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“Christopher Marshall.”
“Never heard of him. Is he someone whose life we’ve ruined?”
“The Senatorial candidate,” Farrow provided, unfazed by it all. “In that J-Lo movie.”
“Finally.” Oliver stood, showering her with golf claps. “A woman of depth and culture.Maid in Manhattan. I tear up every time.” He scooped up an invisible tear with the back of his finger. “Though I’m sure Zachary over here is more about the Maid in Maryland life.”
It didn’t surprise me that Ollie knew all about Farrow and her cleaning company. Mom probably vented to him over almond cookies and freshly imported da hong pao before whining to Romeo.
“Shut up.” I pointed a fork at my two best friends—a reformed psychopath and a fuckboy with more mileage than a used car. “Both of you.”
Farrow turned to Dallas, ignoring me. “Hey, you should totally try the stuffed bone marrow elote we’re bringing in a sec. They’re to die for.” She jerked a thumb toward me. “I scarfed down all of this buzzkill’s portion in two seconds flat.”
Dallas drew a palm to her cleavage. “Did we just become best friends?”
“I believe so.”
Dal whipped her phone out. “I’ll get us T. Swift tickets.”
Farrow wiggled her brows. “I’ll make us friendship bracelets. Favorite colors?”
“Purple and green.”
Junior pinned Farrow with his dilated pupils, ready to launch into another tirade. “Speaking of being stuffed…”
He fought a bout of sniffles, coked out of his mind, nose snowed in more than a Syracuse Christmas.
But Farrow didn’t pay attention to him. She was already on her way out, balancing seven dirty plates in one palm.
Junior swiped his nose and stood, following Farrow. “I’m going to make a quick dash to the bathroom.”
Oliver pulled his chair back and heaved a sigh. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”
“No.” I got up, raising my palm. “He’s past a little spanking. Stay here.” I paused. “And maybe call my lawyer.”
Junior flattened out his tracksuit, muttering incomprehensible things. “Gotta teach this girl a lesson…”
My jaw locked. “Definitelycall my lawyer.”
I stalked Brett as he traced Fae’s steps, cracking his neck and knuckles. She entered the main kitchen, oblivious to the men following her.
Brett and I filed inside, watching as she unloaded the plates into an already filled sink.
“Oof.” She planted a hand on the counter and wiped her brow. “What a piece of work.”
“What a piece ofass.” Junior advanced, stopping short of the counter, mere inches from her.
She didn’t look up from the dishes, flipping the faucet on to rinse the plates. “I wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you.”
“Yeah?” He scooted closer, boiling the blood in my veins to a temperature more suitable for the sun. His sniffing was out of control. “Why’s that?”
“Because I can hit harder.”
“Oh, so you like it rough, do you?”
I watched with painstaking stillness as Junior raised his hands, wiggled those sticky fingers, and stretched them out, aiming for her ass.
He neared his destination, almost rounding the curve between the cheek and those toned legs that moved with graceful skill on the piste.
