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Which meant I had an engagement to propose to a complete stranger.
It was either that or going to Alaska.
And I sure as hell wasn’t going to Alaska.
CHAPTER FOUR
RIGGS
I spent the subway ride to the WNT headquartersnothyperventilating into some guy’s McDonald’s bag, a big win in my book.
I wasn’t like my friends Christian and Arsène, who had a perpetual boner for messy conflicts. Those two could pick up a fight in an empty room. Antipathy was their passion.
I got off at Thirty-Fourth Street and entered the main reception of WNT. A bubbly receptionist greeted me. “Welcome to WNT News Corp.! How can I help you?”
You can kill me now. I’ll pay you extra if you make it quick.
“I’m here for ...”Delia? Davina? Delaney?“Gretchen Beatty’s assistant.”
“Which one? She has six.”
Six?G was more high maintenance than Disney World. But that didn’t surprise me.
“The British one who looks like a sexy nun.” I leaned a hip against the counter, jerking my foot impatiently.
“A sexy nun?” The woman tilted her head, clearly confused. I sometimes forgot how most people didn’t draw their analogies and cultural references from Pornhub.
“You know, dresses conservatively, with heels and all that jazz. She’s got nice ...” I cupped my hands to my chest in a weighing-watermelons gesture. Oops. I was doing it again. Being overtly me. “Uh,hair.”
It wasn’t a lie. I remembered she had shiny hair. Because I wondered what it’d look like wrapped around my fist.
“What color is it?” The receptionist narrowed her eyes.
“Huh?” Flashbacks of the Brit’s impressive rack shot through my mind. She really was a bombshell, and she worked the whole chic European look like nobody’s business. Shame about that personality.
“Her hair, sir.”
“Oh. Brown. An interesting shade of brown. Like ...”Don’t saycrap.“Mud.”
Though I was in no danger of snagging Pablo Neruda’s spot as the king of quixotic poetry, Enola Holmes here put the pieces together.
“That’d be Daphne.”Daphne! I knew it was aDname.“I’ll buzz you up. Who should I say is looking for her?”
The guy who fucked her boss in front of her, then proceeded to offend her. Twice. Then rejected her marriage proposal. Here’s a photo of my dick, in case she needs a refresher.
“Riggs.” I cleared my throat. “Riggs Bates.”
I waited for the receptionist to connect with Daphne on the switchboard. After a quick call, I was sent to the thirtieth floor. A woman who waited at the elevator and introduced herself as Gretchen’s fourth assistant led me to Daphne’s office. That was where I found the woman I was about to make my fiancée painting a traffic cone with red finger paint while standing inside a Crocs shoebox. She was screaming into a phone pinned between her shoulder and ear. “I’m well bloody aware, Charlie! No need for the weekly fatherly pep talks. IwishI could tell Gretchen to shove her attitude up her ars—”
Who was Charlie? Didn’t matter. It gave me inexplicable pleasure to see her like this. I knew her kind. She was obsessed with her precioushair, her expensive shoes, and her designer dresses. Her idea of art was probably contouring her face.
I stepped into her office, then leaned against the door and grinned. She didn’t look up, too caught up in what she was doing.
“... can’t make it to our drinks tonight, I’m afraid. Raise a pint for me ...”
Not even slightly surprised the people in her life needed alcohol to see the next day, I decided to make myself known and get it over with.
“This looks ...”Almost as bizarre as your behavior last night.“Therapeutic.”
