by Emilia Finn
He thinks it’s price gouging. But it’s only price gouging when a regular person wants to buy a regular item – supermarket shampoo, shoes, hand sanitizer – and the rich have jacked up the prices. In the case of tonight’s event, it’s not price gouging so much as it’s stupid people buying status.
If that’s how they want to spend their money, then who am I to reject the check they write?
“Jenna is here.” My assistant passes little notes to me as we walk the room. “She said to come find her when you get a second.”
“Okay.”
“Mr. Tosky said he’ll arrive at seven-thirty.”
A fashionably late entrance, of course. “Which Mr. Tosky?”
“The first, though he said your father would be with him.”
“Okay.”
I stop by a table and bend toward the place markers with the names of those who pay ridiculous prices for a small amount of food.
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to take the five thousand dollars from each of the attendees, give them cheeseburgers to eat, and then give that money to charity?” I look to my assistant. “There are so many other ways to spend that money.”
“Your father says—”
“We’re a business, not a charity. I know.”
I stand tall again and inspect the flowers. We didn’t even shop locally for these. As per my grandfather’s strict instruction, they were shipped in from a florist in the city – because the owner is the daughter of a socialite friend.
“I know what he says.” I sigh. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“Uh…” She has no clue what to say. She’s hired by Monaco, not by me specifically. And she was approved by my father. Her loyalty is not with me. “Jackson also said to let him know when you arrived.”
I hide my rolling eyes. “Sure. You can let everyone know I’m on the premises. Where’s Jered?” I look toward the engine art. “Is he here?”
“He was here earlier to deliver the pieces and set them up. He left to get changed, and promised he would be back before we open the doors to guests.”
“Great. The food?”
“The kitchen staff is bustling already. They’ve been prepping all day. They said they’re organized and ready.”
“Perfect. The music?”
“The playlist you provided was approved by Mr. Tosky. Senior,” she adds for clarification. “With strict instruction to keep it down so guests can comfortably speak and be heard.”
“Wouldn’t want to make it more difficult for the oldies,” I quip under my breath. “Alright, so I guess we’re set. Come find me when Jered arrives. Then again ten minutes before we open up. I’m going to find Jenna.”
“Yes, Miss Tosky. I’ll be on my phone if you need anything in the meantime. And the event planner is also here and available. She’s in the kitchen, I believe.”
“Alright. Perfect.”
I tuck my files against my chest and walk away in search of Jenna. My best friend.
I frown because that doesn’t sound as natural as it used to.
I check the halls of the hotel we’re in, then the lobby, then I peek outside. No Jenna.
Instead of wasting more time, I head back into the hall and into the bathroom, because I have to nervous pee. Setting my files on the counter, I duck into a stall and take care of business – difficult, considering my shoes and gown – then, stepping out, I wash my hands and make sure my dress is sitting right.
I’ll die if a boob sneaks out and shocks a guest into cardiac arrest.
My hair is tied up in a tight bun, and sprayed to within an inch of its life, but it looks elegant. My makeup is subtle… but not. Glistening lips, and lashes that are as fake as every smile that will come through tonight’s event. My eyes are a little smoky, and they itch from the glue used on the lashes. My foundation is flawless, and my dress is stunning.
I feel pretty. Fake, for sure. But pretty. So I snag my phone from my clutch, take a picture that shows my outfit from my shoes to my hair. Then I turn, and take a picture of my back.
With a wicked grin and silly butterflies battering my stomach, I send them to Bry and type: Thinking of you.
Stuffing my phone away and snatching up my files, I rush into the hall with the intention to call Jenna if I don’t find her soon, but I almost slam into her just outside the door.
“Oh! Awesome.” I grab her arm and twine them together as we walk. “I was just coming to find you.”
She looks amazing in a gown she designed. Red, with a neckline that goes right up to her chin, and a fishtail type skirt. It fits her body like a glove, tight around her hips, then splays to the floor.
I sigh. “You look beautiful.”
She grins – seemingly forgetting our last fight – and relaxes against my side. “Thanks. It’s brand new. Something I was thinking of sending to the next show.”
“You totally should. Make it ivory, and you’ll have brides pulling each other’s hair to wear it.”
She snickers. “I should. I’m having a lot of fun with the current wedding gown I’m working on. I didn’t know I would, ya know?” She grins as we step back into the ballroom. “I thought it would be annoying, since wedding dresses are notoriously complex, and brides are crazy.”
I think of Evie, and smile. “But you love it?”
She nods. “I really do. I’m not sure I’d make a career out of wedding dresses. Sewing them one by one isn’t really my thing. I want to design them, but this one time has been fun.”
“I’m so glad you’re having fun.” I frown. “I worried.”
“You did?”
“Mm. Remember the other week when you got mad she rescheduled her appointment?” I bring a hand up to my temple. “I don’t even remember half of that night,” I laugh. “But I remember you were mad. You were saying how much you hate her, how she’s a bitch, and—”
“Oh,” she laughs. “She is a bitch. Evie Kincaid is a total fucking cow,” she murmurs. “She’s high-maintenance, loud, obnoxious, and plain rude. She thinks her name gets her some kind of status, but everyone knows she’s trailer trash money.”
I slow my steps and scowl. “That trailer trash money is paying for that dress, Jenna.”
“Uh huh, which is why I can paste on my customer service smile and pretend to be sorry when I poke her with pins.”
“You poke her?” My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
She snickers. “Only a couple times per appointment. Any more than that, and she’d know I’m doing it on purpose.”
“You have never poked me when fitting a dress!”
“I know.” She shakes hands with the event planner as we pass. “I’m good at what I do, Maddi. I already said that. But she likes to get loud with her mom when we’re fitting. So I poke her, and she quiets down.”
“I’m pretty damn sure that’s illegal, Jen. Jesus, are you insane? She’s a fighter. She could mop the floor with your hair extensions, but you think poking her for fun is something you should do?”
“She’s not going to hit me.” She scoffs. “I don’t need her, Maddi. It would be nice to say she wore my dress, but I’m not a pauper looking to pay the rent. But she, on the other hand…” She grins. “Well, she needs me, doesn’t she? It’s too late to find another dress, and she’s already paid for this one. Her wedding is coming up fast. So I’m going to enjoy messing with her between now and then.”
“I met her, Jenna.” I pull her to a stop and swing her around to face me. “I met her because of the endorsement deal.” Don’t mention the breakfast I ate with her. Or dinner. “She was nice.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“She’s loud,” I counter. “She’s excited. But she’s not mean.”
Jenna only shrugs and continues walking. “We’re allowed to have differing opinions. That’s the beauty of being best friends, huh? We don’t have to agree to still love each other.”
Um…” Memories of watching Evie fight in her gym batt
er at my brain. Her long, pretty hair. Her fast smile. And her utter love and devotion for the man she’s going to marry soon. “You’re not going to do anything to her dress, are you? You’re going to deliver what she paid for?”
“Of course.”
She flashes a wide grin, and releases my arm when Jackson steps into the room in his perfectly tailored suit. He wears a purple pocket square that makes me look down at my dress again.
As Jenna loops her arm in his and brings him across the room, my eyes narrow at the fabric of his tie. “Is that…” I reach forward, and finger the material. Then I look to Jenna. “Is that made from the cut-offs of my dress?”
“Uh huh! The color is beautiful, isn’t it? You guys look perfect together. Here.” She pushes her brother toward me and snatches out her phone. Without waiting for me to prepare – or, ya know, object – she starts snapping pictures, and grins when a pair of lips press to my temple. “Perfect. It’s almost time to open up the event. Are you guys ready to make some money?”
“Mm.” I step away from Jackson and make myself busy with the files in my hands. “I have to do one last run-through with the event planner. Then I have to get rid of these,” I lift the files away from my chest. “I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
“Make sure you smile,” Jenna waves me off and steps to her brother with a mischievous grin. “We make more money when we smile.”
“Yeah.” Rolling my eyes, I snatch my phone from my clutch and walk out of the room in search of the planner.
I already have replies from the texts I sent Bryan in the bathroom.
Bryan: Fuck me!
Bryan: No, seriously, fuck me. Please.
Bryan: You look stunning. Crudeness aside, since I had to get that out of my system. Jesus, Maddi. Hand to my heart, I’ve never seen someone more beautiful in my life.
Bryan: Come back here tonight. I’m begging you.
Bryan: Since we’re sending bathroom selfies.
The final message that pops through is a nude. Completely fucking nude, as he stands in his bathroom with a hard dick, a flexed bicep, and an arrogant smirk.
He’s so obnoxious it should be infuriating. But mostly it’s… endearing.
I walk the halls of this fancy hotel, and I think into my future. Just like I did on Monday when I thought of a future with Jackson, I do the same now, but I think of Bry. I think of how annoying he is, how loud, how arrogant and bossy.
I think of what I’ve been witness to as Kit and Bobby Kincaid interact. Bobby is arrogant too, he’s loud, he’s big. And Kit had to hit him a dozen times over dinner on Sunday night to shut him up.
But they smiled. They smiled so much that my heart wept, and my face ached from my own smile. When he pulled her into his lap – at the table! – no one was surprised. There was not one single raised eyebrow but mine. Not one single sideways smirk, or word of teasing.
Bobby Kincaid pulled his wife into his lap while the rest of us ate dinner, he tipped her back, and he kissed the shit out of her with so much passion that I was almost tempted to excuse myself from the table. Kit’s long hair dangled in Nelly’s lap while her son and daughter-in-law made out. But she only smiled and kept eating.
And when Bryan noticed my shock, he only slid his hand into my lap and winked.
That’s it.
Goddammit, if I were to see where this thing with Bryan goes, I have no doubt I’ll want to murder him with a frying pan when he obsessively goes out of his way to annoy me. But… just maybe… twenty years into this relationship, maybe he’ll still be pulling me into his lap and making out like we’re still twenty-something. And maybe when he does that, everyone that surrounds us will be so used to such behavior that not a single brow will be lifted.
That sounds like a really fun twenty years.
I hit reply, and try my best not to look at the picture he sent.
I’ll text you when I’m leaving. Open the gates for me?
Bryan: Of course. You look beautiful, Turdsky. Tell Jackson I’m glad his face still hurts, and whoever sewed that tie for him can suck my dick. I might be a possessive man, Maddi, but I’m not stupid. Having that picture turn up in my newsfeed just a minute ago was clearly a power move. But I trust you. When we know, we know. See you when you get home, Princess. I’m gonna tear that dress off your body.
Bryan
A Little Ketchup on the Side
“Sprawl!” I stand on the outside of the octagon two weeks out from Smalls’ wedding, and watch Iowa and Mac whale on each other.
Mac has gained weight the past two years. As soon as my cousin took control of his diet, she made it so he packed on enough weight to make up for the fact he’s always on the lower end of his division. He’s always been skinnier than us, always working harder to gain and retain weight. And though he and Iowa are in the same division, there used to be a clear weight difference.
Now… not so much.
Sweat flies through the air as Iowa tries for the takedown, but, just as I ordered, Mac sprawls and drops his weight onto Iowa’s back. They grapple for submission, they slam fists against each other’s bodies, and elicit grunts of pain as they fight to be the guy on top.
Mac’s hair hangs longer than Iowa’s. It drips with sweat, dangles to his nose, and draws my eyes down to his shining mouthguard.
Iowa bridges beneath Mac’s weight, slams him back to the canvas with a fast swing, then he jumps on top and grabs Mac’s flailing arms. Mac is a brawler. Iowa used to be a brawler, but more than a year of working with me and my Uncle Aiden has left the guy a technically proficient roller. He fights with his brain now, rather than brute strength.
“Escape, Mac!” I rattle the cage, and watch as Iowa works on securing Mac’s arm. “Slip out of there, Mac! Move!”
“I’m tryin’!”
He tries to bridge. He lifts his hips, and moves Iowa up a couple inches, but he struggles. His breath races fast, and the scar that lines his torso stands out in stark contrast as it shimmers with sweat.
“Ten seconds, Mac! Knock him the fuck out, or go home!”
He moves harder. Faster. Like a dog caught in a trap, he spasms and works on getting free, but the clock ticks down while Iowa searches for the lock.
Five. Four. Three.
“Mac!”
The buzzer sounds and sends the fighters separating until they roll away and drop to their backs.
“Fuck,” Mac pants. “Motherfuck!”
“He almost had the lock. What were you thinking?” I step around the cage and climb up the stairs. Opening the door, I walk between the fighters and look down between them. “At Stacked Deck, you’d both be disqualified for that shit. No tap, no knockout, you both get sent home. You wanna give that cash to someone else?”
“No.” They answer as one. They’re both desperate for the payday.
“You have six weeks until fight night. Are you gonna continue to suck, or will tomorrow be the day you start trying?”
“Fuck you.” Mac rolls to his knees and elbows. “I wasn’t knocked out. I didn’t tap.” He draws in a long, shaking breath. “That’s actually improvement for me.”
It really is. But we don’t let him become complacent.
“Six fucking weeks, Blair. How are you gonna turn up to that tournament?”
“A winner.”
“Who you gonna beat?”
“Anyone I have to,” he growls. “I’m gonna win, then I’m gonna get me a bride.”
That pulls me up short.
Wide eyes, pounding heart, I knock him to the side and wait for his eyes. “Come again?”
He sucks in lungfuls of air. “You heard me.”
“Uh…” I look to Iowa. Back to Mac. “Does she know that yet?”
He shakes his head. “Appreciate it if you kept it to yourself for now.”
“She’s my cousin.”
He chuckles. “Yes, she is.”
“You’re gonna ask her to marry you?”
“Are you surprised?”
&n
bsp; “Well…” I frown. “No. Can they backdate it to when you were twelve? Because you’ve essentially been hitched since then.”
He flashes a wicked grin and pulls out his mouthguard. “In my mind, it’s backdated. In reality, I’m gonna ask her soon, so shut your trap.”
“Did you ask Uncle Jimmy’s permission?”
He nods. “Jimmy and I are square. He told me he loved me. Like, with actual words.”
Laughing, I extend a hand and pull him to his feet. “I mean, that’s a big deal.” I clap his back when he’s steady, then I turn to Iowa and pull him up. “Uncle Jimmy kinda wanted to strangle you for a while there, so proclamations of love are kinda huge.”
“I know it.” Mac moves to the octagon door and steps out to grab his water. “So basically, I’m telling everyone but her. If she finds out, I’m gonna rampage and rearrange some faces.”
“How will you know who told?” I follow him out of the cage with a smile. “If you’re telling everyone, how will you know who to beat on?”
“It’s a moot point.” He tips his water back and chugs, and when Iowa steps out of the cage, Mac tosses him a water too. “No one will spoil it for her, because everyone knows she deserves something special. She deserves for it to be big and glitzy and shit, so I’m waiting till after Ben and Smalls’ wedding – don’t wanna piggyback on that. Then after the tournament – because shit, I want that money. But Christmas Day, you’re all gonna have to sit the fuck down and watch her get fussed over.”
“Christmas Day?” Wide-eyed and wearing a goofy grin, I press a hand to my heart. “You’re making my Scrooge heart pitter-patter.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He laughs. “Just be quiet about it. Don’t spoil it.”
“How are you gonna do it?”
Done with the cage for now, the three of us move toward the hall. We don’t have to be quiet, since Bean isn’t here; she’s at the dance studio, doing up some kind of amazing show for “important people.”
Her words.
“Maybe you could dance for her,” Iowa chuckles. “But personally, I don’t wanna see that. So maybe do it at your place before you come to the estate for breakfast and presents.”