Page 75 of Almost Pretend


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I have to stop this.

Before the infamous Marshall temper is the death of me.

“But you won’t,” August retorts, his voice softening. “Because you know Deb and I are fighting like hell because we love you, Aunt Clara. And you love us too much to leave us flapping in the breeze.”

Clara sighs.

“If you aren’t the most stubborn—” Clara stops and throws her hands up in exasperation. I see my gran in the gesture, that moment when her pride won’t let her back down, but she doesn’t want to keep fighting with the child she loves either. Suddenly she turns to me, her voice softening. “Elle, I’m so sorry. Once August gets an idea in his head, he won’t stop until he steamrolls everyone around him. Can you put up with me until this mess is sorted? You’re welcome to use my studio to develop your own work. I’d actually love the company, and I make a lovely tea.”

. . . put up with her?

My idol thinks I’d balk at putting up with her for months as her apprentice?

Holy hell.

I’m speechless.

This whole thing just came crashing down on my head, and now I’m getting wrecking-balled in the face by two obstinate Marshalls who’ve somehow made me the center of their mess.

Again.

I gulp. “I ... I already agreed to be your assistant as part of the deal with August. I promise I don’t mind. It’s cool.” I try a shaky smile. I don’t know how to feel—elated that my apprenticeship is confirmed, upset that I’m a burden to Clara, or hopeful that maybe I can be of some help to her. “I’d be honored to work with you.”

“There,” August proclaims triumphantly. “You see? It’s all fine.”

Clara plants her hands on her hips, scowling at him. “It’s not fine. I see I failed at raising you when you’re still obstinate as a bull, and when this all blows up in your face—”

“Debra already said that,” August interrupts dryly. “She’s offered to take Elle for a drink. I’m sure they’d love to have you for cocktails.”

What a mess.

But then August diverts his gaze to me. I can’t help it—a shiver runs through me, his stare so intense that rather than being cold, it flushes me with heat as it rakes my body in a quick, sharp survey.

“Speaking of cocktails, after you clock out, Rick will be waiting to escort you.”

I blink, recoiling. I feel like I’ve been turned upside down and shaken.

“What? Escort me where?”

“Wherever you like to shop. We’ll be having dinner at the Loupe Lounge tonight.”

I blink numbly. “You mean the one in the Space Needle?”

“Of course,” he answers offhandedly.

Of course.

And he’s chosen now to tell me this?

He couldn’t have texted me yesterday and told me?

This must be revenge for poking the bear so many times.

Clara watches us with an eyebrow raised, her arms folded as I ask faintly, “What am I shopping for?”

“A dress,” he replies irritably, like it should be obvious. I want to thwack him. “Dressy, but comfortable. It’s not a black-tie location. Perhaps one step below cocktail dress.”

“Oh. That’s . . . helpful.”

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