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Palmer pulls a face. “Cats? From the Humane Society?”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot: you prefer purebreds.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t think it will bother her that this is all so…fake?”
“So? She doesn’t know that.”
I’m not going to argue that point—he’s convinced this was a great idea and nothing will convince him otherwise, and I’m not being paid to give him my opinion.
I’m being paid to make him look good.
“Did you actually tell her she’d be walking into a funeral or did she think y’all had plans to do something else today?”
“She knew.” He yawns as I wipe up the last of the gunk and toss the wet wipe in the trash. “I told her it wouldn’t take long—we plan on skipping the memorial cocktail hour.”
I pause mid wipe. “The memorial cocktail hour?”
“Yeah, Gan Gan is hosting a cocktail hour at the Club for a few hours, you know how it is—shrimp, hors d'oeuvres, probably a prime rib station. Nothing fancy.”
The level of self-control I’m exercising right now is unparalleled because the level at which I want to snort and roll my eyes is off-the-charts. I want to pat myself on the back for keeping a straight face if only for the simple fact he calls his grandmother Gan Gan.
As if she were the Queen of England.
“So, what are you going to do instead?” It’s none of my business but it kind of is, since funerals are so personal and I’m slightly invested.
Palmer shrugs. “Take her to a cozy lunch at the Ivy—play a game of strip backgammon and hopefully fuck, not necessarily in that order.” He walks to the mirror and studies himself, squinting as he readjusts his bowtie, straightening it. “Wouldn’t mind getting to know her first, my mom has been on my ass to settle down.”
He shrugs.
“I mean, any woman who sticks around after you bring her to a funeral for a date sounds like a keeper.”
Palmer beams at me. “You think?”
“Oh, for sure.” I zip up my fanny pack and give it two pats for good measure. “Now. About the payment for my services…”
Chapter Two
MIRIAM
Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we?
I, Miriam Bennington, am broke.
Like—broke ass, not that anyone asked. But I mention it to illustrate the reason I’d help a cad like Palmer Darling, despite the simple fact he’s my brothers college buddy.
That aside, I need the side-jobs.
Why?
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do when she’s staring her own business.
Yup, my one and only sole motivation for participating in the ridiculously absurd exercise that was playing puppet master for a spoiled rich kid…
Money.
Gross, I know.
I should be ashamed of myself, blah blah blah, yes, yes, I’m well aware.
But I digress.
