13
948 Words
I call Dani first thing. She answers, demanding, “Seriously, what the f**k?”
“Ha! You’re asking me? I have no idea what just happened.”
“Start with how you met Callum McCord, you lucky b***h!”
“He came into the shop.”
“Your shop? The little bohemian bookstore with all the stray cats and shabby furniture? Why the hell would a billionaire go in there?”
“Oh my God. Thanks for the support. Why are we even friends?”
“Listen, just tell me the damn story, starting from the beginning and ending at the part where you’re on your knees somewhere with his big billionaire d**k down your throat.”
The driver’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror. He looks eager for a juicy story.
I say to both of them, “That didn’t happen.”
Looking disappointed, the driver glances away.
Dani demands, “So what did happen? Tell me everything!”
I heave out a heavy breath, then start from the beginning. When I’m finished, there’s silence on the other end of the line.
“Are you still there?”
“Still here. Except I think my brain is broken.”
“Yeah, join the club.”
After another moment, she says, “So we’ve got a few possibilities. The first is that you were being filmed for a reality show.”
“That’s what I thought!”
“Except the producers would’ve given you a release to sign. I don’t think you can be on TV without your consent.”
I ponder it. “Maybe they were going to approach me with the release afterwards. To make my reactions more realistic in the moment.”
“I mean, I guess? But what’s the show about?”
“Maybe like The Bachelor meets Married at First Sight?”
“Hmm. Maybe. But with a total opposites-attract trope. Billionaire and the beast.”
I’d be insulted that she’s saying I’m the beast in this scenario, but unfortunately, I agree with her. I’m hardly Frankenstein’s monster, but compared to Callum, I might as well be.
“Did you see any cameras?”
“No.”
“Okay, so maybe it’s something else.”
“For instance?”
“Well, if he already had an engagement ring ready to go and it wasn’t for television, he must’ve had a fiancée at some point, right?”
“Makes sense.”
“So maybe they split up. Maybe it was a bad breakup. Maybe she broke his heart.” I can tell by her excited tone that she’s warming up to the idea. “So now he wants to get back at her and make her jealous by getting engaged to you!”
“If he was engaged to anyone, she’d be a supermodel. How the hell would I make a supermodel jealous?”
She pauses, then says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re Gisele Bündchen and Tom Brady left you for, say, Hermione Granger, wouldn’t that drive you absolutely batty?”
She has a point, the witch.
“Your logic is flawed, Einstein, because he didn’t leave anyone for me. I never laid eyes on the man before this morning.”
“You know what I mean. He’s trying to drive her nuts figuring out what you have that she doesn’t.”
I laugh at that. “Gisele wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over me. She’d just assume Tom had been hit one too many times in the head and move on with her glamorous life.”
“Hey, give yourself some credit. Gisele doesn’t have your body.”
I snort. “Which is why she’s a supermodel and I’m not.”
“I meant your curves, idiot.”
“You’re still losing this argument. We both know that I’m five-feet-two inches of bad attitude, high anxiety, and no filter. Nobody’s jealous of that. And by the way, why can’t we come up with another word than ‘curves’? I’m not a mountain road, for f**k’s sake.”
“Lady lumps?”
The driver snickers. I’d like to give that eavesdropper a proper smack, but I’m only violent on the inside. Plus, I don’t want to go to jail for assault.
Not all of us have the chief of police on speed dial.
Just then, a siren blares out from behind us.
“f**k,” mutters the driver, glancing in the rearview mirror. I turn around, look out the back window, and see the pair of motorcycle cops following us with their lights flashing.
Then I spot the sleek black sedan following behind them and start to panic. “Oh no.”
Dani says, “What’s wrong?”
“I think Callum called the cops on me.”
“What? Did you steal his watch or something?”
“Just because I’m broke doesn’t mean I’m a thief!”
Except now that I think of it, he was wearing a very expensive-looking watch. It’s actually not a bad idea.
“Then why would he call the cops on you?”
“Maybe running out on a billionaire in the middle of lunch is against the law.”
“You ran out on him? You didn’t tell me that part! What the hell is the matter with you?”
I groan. “Literally everything.”
The driver pulls to the side of the road and kills the engine. The motorcycle cops park behind us, and behind them parks the black sedan. One of the cops swings his leg over his bike and walks toward us. I take the opportunity to slide down low in the seat and hyperventilate.
- Writer
