“Sure they do, pumpkin. But that’s exactly my point, isn’t it? Conflict doesn’t have to mean some big battle or war. We got plenty of conflicts going on inside of us every day. That, I think, is sometimes the scarier battle. Because it’syou. And ain’t no mastodon cat or whatever is ever gonna be scarier than that.”
A few days later, my frustration continues. DespiteBetsy’s confidence, I still haven’t fixed the giant cat problem. In fact, I haven’t written a word. And through a series of unfortunate events, I’m saddled with hosting book club tonight. Bits has some other engagement — a date — of which I’m only slightly jealous. I don’t mind book club. The ladies who attend are a fun group, which I appreciate, and it’s always super interesting to hear what they do or don’t like about an author’s choices. Usually, other than reading out the discussion questions, they require very little of me, which usually leaves me free to take notes and work on my own plot points while they discuss. It’s like a free brain-storming session for meandI get paid for it. Win-win.
And, of course, that is when Brett walks in.
Fucking Brett.
Brett fucking Frost.
He evenlookslike a Brett: clean shaven, a flop of expensively highlighted brown hair, big, soulless brown eyes. His spray tan makes him look too bronze for the early summer weather outside. He has a strong, chiseled jaw, showcasing a smile that is too even, too straight and too white to be real. Every time he flashes those overly-pearly whites at me, I vaguely wonder how much he’s spent on whitening treatments. Well, not him. Technically, his parents.
The real problem with Brett is this — he’s rich, he looks good, and he fucking knows it. His billionaire father has seen to it. Of course, in Brett’s mind, this makeshima billionaire by proxy. In other words, he’s a complete fucking douche canoe and counts on women falling at his feet. I’d rather sit naked on a hot grill than suffer through any more than 30 seconds of conversation with this pompous ass. Unfortunately, like so many fuckboys before him, he’d decided my lack of interest simply meant that I was playing hard to get and would come around eventually.
I had first met Brett shortly after I was hired at Wanderlust, when I ran into him at the grocery store. He’d offered to help carry my stuff to the car and appeared immediately annoyed when I declined. To be fair, I’m not a fucking weakling — I was perfectly capable of getting both my dozen eggsandmy bag of pasta home without some creep’s assistance.
The next day, he brought in a box of books he wanted to get rid of. Because they were written by women. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the way to my heart or into my pants and only served to solidify my icky first impression.
Since then, he has continued to come into the shop at least once a week, if not more. He always tries to get me to agree to one one-on-one time, either with event tickets, offering a meal, going to a bar, or whatever. Every time, I manage to turn him down. While he’s never done anything specific, I’m always uneasy around him and I absolutely loathe when he comes into the store and I’m alone — something that has increased over time.
No, he’s never done anything overt, but I’m a firm believer in trusting your gut and there’s something off about Brett. Something dead in his eyes, that remained flat and lifeless even when he smiled or laughed at his own jokes.
Because the universe hates me and loves nothing more than to laugh at my expense, Brett is carrying a copy of tonight’s book. Call me skeptical, but I didn’t think he could actually read.
Brett seems to spot me from across the room andflashes that practiced smile. I just know he stands in front of his mirror flexing and posing. I groan internally, wishing I could be literally anywhere else. Thankfully, the room is filling with women for the evening’s fun, so I can hopefully avoid him for the length of the meeting.
Yes, I plan to use a bunch of women, including a gaggle of little old ladies, as a shield. Stop judging me.
I give Brett a nod of greeting and go to take my place in the meeting area.He is, of course, undeterred and saunters over to sit next to me. He drapes his arm over the back of my chair, leaning in as he says, “Hey Casie! I didn’t know you were running the club meeting tonight.”
As if he’d even be here if Betsy were running it. He’d probably spotted her around town earlier. I fight the need to squirm and lean away, trying to remain still and not give an inch. “Yeah, I run them when Betsy is busy. I don’t remember seeing you here before.”
“Oh, I just joined. You know — reading is good for expanding, like, the mind.”
I make a non-committal sound in my throat. “So I’ve heard. I can’t wait to hear what you think of this month’s book.”
Especially since it’s written by a woman, for women. I would bet my left kidney he didn’t even open his copy and, likely, stole it from his mom. Or he bought it with the sole intention of returning it to the shop later. Asshole.
As I turn to check the clock, I suddenly feel his hand on my thigh. Whipping my head around, I find him looking at me, in a way I imagine he thinks is charming and sly, but is actually disgusting. “Please, get your hand off me.”
“Oh, com’on, Cas. You know I’d love to take you out,show you a good time. I know you aren’t seeing anyone. We’d be great together.”
Shoving his hand from my leg, I stand, trying to regulate my breathing. “We’ve had this discussion, Brett. I don’t have the time.”
He laughs. “Still playing hard to get, huh? How about tonight after the meeting? You can come home with me and we can continue our discussion. I can even… pay you, for your time.” He winks.
For once, I’m speechless. Based off of his expression, he thinks this is a good thing. He doesn’t seem to have any idea of how insulting the words he’s spewing are. He also seems to think if he states it as fact, that magickally makes it so.
“No,” I finally manage. I have to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
“No just means you’ll think about it.” He smirks.
I walk away before I cause any more of a scene in front of all these women. Not that they’d care. They’d probably draw and quarter him for being such a raging twat. He may be an assclown, but he doesn’t need to be completely humiliated in the middle of the shop. Eventually, he has to find some other girl to set his sights on, right?
I’m going to spend the rest of the meeting actively avoiding him.
The meeting goes… well? The book we’re discussing this week is the first of a series in which a group of best friends decide to move together into a “mom-commune” with their children to share the burdens that come with being a single parent. Since I do, in fact, read the books for book club, I know that it’s a billionaire boss, fake marriage story, and I loved it. The spice was spicing, the book boyfriend was top tier, and the kids were adorable. Plus, the main female was plus size, which is grossly underrepresented in the book world. It was fabulous and I’ve already purchased the three follow up books, each written by other female authors and featuring each of the moms.
The majority of the women are older, but there are some younger gals here too. They all appreciate the idea of sharing the burden of motherhood and the message of female support. Everything seems to be going well, until we get to the part of the discussion about the female lead. While the women have nothing but positive things to say about the romance of the book, Brett has other thoughts.
