AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She laughed softly. “I’m just telling you that I will sign the contract and I’m absolutely thrilled about the show. And I want whatever could happen with you, me, and Rory to actually … happen.”
There. She’d said it. Put the desire for her own ménage into the universe.
And smiled at the new wave of flames that danced along her skin.
* * *
Christian was having a hell of a time concentrating on the conversation. Bayli was animatedly discussing some of the places she’d like him and Rory to consider for the test audience/webcast portion of the show while Rory was still in the kitchen prepping their meal.
Her cheeks were rosy, her hands were gesturing about—so much so that Christian discreetly moved her glass of champagne out of the way twice—and she was as radiant as he’d known she’d be when he’d first envis
ioned her in front of TV cameras.
No two ways about it, Christian wasn’t just lusting after her. It was quickly becoming so much more. She’d said the other day that she wanted to weave her own web to hook him and Rory. What she didn’t know was that she’d already done just that. And Christian and his friend only got more tangled up with every passing moment in her presence.
Christian knew that Rory would take the blame for his bungled afternoon with her on Sunday only if he was truly, deeply, passionately interested in her. Otherwise, he would have been dismissive, because Rory didn’t have the time or the patience for calming unsettled waters. When things got complicated romantically, Rory was the first to walk away.
Not so when it came to Bayli Styles.
And it was evident that she felt the rift had been mended, because she was reaching all-new levels of vibrancy with her brilliant smile and contagious laugh.
She told Christian, “So there were Phillip and Colin, stranded in the Dominican Republic with no luggage after like twenty hours of traveling and three different airline connections, and the resort restaurants had strict dress codes and wouldn’t let them in for dinner because they were in shorts and flip-flops—Abercrombie and Fitch, but whatever, apparently the labels got them nowhere—and there was no on-site shop to buy pants. They were starving, and even Colin’s incredible charisma and Phillip’s increasingly huge bribe couldn’t get them past the maître d’ since the management didn’t want any precedents being set on his watch. They were about to tear each other’s hair out—or gnaw on each other’s legs—when the bartender told them of a men’s clothing shop in town. Well…”
She reached for her champagne, her head cocking to the side briefly as she seemed to ponder if she’d really put it that far out of reach. She shrugged again and sipped. Christian grinned.
“What happened?” he asked, already liking her friends because, from what he’d gleaned from the past two stories she’d told of the couple, they were highly protective of Bayli and adored her to pieces.
Returning her glass to the table—and visibly noting where she’d set it—Bayli said, “The bartender was getting off in ten minutes and offered to take them into town. Only”—she snickered affably—“Phillip and Colin assumed he’d drive them in his car.”
“But he didn’t have a car?”
“He had a scooter! So both Phillip and Colin were on the back, holding on to each other and the bartender for dear life while he whizzed through rush-hour traffic, zipping right down the road between vehicles so that they were literally flanked by cars and Colin was screaming—screaming—bloody murder.”
“Now that’d make a great YouTube video.”
“Indeed. If only Phillip was coordinated enough to hold on and film at the same time.”
“But they bought new clothes and had a wonderful dinner.”
“Not even close. The bartender wigged from all the girlish screeching and clinging and at the first available U-ey took them right back to the hotel. They were so traumatized by the ‘harrowing’ experience, they refused to leave their room that night and raided the minibar. This incredibly classy Lord & Taylor and Harrods couple devoured Pringles and M&M’s and sucked down every champagne and wine split and tiny bottle of booze in the fridge. They were plastered and ridiculously hungover in the morning.”
Christian chuckled. “Who hasn’t been there before?”
“Apparently, Drs. Phillip and Colin Holdsworth. It was quite the rude awakening for them both.”
“See, that’s the problem with Oxford,” Christian humorously mused. “They don’t teach their grad students how to successfully conquer the minibar.”
“Or how to not let out more bloodcurdling screams when they see the bill at checkout.”
He nodded. “Now that was probably a harrowing experience.”
“The upcharge alone. Not to mention the service fee and taxation.”
Christian tsked. “Likely would have been cheaper to buy suits in town than hunker down in their room.”
“Sure, but you simply cannot convince them it would have been worth the Freddy Krueger scooter incident.”
Christian said, “You’re a very enthralling storyteller.”
