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Chapter One
Fiona
“ToBexandGrayson!”David cheers as he clinks his glass of champagne against mine.
“To Bexley and Grayson,” I echo. My long-time friend has really embraced the reality romance of his former love and the Suitor. Any concerns I might have had of David still having feelings for Bexley have drifted away like the plot of a bad romantic comedy. He’s moved on; she’s moved on.
I haven’t moved anywhere.
I’m the one who convinced Bexley to audition for The Suitor reality show— twenty-five women, one man, with all of them trying to find true love—and yet it was David, Bexley’s ex, who found it while watching the show. He’s the one with his hand resting on his new girlfriend’s back, while I, the best friend, am here in Las Vegas alone.
Not alone, since there’s a pretty big group of us, but I’m one of the few who are unattached.
It’s usually like that. I’ve gotten used to it.
“To being in Las Vegas!” Demi chimes in with another clink. She’s another who is here on her own, but Demi is making it clear she’snotsingle and ready to mingle by the countless times she keeps mentioning her boyfriend. We’ve only arrived this afternoon, and I am already heartily sick of hearing what Justin says, or what Justin thinks: heaven forbid, we do anything that Justin doesn’t think we need to do.
And I like everyone. I am the epitome of tolerance, patience and second chances, according to Bexley, her twin brother, Boen, and his best friend, David—the three people who know me better than I know myself. Bexley can tell when there’s a panic attack brewing, Boen knows how to talk me through any work problem without crossing ethical lines, and David always has Friday nights free to take me to the latest rom-com movie.
At least he did before Biba.Shedoesn’t seem the type to enjoy fluffy romance amid quests for happily ever afters, even though she’s found one herself with David.
“To Mase Stirling,” Chrissa offers the next toast.
I’m reserving judgement on Chrissa. She was one of the contestants on The Suitor, but she was also The Suitorette during Grayson’s stint on the show. He professed his love; she sent him home. Then she showed up on his season, which is where she and Bexley became friends.
And now she’s here, thanks to the producers. What kind of television show would send a rival for Grayson’s affections along on a trip to celebrate his engagement to another woman?
The kind of reality show that sets up twenty-five women to chase after one man and revels in the drama. That kind.
I’ve gotten a cynical new outlook on The Suitor, thanks to Bexley.
Chrissa does seem nice though; funny and with the kind of toughness that you’d want on your side. She’s also stunningly beautiful with a sheet of black hair that makes me despise my curls, a sardonic smile, and smoky shadowed eyes like a bottomless pit.
The jury may still be out on her, but I’m quite sure of my opinion of Mase Stirling.
Mase is the star second baseman for the Minnesota Twins and Grayson’s former baseball buddy, grandson of a billionaire entrepreneur slash philanthropist slash man firmly entrenched in the one percent. Mase also happens to be our host for the weekend.
The billionaire best friend has taken it upon himself to whisk us away from the chill of Toronto to the sunny sinfulness of Las Vegas to celebrate Bexley and Grayson’s engagement.
I don’t think we needed a trip. I was in the middle of planning my own party for Bexley when I got the invite from Mase. How can they possibly be satisfied with cheese and gluten-free crackers and mid-shelf prosecco while listening to ABBA and ’80s music on my Wonderboom after this? It didn’t matter that I had been planning on having the party in my house, which has so far been unheard of, so Bexley could have more of her own friends join us, rather than mainly Grayson’s and those of her brother’s girlfriend, Rachel.
I guess Bexley is part of that group of friends now, too. And where Bexley goes, I follow.
“I still can’t believe Mase is paying for all this.” Biba gives a sweep of her arm, taking in the luxurious suite the five of us are sharing.
“The producers of The Suitor are helping, don’t forget.” We’ve all shown suitable gratitude to Mase during the flight. Does he really need any more? Or maybe that’s why he makes the grand gestures: so he can have more people bowing and scraping like he’s some kind of medieval king.
But this is still a pretty nice thing to do for his friend. Mase flew eleven of us to Las Vegas on the Stirling private plane.
Put us up in Platinum Hotel and Casino, by far the nicest hotel I’ve ever been in.
Got us on the VIP list for Bubbles, the hottest nightclub in the city.
It’s very generous of him, I admit, albeit grudgingly.
It doesn’t mean I’m about to change my opinion about him. From the frequency Mase pops up in compromising pictures online and in the tabloids, the man is nothing but a player, jumping from one woman to another; shallow and superficial with a sports-addled brain.
Maybe I don’t like everyone after all.
