whatever complication J.J. was going to throw at her. This was part of the job. She was used to catering to the changing winds of artists’ preferences. The fact that she didn’t do it full time or for pay was her only consolation. She could sass back and walk out at any time, and people would just chalk it up to her being spoiled or something like that. But she didn’t want to play that card with J.J.
J.J. MACKDADDY: “I have to bail on the party.”
BRIT: “What??? It’s YOUR party.”
Brit impatiently drummed her fingers on the side of her phone as she clutched it between her hands. She could tell J.J. was typing, and he was taking his sweet time composing whatever soliloquy he was about to send her—whatever lame excuse he was going to suggest. Did she have bad instincts? Was another artist she was excited about just going to up and disappear? At least he was giving her notice—that was something. He wasn’t pulling a Vincent.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She dialed J.J.’s number.
“Hey.”
“Hey you. So what’s up?”
“Lander got me a spot on the reboot of TRL in NYC. He lined it up so that the timing works out with my release. They’re going to play a song on the show, and I get to be guest host or something. I’ve never seen the show, but it sounds rad. He’s going to schedule something low-key at a club down there then, I guess.”
So it was Lander’s fault. Suddenly all Brit’s worries about J.J. pulling a Vincent were unfounded.
“That’s an amazing opportunity! Don’t be sorry about that. I put a deposit down on the space, but that’s all we’re losing out of the deal. I can contact the people I sent invitations to, and I’ll recruit Daisy to help me take down the flyers later. Seriously, this is amazing.”
“Thanks for understanding. Don’t worry about the flyers. Saffron said she was going to take them down.”
Brit’s throat was a desert. “Saffron knew?”
“Barbara brought Lander lunch, so we filled them in.”
“Oh.”
She couldn’t be mad at anyone. Shutting down the computer, she leaned back in the chair to think. Brit had the sudden desire to throw something.
Her body tensed, and her hands went out in claws to grab something, but she didn’t want to ruin any of her father’s stuff. If she was in her own bedroom, a vase would be hitting the wall right about now. Even Saffron was trying to be helpful. But Saffron knew before Brit. One-upping her again.
Brit had to get over it. She knew she did. Saffron had a happy childhood, sure, but she was just as much without a dad most of the time as Brit was without a mom. The difference was, from the time Lonnie found out about Saffron when she was five, he had supported her and made sure she knew he was there for her. Brit got to see her mother maybe once a year. Twice if she was lucky, and she hardly ever had the desire to call her anymore. What was the point? Her mother hadn’t wanted to leave her cushy home and business in Amsterdam. She was the queen there, but if she stayed in Toronto, she would always be Lonnie Byers’ wife.
Not that Brit didn’t get it. She couldn’t imagine being “just some guy’s” wife either. He would have to be pretty special to convince her to get that title, and she wasn’t sure that even existed.
But Lonnie made Brit’s upbringing as cushy as it could possibly be. She felt like a spoiled brat for bemoaning anyone else anything. What did she have to complain about, really?
Oh, boo hoo, the rich girl’s party plans fell through? There are children starving in the world, and Brit was down on herself for having to cancel a party because this new guy she thinks is super hot has way better things to do than hang out with her.
Hmm, maybe Brit should hit up Marta for some volunteer work. What she needed right now was perspective. And she knew it. However, what she wanted right now was to crawl into bed with a pint of ice cream and not come out until people had forgotten about her failed attempt at a party and she was ten pounds heavier.
And she really was happy for J.J.
Her phone dinged again. No. No more bad news. She really would throw her phone if it was anymore bad news.
It was Cord.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: How’s the party planning going. Need any more IT support? :-)
BRIT: Party’s off.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: I knew Vincent would bail. I mean J.J.
BRIT: I’ve dubbed that “pulling a Vincent” by the way.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: Hahahaha you are hilarious.
BRIT: But no, I can’t be mad at J.J. for this one. He’s flying off to NYC for a TV appearance. That’s an opportunity he shouldn’t pass up. It was the right career move.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: I don’t care about that. It was a dick move to do that to you.
BRIT: Eh, I’ll get over it. I’m mostly happy for him. And think about it, this is good for your brother too.
Defending J.J. to Cord was helping bring her anger level down. She had morphed from HULK SMASH to normal human supportive friend, but she wasn’t quite ready to get to work undoing the party.
Cord hadn’t texted anything, so she opened the dating app on her phone. She swiped through dozens of guys, finding nothing that fit her current desires. She wanted fresh, new blood. But all the guys she scrolled through seemed like they were trying way too hard to be witty or earnest about their beliefs. She was exhausted from reading their headlines.
“I just want something easy.” She wanted a sure thing who would call her pretty—and not in a creepy way—and not make her question how he felt about her.
Cord seemed too much like family. The strings were too attached, and there was too much at stake. J.J. was a flirt, but she couldn’t get a read on him. She wanted someone she could read like a newspaper.
“He’d do nicely.”
The “he” Brit was referring to as she talked to herself in her father’s office was a muscle-bound guy with short-cropped military-esque dark blond hair and a jawline that could open a tin can. He wore a tight T-shirt that showed all the ripples and mountains of muscle he possessed. His thin lips opened to reveal a nice smile, which always helped. But his headline was what made Brit stop and ta
ke notice. “Hi, I’m Kevin.”
Simple, to the point, almost as if he didn’t really know how to use the site. It was endearing and made Brit giggle. Maybe Kevin. She swiped right. It was a match.
Screw it. Before she could reconsider, she set up a date for the next day. Brit would start making calls to cancel the party tomorrow. Tonight, it was ice cream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BRIT HOPED TO WAKE up to a message. From anyone. Maybe another one from musclebound Kevin, but really, she would’ve taken anything. Nothing. Not even an email notification of some store advertising their latest sub-par sale. Not one person tried to get into contact with her overnight. It was time again to do breakfast with her family, but she was tempted to skip it. She might claw Lander’s eyes out if she went, and she liked the guy, and she was going to be stuck with him as family forever.
Pulling herself together, she assessed her wardrobe. For her date with Kevin, she decided on pink instead of her usual black. Opting for a blush pink sleeveless trench coat with a white tank underneath, she paired it with her lightest wash of skinny blue jeans and a pair of sandals with high stacked heels.
Brit had suggested they meet at a little smoothie joint. With his body, she figured he’d be into health foods. She was right. Unlike her last date, this guy was exactly who he said he was except for the fact that Brit hadn’t bothered to check his height. In Brit’s tall heels, she towered over him.
The moment she met Kevin, all the insecurities she was trying to run away from came rushing back in the form of feeling like a giant. It helped that he was huge girth-wise. His muscles somehow were even more impressive in person than they were online.
What she didn’t expect was to find someone so quiet. Sure, she should have been tipped off by his profile, but Kevin was very, VERY quiet.
“What is it you do, Kevin? For a job?” asked Brit. It was a question she shied away from because she didn’t like the question reciprocated, considering she didn’t actually have a job herself. But she didn’t know what else to ask the guy, and she was curious what this musclebound guy did.
“I drive a Fedex truck during the day. At night, I’m a UFC fighter.”
That explained the muscles. Brit ran three fingers over his forearm, but the gesture felt artificial like she was given an action to do from a director just out of frame. She felt nothing, and she could tell by his stony expression that he felt nothing when she touched him either, but she was going to power through. This was what she came here to do, and luckily he was still nice to look at.
Brit waited for a rebound of the question that never came. Kevin stood at the counter and ordered his protein-enhanced smoothie that contained little more besides avocado and kale. Brit opted for something fruitier—strawberry banana—and she selected one of the few booths to sit in.
She cut right to the chase. “What do you want to do after this?” She teased her straw with her tongue.
Kevin glanced up at her, his forehead wrinkling with indecision. “I’m up for anything. Do you have any ideas?” It wasn’t suggestive like Vincent or J.J. would have said. It was strictly straight and boring. “My place isn’t far from here.”
“I’d be up for that,” said Brit.
He was finally getting the hint.
They finished their smoothies with an agonizing period of dead air, and Brit had to then stand up again.
“Have you ever gone out with a taller girl before?”
“No,” said Kevin simply.
Brit wasn’t surprised. He was the type to have a Napoleon complex, and she wasn’t helping with her tall footwear.
He wasn’t joking when he said he didn’t live far away. They had only walked two blocks down before Kevin pointed out his building. She hadn’t known it when she suggested their meeting place, but it worked out well for them. Kevin lived in an apartment building, which Brit was glad for because then someone would hear her scream if she needed to. The moment she stepped inside, she kicked her shoes off and deliberately stood facing Kevin so that they would be pretty much eye level. She wanted to make sure it was OK to proceed without hurting his ego.
“Do you want a tour?”
Brit didn’t, not really, but maybe this was his way of getting her into his bedroom. His apartment was what Brit had expected it was going to be. His living room was furnished with what looked like hand-me-down furniture—a couch and a futon pointed toward a mounted flat-screen TV. A framed picture of Rocky Balboa hung over the couch. Brit picked up a small, framed picture on the entertainment center of a scrawny teenage version of Kevin with an older woman.
“Who’s this?”
“That’s Gramma. She’s my best friend. She’s old now. She won’t be around much longer. She raised me. My parents weren’t around.”
Brit shouldn’t have asked. Now she was starting to like the guy since they now had something she could relate to. Where was this conversation in the smoothie shop?
“That’s really sweet. Both my parents are around. Sort of. My mom’s in Holland.”
“Holland. So she’s Danish?”
Brit bristled. She knew it was a common misconception, but she didn’t have the patience to correct him about it today. Any warm fuzzy feeling she had for the guy vanished when he asked that, but she didn’t want to emasculate the guy anymore, so she smiled and said, “Mmhmm.” She put the framed picture back down. “I’ll take that tour now.”
The tour was short. Besides the living room, his apartment consisted of a small, simple kitchen that looked out into the living room. There were a couple protein shaker bottles in the sink and a giant container of protein powder on the counter, but otherwise it was clean. Then there was the master bedroom, which was larger than what she expected for the size of the living room. It was maybe even a little bigger than her bedroom.
“This is nice.”
This room was unexpected unlike the rest of the house. He had a quilt on his bed and nice, mature-looking mahogany furniture.
“This was my grandma’s stuff before she moved into the home. It’s nicer than what I had before, so I took it.” He shrugged, and his massive shoulders went up to his ears.
“No, it’s really nice.” She sat on the bed and pushed her fingers through the open holes of the Afghan that was draped over the quilt. “Did your grandma make this?”
“Yep.”
“It’s all very, very cozy. I can tell you love her very much.”
“Yep.”
Brit waited for any sign from him, but Kevin stood back against the wall. Either he was afraid of her or he wasn’t the least bit interested. Neither of which interested her. She checked her wrist for a watch that wasn’t there, and she got up.
“Oh, look at the time. I completely forgot I had this thing to do tonight. Nice meeting you, Kevin.”
“We should do it again sometime.”
Brit let out a single laugh before she could stop herself. She assumed Kevin was being sarcastic and had just made a joke. His face said he was being serious, so she zipped her lips and mirrored him by saying, “Yep,” and she was out the door.
SHE COULD ONLY PUT off canceling J.J.’s party so long before she had to start making phone calls, which brought her back into her father’s office. While she was settling into the chair once again, she noticed a message from Kevin on her phone. Oh no, did he actually think she was serious about wanting to get together again?
KEVIN SLAMMER-DUD: You left a leather book at my house.
Brit had the planner in her bag when she met up with Keven last night, and the planner must have fallen out. She knew she should have switched to the smaller purse. Now she had to see Kevin again.
BRIT: You want to meet quick at the smoothie place?
KEVIN SLAMMER-DUD: I could use another.
“Whoa, what’s that face?” asked Cord, stepping into the room. Cord had offered to help her cancel the party.
Brit groaned. “It’s this guy I went out with last night. I guess I left my day planner at hi
s house, and he wants me to meet him to come pick it up.”
“Oh, you went out with a guy last night?” Cord was feigning disinterest, but Brit could tell he wanted to know what was up.
“It was a casual thing. No big deal.”
“A casual thing. Still not looking for marriage material, huh?”
“I am in no rush to get married. You know that. Nothing has changed there. No, I just needed a distraction from this party thing. Just needed to forget life for a minute.”
“I wasn’t doing anything last night. You could have come over and watched a movie or something, or we could’ve—hey, there’s that new superhero movie out.”
“Could have, but this sounded more...fun? It didn’t end up the way I hoped it would. We went back to his place, and he showed me his bedroom. He was very standoffish, so I decided to up and leave.”
Cord’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath. He was noticeably relieved that she hadn’t done anything with this guy.
“I was being safe about it,” she assured him.
“That’s good. Do you want me to go with you to get this planner?”
“This guy is completely harmless, Cord. Don’t even worry about it.”
“Can I see a picture? I’m curious.”
Brit brought up the picture on her phone and handed it to Cord.
“Jeez, what does he do for a living—wrestle bears?”
“I guess he’s a UFC fighter.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Cord, I was in his house last night, and he did absolutely nothing. I touched his arm. I was giving him all the signals, and he did absolutely nothing.”
“In what way did you touch his arm?”
Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1) Page 18