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I’m determined to sleep in my own bed tonight.
“How about tomorrow then? Like I said, we’re flexible about the location. Brooklyn, Manhattan, whatever works for you.”
Well, that’s a first. A few months before Janie started dating Landon, she got a job at a PR firm in Midtown and moved from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side—and right away, Brooklyn became like another country for her. Kendall, who also lives in the city, feels the same way, so I think it’s a Manhattanite thing. Either way, Janie’s sudden willingness to trudge to the boroughs is odd, to say the least.
“Let me check with Marcus and get back to you,” I say as the bell over the door rings, signifying another customer. “He said something about working late tomorrow, so that may be a good time for the three of us to—”
“Oh, we can do it another day, then. Whatever works best for you and Marcus. Landon is dying to get to know him better.”
Ah. So this is not about seeing me.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know which day works,” I say, doing my best to conceal the hurt in my voice. For a minute there, I thought Janie genuinely wanted to resume our friendship. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to run. It’s a busy day here at the bookstore.”
“Of course. I’ll be waiting. Bye for now!”
And as I head back to the register, sipping on a sugar-laden coffee to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth, I realize that this is going to be another downside of dating a billionaire.
My mother isn’t the only one who believes in using people—and I’m now someone to be used.
* * *
“Just tell her Marcus is too busy to hang out with her asshole of a boyfriend,” Kendall says when I relay the conversation after bringing her up to speed on last night’s dinner and everything that followed—minus the sex, of course.
There’s no way I’m telling her I had anal. My face flames like the surface of the sun when I so much as think about how dirty-hot the whole thing had been.
“So you think my theory is right?” I ask, pulling my mind out of the gutter to glance out the window at the bumper-to-bumper traffic. I left work early, as planned, but it’s snowing again, and even Wilson’s driving skills can’t help us get through the gridlock any faster.
If we keep creeping along at two miles an hour, I might end up staying at Marcus’s place another night.
“The theory that Landon pressured Janie to stop being friends with us because we don’t fit the image he wants her to project? It’s possible,” Kendall says thoughtfully. “He does seem like the type to do that.”
“No, I said that I don’t fit the image,” I correct. “You do—and didn’t you say Janie had invited you out a few times in recent months?”
“Well, yes, but it was always during the weeknights, and you know my boss often requires me to work late. And on the weekends, when I actually was free, she was too busy with Landon.”
“But she’d still invited you. Because you dress nicely and can hold your own at a fancy cocktail party. I, on the other hand, hadn’t heard from her at all. And you should’ve seen how much she’s changed, Kendall. It’s like she went on one of those makeover shows.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of crazy,” Kendall agrees. “I mean, people change and all, but that does seem pretty extreme. Do you think it’s because of Landon?”
“I’m almost sure of it.” I watch fat snowflakes land on the cars next to us. “Do you think—” I stop, unsure if I should go there.
“What? Come on, Ems, spill it.”
I take a breath. “Do you think Marcus will expect it of me too? I mean, if we stay together longer term, do you think he’ll want me to become like Janie, all designer clothes and flat-ironed hair and glossy lips?”
“So what if he does?” Kendall’s tone is distinctly lacking in sympathy. “There’s nothing wrong with putting some effort into your appearance. How did you feel in your cat’s butt dress and cheap boots last night?”
“Not great,” I admit. “I mean, once I got there, I kind of forgot about it because everyone was nice to me, but—”
“But you worried yourself sick about it beforehand. And why? Why not dress nicely and feel good in what you’re wearing?”
I frown. “Well, for one thing, I can’t afford—”
“Emma! You’re dating a billionaire. Let the guy buy you a freaking dress and a pair of decent shoes, so you’ll feel comfortable among his kind of crowd. Or if that’s too much for your independent sensibilities, let me get you some samples from my boss’s collection.”
“Aren’t they all size double-zero?” I ask wryly. “Last I checked, those clothes might not even fit my cats.”
