She folded her arms. “Don’t give me that. Look, I’ve been here for two days to give you ice cream and bitch sessions whenever you want, but your time is almost up. Remember the pact?”
I nodded. Years ago, Angie and I made a deal with each other. If one of us went through a bad breakup, the other would be there to show support with a shower of affection and Ben and Jerry’s… but there was a time limit. Three days was the longest we were allowed to mope and wallow in our misery, and after that we needed to make a concerted effort to go back out into the world and smile, even if the smile was completely fake.
It seemed harsh, but it had always proved effective in the past. We took the three days to grieve, and then we forced ourselves to keep moving onward and upward. The pact had gotten us both through several failed relationships over the years, and it usually worked like a charm.
But not now. This was different. This wasn’t just a breakup. It was a cataclysmic eruption.
“You’ve got sixteen hours left,” Angie said. “So tell me what’s upset you now. Did that prick text you again?”
I shook my head. “No. But he’s texting and calling everyone else I know. All our mutual friends, even my family. My mother just called me to ask if it’s true.”
“If what’s true?”
I sighed. “If I’m a prostitute. That asshole is telling people that a friend of his found me selling myself on some stupid app. I guess it sounds more legitimate if he says the information came from a friend, and not just him.”
Angie’s eyes narrowed. “That fucking bastard,” she fumed. “Seriously, that’s it. I’m going to go to his house and beat the crap out of him.”
I shook my head. “No, that’ll just aggravate him even more. I’m hoping if I stay silent and totally ignore him, he’ll finally give up and leave me alone.”
My most recent ex, James, hadn’t taken too kindly to me leaving him. Clearly.
A while ago, I discovered a multitude of lies he’d told me in our time together, and the bleeding-heart part of my soul had begged me to stay with him and help him through his issues. Of course, he never intended on accepting help. Even his claim of seeing a therapist and psychiatrist were false, and to add to that, he’d been screwing other women the entire time we were together.
So how did I find this out?
The other night, I became curious when several things he told me about his alleged ‘therapy sessions’ didn’t add up, and I committed the cardinal sin of going through his phone while he showered. It wasn’t something I’d usually ever do, but boy, I was glad I did in this case. I uncovered everything. Every lie he told me, every other woman he was cheating with, every so-called problem he’d actually invented in his twisted imagination.
I also found a heartbreaking video on the phone gallery that he’d made of himself teasing his new dog by locking him outside with no food and watching the poor animal pine at the door with the full bowl just out of reach on the other side of the glass. Apparently that was a laugh riot to him. There was also another one of him later drunkenly kicking the dog in order to ‘train’ him. As soon as I saw those videos, I grabbed my things, took the dog, and put him in my car. Then I left a note on his counter saying ‘It’s over, asshole’ before taking off for good.
I didn’t regret it one bit. Emotionally abusing me was one thing, but physically abusing an animal? No fucking way. Not even as a drunken, one-time thing. James was lucky I didn’t return the favor on behalf of the dog and kick the shit out of him for what he’d done.
As soon as he finally realized I was officially dumping him, he launched a smear campaign against me. He texted all our mutual friends to inform them of my alleged lies and cheating (none of which was true, of course). On top of that, every single thing he’d ever done to me, he turned against me instead. He said it was me who did them—apparently I was the one who’d faked being in a car accident one night to get attention and cover my sorry cheating ass, among other horrendous things.
Because he got to them first, many of our mutual acquaintances seemed to have sided with him. The fact that I stole the dog didn’t help my case either, but that was okay. I’d rather be hated by everyone than leave poor Oscar to that life of abuse and neglect. But to have my own mother calling me in tears, begging to know why someone was telling her that I was an internet hooker…well, that was a new low, even for a scummy piece of garbage like James.
Clack clack clack. I looked over at the glass side door to see Oscar jumping up and clicking his claws against it, and Angie followed my gaze. “I’ll let him in,” she said. “You stay there. You look like you’ll collapse if you get up.”
She walked over to the door and let the dog in. He bounded over to me and jumped up on the sofa, giving my arm a big lick. “Hey, boy. Enjoy your little roam outside?” I asked, ruffling his fur. “We’ll give you a treat in a while. We’re just having a chat at the moment.”
Oscar pressed his snout into my lap and looked up at me with pleading brown eyes, and I smiled through my misery. “Angie,” I said with a theatrical sigh. “Bring out the treats now, please.”
She laughed and headed into the kitchen. When she returned and threw a bone-shaped dog treat onto the sofa, another wave of sadness overcame me, and I grabbed Oscar in a big bear-hug. To my shame, I burst into tears again, sobbing all over his golden coat, and he whined and put a paw on my leg. Angie sighed and sat down, rubbing my back and making soothing sounds.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, wiping my face as Oscar finally pulled away and sniffed out his treat. “It’s just so hard having everyone hate me like this.”
“Not everyone hates you. The city’s a big place, Nora. There’s millions of people here who’ve never heard of you, so just forget about James and all his shit.”
“Easier said than done,” I said, stroking Oscar’s furry back as he loudly chewed on his snack.
“I know. But really, aren’t you glad this happened now?”
I frowned. “Why would I be glad?”
“Well, imagine if you hadn’t found out what a psycho he was for another ten years. Imagine if you were married with four kids by then. It’d be a lot harder.”
“I guess so.” She was right, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
“Being with the wrong person can help you find the right one,” she said, patting my shoulder. “Because now you know what things to look out for. You know the red flags, and you won’t ignore them next time.”
“Because there won’t be a next time,” I declared. “I’m done with men. They’re all wrong for me, and Mr. Right doesn’t exist. It’s a myth made up by movie studios to sell tickets to romantic comedies.”
“My, my, aren’t you cynical,” Angie replied with a snort. “Just because you work for all the movie studios doesn’t mean you know more than me about this issue, and I can tell you that what you just said is bullshit.”
“Oh yeah? Then why are we both still single and miserable with no one in sight?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Speak for yourself. I’m happy being single for now. And you know I’m only really into stable, boring guys. It’s hard to meet them in this city. Or anywhere, really. Guys like that don’t go out much.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s a stable, boring accountant or computer programmer out there for you somewhere,” I said. “I’m sorry about all the cynicism. I just feel so shitty.”
“I get it. When I broke up with Jax last year, I thought I’d never meet another man again. But I know I will. And you’ll get there too. You just need some time to be upset and get it out of your system.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said quietly.
A mischievous gleam lit Angie’s eyes all of a sudden. “I just had an idea,” she said.
“Oh no. I recognize that look in your eyes.”
“Hear me out,” she said. “Do you remember my friend Bonnie?”
“The one with no hair?”
“Yes, her. She shaves it. Anyway, she’s an exec produ
cer at Meridian Studios.”
“Oh?” I said, my interest piqued. Meridian Studios was an indie production company based in Silver Lake. They weren’t as big as other production companies, but they made solid movies which always proved to be hits.
“I was having coffee with her the other day, and she mentioned that they’re going to start production on a new movie soon. A sports movie called Fourth Down.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard of that. It’s going to be huge for an indie-produced film, apparently,” I said in a wistful tone. “I wish I could work on it.”
“I had a feeling you might say that. Anyway, Bonnie said they’re actually still looking for a decent sports consultant. Someone to make sure it’s all accurate.”
“So my job, then?” I said, arching a brow. I’d worked for Delos Consulting for three years now, helping movie studios with their productions. As a consultant, it was my job to research key parts of the scripts and ensure they were as close to reality as possible, and despite my college major of biology, my specialty was actually sports. My father had always been a huge sports buff, so I learned everything I knew from him, and I was lucky enough to be able to apply my knowledge frequently in my career.
Angie nodded. “Yes, they need someone like you. I had a brain fart at the time and forgot to recommend you,” she said. “But anyway, back to my idea….”
“What’s the idea?”
“I’ll call her and recommend she gives the contract to your company with you as the hired consultant. But there’s a catch.”
I groaned. “Go on, then. What is it?”
“You need to get dressed and go out with me later tonight. The first man who displays interest in you, you need to get a date with. And then you need to go on that date and see it through to the end. That’ll help take your mind off James—getting back in the saddle right away.”
“What if no one asks me out?”
She snorted. “Have you seen yourself lately? You’re hot, lady. Trust me. A guy will try to snap you up in seconds, especially if you let me do your makeup to add some extra oomph.”
“Okay… but what if I get asked out, and then the date turns out to be terrible? Can I leave?”
She shook her head. “No. The deal is that you see it through to the end, whatever happens with the guy. No matter how many dates it even takes for whatever it is to end. And it will end. It’s a rebound; it has to. But your job is to concentrate on him and only him for those few hours—or days—that it takes. It will help you.”
“I don’t see how. If it’s terrible, it’ll just reinforce my belief that all men are awful bastards with hearts made of coal.”
“No, it’ll help you move on. Rebounds work, Nora. There’s a reason it’s such a cliché.”
“I guess,” I said reluctantly.
“Look, do you want the contract for Fourth Down or not?” Angie asked, one eyebrow quirked up.
“Yes, I want it.”
“Then do we have a deal?”
I groaned again and grudgingly stuck my hand out. “Deal,” I said. “But you’re paying for my drinks when we go out tonight.”
“Done.”
“I guess I better go shave my legs, then,” I said with a heavy sigh, finally lifting myself off the sofa for the first time in hours.
Angie grinned at me. “Yeah, go get yourself ready. These men aren’t going to know what hit them!” she said. I gave her a disbelieving look, and she stuck her tongue out at me. “Come on,” she added. “This’ll be nice.”
“Yeah. Nice.” In the same way getting stabbed in the face would be nice.
Truth be told, I had absolutely no desire to go to a bar and have sleazy men circle me like a flock of sexually-frustrated vultures, but I wanted that consulting job on Fourth Down more than anything. So no matter what it took and no matter what I had to do, I’d do it.
That contract was mine.
3
Nora
“So, baby, do you come here often?”
A blond man in an expensive suit shot me a smug smile to accompany his horrendously outdated pickup line, and Angie waved a hand at him. “Move along,” she said. “We can see your wedding ring.”
He looked dejected but did as Angie said, slinking away to the other side of the bar. I sighed. “So much for men trying to snap me up in seconds. He’s the only one here who’s even looked at me so far. Do you think it’s the outfit?”
I sat up straight, patting my stomach, which felt hard as stone—not because I had killer abs, but because I had two layers of killer shapewear underneath my dress. Yep, tonight I was going full Bridget Jones.
Angie shook her head. “You look great. I just forgot that it’s sports night tonight. All the guys here are more interested in staring at that screen than staring at your tits in that dress.” She motioned toward a large plasma screen on the far side of the room.
“Maybe we should come back tomorrow,” I suggested.
Raffles was our favorite bar, and we’d been coming here at least once every couple of weeks for the last few years. The place had good food, good cocktails, and most importantly, it had good lighting. I was a firm believer in the idea that a woman should never underestimate the power of great lighting. As a great scholar once said (I believe it was Socrates) no one ever successfully picked up a man or a woman under fluorescent lights.
Okay, it wasn’t really Socrates who said that, but my point still stood.
“We need to keep trying,” Angie insisted with a shake of her head. “Surely there are some men in the world who couldn’t give a damn about sports.”
“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I’d even be interested in a guy who hates sports,” I said. “Considering how I love them.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “You and that football addiction of yours… you may as well quit your job and run a fantasy football league full-time,” she said with a teasing grin.
I smiled. “I wish. If my current job didn’t let me talk sports so much, I probably would do that.”
“And I’d probably do that. Or him, I should say,” Angie said, her eyes gleaming as they wandered over my shoulder. “Don’t look now, you’ll make it obvious. Jacob Archer just walked in.”
“Who?” I asked, furrowing my brows.
She gave me an exasperated look. “Seriously? You claim to work in the movie industry and you don’t know who Jacob Archer is?”
I shrugged. “Remind me.”
“Tall, dark hair, nice eyes. I guess he’s more of a TV actor at the moment.”
“Well, that’s why you know him, then. You write for a TV show,” I said.
She shook her head. “No, I know who he is because he’s one of the biggest names in the city right now. You really haven’t heard of him? He’s the guy from that hospital show on CBO. Oh, and he’s been having threesomes with that bikini model and what’s-her-face from Saturday Night Social!”
Before I could reply to any of that, she huffed and grabbed her cell phone from her purse. With a few swift taps, she brought up a photo of the man on Google Images, and she handed the phone to me. “This guy! Remember him now?”
Oh, him. Tall, gorgeous, lots of muscle, dark hair, and piercing grey eyes. Yummy. I definitely remembered him now. I actually had a little crush on him for a few weeks last year when I had the flu and became far too involved in a medical drama called Code Grey while I relaxed on the couch with a seemingly never-ending bowl of chicken soup. The reason I hadn’t remembered him by name was because I knew him by his character’s name—Dr. Easton West.
I snorted as I recalled the name. Easton West? Ridiculous. But Code Grey had won all sorts of awards, so I guess people liked the silliness.
“You don’t think he’s hot?” Angie asked, misinterpreting the snort. She looked down at the screen and squinted. “Maybe it’s just a bad picture of him.”
“Oh, no, he’s definitely sexy. I was just laughing at his character’s stupid name in that doctor show.”
“I agree, it�
��s pretty stupid,” a deep voice said from behind my back.
Angie and I looked up and turned around, and with horror, we saw Jacob Archer himself standing there. Apparently he’d chosen to come and stand at this exact spot by the bar, and he’d seen the photo of himself on Angie’s phone, which was still in my hand.
My cheeks flamed, and I shut off the screen and handed the cell back to my friend. “Uh… sorry.”
He gave me a dazzling smile. “That’s okay. Like I said, I agree. For a while, I was actually worried they’d reveal that my middle name was North.”
“Well, if they did that, the ratings might go south,” I blurted out before clapping my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god, that was terrible.”
“I thought it was funny,” he replied, flashing grey eyes lingering on me. I almost gulped. “Can I buy you ladies a drink?”
“You can buy her one,” Angie said. “But I just remembered, I have that… thing.”
“What thing?” I asked as she grabbed her purse and stood up.
“You know. The thing. Sorry, I have to go,” she said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck,” she whispered in my ear.
I glowered after her as she made a beeline for the exit. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for the night. Jacob Archer was simply being polite in offering to buy a couple of fans a drink, that’s all. He wasn’t going to be my rebound. Hell, I’d be lucky if he even spoke to me for longer than five minutes.
“What are you drinking tonight?” he asked, flashing me another panty-melting smile.
I figured I may as well enjoy his attention while it lasted. “Cosmopolitans,” I said with a sheepish smile.
“Sex and the City fan, huh?”
“I was when I was younger. Not so much anymore. But I still love a Cosmo.”
“Well, that’s because they have cranberry juice in them. Cranberries are amazing,” he said. “Best part of Thanksgiving is cranberry sauce, in my opinion.”
I smiled. “I agree. Best part.”
“Well, look at us, having things in common,” he said before nodding at the bartender and quickly ordering our drinks.
Mr. Wrong Page 2