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I laughed. “That’s just my killer sense of style.”
“If you say so.” Sophie’s voice rang out over the sound of my laughter and I laughed even harder, this time at her need to always have the last word.
“I do!” I called after her about a second before her office door clicked shut, smiling proud at the fact that the last word had been mine, after all. A chime sounded and I looked first to my phone to make sure I hadn’t forgotten a meeting with a client or a live social media event, but the phone was blank. The computer showed a reminder alert and it was for Oliver’s podcast. “Oh, good god, what now?”
Unable to help myself, maybe because I’m some kind of secret sadist, I clicked the link. I watched as the screen filled with his chiseled face, blond hair and golden scruff adorning his chin, blue eyes bright and shining, mouth curved up in amusement. He really was too handsome for any sane woman’s peace of mind.
I shook off thoughts of Oliver March’s model-gorgeous good looks and got back to work, listening to his macho schtick with his meat head du jour while I updated social media accounts and sent out press releases.
“Romance is a sham and everyone knows it. Just look at all the responses I got just for telling men the truth about what women really want.” Oliver leaned back in his chair, tossed his head back and laughed. “They’re outraged!”
He went on and on, bashing dating and love and romance. Relationships and marriage, too. Nothing pertaining to love was safe from his vitriol. Not even Time For Love. I froze when he mentioned the name of my company, and when the disparaging remarks came, I saw red.
I seethed.
I fumed.
I packed up my bags and marched toward The Mayflower, working up a good mad just in case I ran into the jerk this evening. When I stepped inside the bar, Olive and Sophie were already there with a pitcher of margaritas on the table between them. I marched over purposely, dropping my bag in one chair before claiming the final one for myself.
“Uh oh.” Olive’s eyes went wide and she filled the only empty glass to the brim before sliding it across the table in front of me. “Drink this and tell us what’s wrong.”
“Who said anything is wrong?”
Sophie barked out a laugh. “The way you stormed in here like a bat out of hell and marched over here like a general commanding her army. Sit. Talk.”
I glared at my friend and business partner. “Should I beg, too?”
“Not until after you tell us what, or who, has your panties twisted in a bunch.”
I sucked in a breath and growled at her. “Oliver March has no effect whatsoever on my panties. Got it?”
Sophie held her hands up defensively. “Whatever you say, Eva.”
After picking up the glass and taking a long gulp of lime margarita on the rocks, I told her about the podcast. “He wasn’t just bashing romance this time, ladies. He bashed us. Us!”
Sophie spoke first, but worry was written all over Olive’s face. “Sweetie, I thought you were going to let this Oliver thing go. He’s entitled to his opinion, same as the rest of us.”
“Even if his opinion is how Time For Love is a total sham? Or that we sucker unsuspecting men into forking over hard-earned cash just to get a little tail?” I folded my arms and nodded. “You’re right. He is entitled to his opinion, and I’m totally letting it go. Totally.”
“Letting what go?” Officer Tara Beechum, who I’d known since we were teenagers, stood at the front of the table waiting for someone to catch her up.
“Oliver said something to make Eva mad. Again.”
Tara laughed and shook out her thick brown waves before she claimed the seat occupied by my bag. “What did he do now?”
Before the others could put their spin on his misdeeds, I told her the whole story. “Can you believe he did that, name checked us like that? So publicly?” It was completely unforgiveable.
Tara nodded. “I do believe he did and I agree, it might be a step too far.” She sighed and shook her head, green eyes glowing with mischief. “Or you two could just screw and get it over with.”
“Not happening,” I growled, not even amused by her suggestion. Just as I finished off my first margarita, The Mayflower’s wooden doors opened and the enemy himself walked inside with Stone Lawson, buff personal trainer and Sophie’s best friend. “Oh, hell, why me?”
All three heads at our table, plus the rest of the bar, swiveled in the direction of Oliver and Stone, both handsome in their own right, as they made a beeline right for our table. “Buck up, buttercup, we’re women,” Tara said. “We don’t crumble at the sight of men. We make them crumble.”
