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I snag her manicured hand to admire the glistening princess cut diamond sitting beautifully on her finger. It’s perfection and so Stella—nothing too exuberant or obnoxious but stillflashy.
“I have to give it to the corn-fed, small-town boy,” I go on. “He did a kick-ass job in the ringdepartment.”
She stares down at her finger, her smile now nearly taking over her entire face. “He did, didn’the?”
Hudson threw her a great party. He invited the few family members she talks to, his family, and everyone on the cast and crew of her show. There’s food galore, confetti sprinkled all over the white-tableclothed tables, and aHappy Birthdaybanner hangs in front of the empty DJbooth.
Stella is not only my boss, but also childhood star turned Hollywood’s princess. I’m her assistant. That’s how I met Mr. Wrong One-Night Stand. We worked together for years until he quit to move back home, and Hudson took hisjob.
Hudson couldn’t give Stella mansions or fancy cars, but he did shower her with enough love and happiness to make up for it. She moved from LA to Blue Beech, Iowa, after convincing a producer to shoot her new show here. I tried to resign, but she wasn’t having it and agreed to let me do all my work from my apartment inLA.
Her hands rest on her hips over the black designer dress. “Are you staying with us tonight? I just put a new smart TV in the guest room, and we know how much you like your classicmovies.”
I grimace. “That’s a gianthell no. The last thing you need around on the night of your engagement is Willow, the giant contraceptive. I’m crashing atLauren’s.”
Lauren is Hudson’s and Mr. Wrong’ssister.
She groans. “Fine, I’ll settle for that because you showed up. That’s a big deal, and you did it forme.”
I crack a smile. “I also came for the cake.” That comment results in her pushing myshoulder.
Her face turns serious. “Have you seenhim?”
The mention of him gives me a nasty taste in my mouth. “Who?” She crosses her arms at my response, and I scoff, my heart racing, “Oh, you mean the bed evacuator?Nope.”
That’s a lie. He was on my radar as soon as I walked in—for precautionary reasons, of course. I saw his back first, the one I assaulted so much, I ruined my manicure, and worry snaked through me. I cowardly fled the scene when he spun around and sawme.
“Hopefully, he’s ducking underneath tables, so we don’t have to face each other,” Isay.
She smirks. “We both know Dallas is not a man who ducks underneathtables.”
“Looks like I’d better startthen.”
“Don’t you think it’d be a good idea if you talked? Cleared theair?”
“I need to talk to him like I need anal bleaching. Both of them would be a pain in the ass and are neverhappening.”
She laughs, snagging a bubbly glass of champagne from a waiter walking by, and thrusts it toward me. “Here’s some liquid courage. Just don’t drink too much that you land in his bedagain.”
I swat the drink away. “Not happening, and no, thankyou.”
She stills and studies me. “Since when do you turn down champagne? Alcohol is always mandatory in thesesituations.”
“I’m trying out a newdiet.”
“You might want to wipe the icing off the side of your mouth if you want to keep up with thatlie.”
I scrub away the remnants of my sugar binge and lick my finger. Thou shall not waste buttercream frosting. “It’s this new craze diet where sugar is the main source of nutrition and alcohol is bad.Very bad.It’s called the good decision-making diet.” I start fake picking lint from my dress, so she doesn’t see the untruth in my eyes. The black dress is ugly and shapeless, and I bought it specifically for tonight to hide my body andsecrets.
“So, you’re not drinking because he’shere?”
Shit.That would’ve been a more believable excuse than a damn diet. I nod, feeling bad for lying to her, but I can’t break the news here. It’d ruin hernight.
“Does that mean, the chances of letting him rip off your panties for round two is likely?” She sets the glass down on the table behind her and bounces in her heels, like me banging Dallas again would cure worldhunger.
“Calm down, matchmaker. Studies show that alcohol gives you shifty eyes.” I point to my hair. “Shifty eyes don’t look good onredheads.”
“Bullshit. You can’t deny you had a connection. Neither one of you is the casual banging type. Talk. Maybe there’s a spark that’ll lead to afirework.”
