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“What else?”
I’ve already dugmy own grave, so another foot or two of digging won’t change anything. Lolly knows the worst of me. Now, I tell her the rest. I’ve interviewed my teammate, Mick—the one who routinely hires escorts in order to land a patroness—and I know what I must ask for. “She needs to be educated but not opinionated. Cultured but not snobby. No politics, no religion, and no arguing in front of the clients—the patrons.”
Her eyes go round.
I want to tell her:this isn’t what I,personallywould choose if I were creating the perfect date.I would choose you, Lolly of the laughter.Instead, I elect to lay it on the line. “If I don’t land a patron, my season’s going to be over before it’s begun. Polo—my life, my duties to others—requires money. A lot of money. Horses aren’t cheap and neither is the lifestyle. As I’m sure you know.”
Lolly hasn’t takenher eyes off me, which is weird. People are usually freaked out by my dedication and bluntness. “And to land a patron, you need adate?” She spits the word out. “You can’t just…be you?” She waves her hand up and down, as if to encompass my entire being.
“I wantto create a bidding war among the female patrons of the club.” I can’t hold her gaze. She’s holding me to account, and I don’t need that. Not now.
“Like a reverse meat market?”
“I suppose.If that’s what you call it.”
“And you need this patron,why? To pay for your polo habit?”
“I wouldn’t callit a habit, but yes, that’s the gist.” To pay for the polo and for the comrades who have fallen by the wayside and need a helping hand. TheWounded Warrior Workforcethat I fundneedsme to stay afloat. I am the bank. I bring the notoriety and the visibility that brings both money and donations. Without me, the men who risked their lives for their country are back on the streets, begging. But I am no braggart. I can’t say those things aloud.
“Just dottingmy Is and crossing my Ts here. You want a younger woman, to bait the older women?”
Sí.Another thing I cannot say out loud, this time because the thought is so abhorrent.
“And what doI get out of it?” Once again, her eyes have gone as narrow as they can without closing. “If I agree to be this bait-date, what do I get? A promotion? A place on theGolden Horseshoes? Bragging rights? What?”
I’d never imaginedI’d find myself in such a position, interviewing a woman with such aspirations. Lolly wants to be on the team? I’ve seen her ride but never play. My heart is out of sync with the rest of my body, my brain uncooperative.
“Here’s the deal.I’ll go away. Get cleaned up. Let you see that my legs do, in fact, reach all the way to my ass. If they pass muster, you can teach me a couple of your dance moves and I’ll keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. How does that sound?”
I haveno idea what’s happening. Is Lolly Benoit hiring herself? But I meant to interview others…
“We’ll give it a month,starting with the gala.”
“Tomorrow’s gala?”
“That’s the one.If I don’t help you snag a patron, you can cut me loose. If I do, you do whatever you can to get me onto the team—give me a position as your groom, give me chances to ride your horses, whatever.” She holds out her hand. “Deal?”
I shake,though I am fairly certain this is a deal for the devil.
The elevator doors close,her blazing eyes the last thing I see.
Damn.Lolly—a woman I would woo, rather than dangle—has delivered herself to me on a plate. The question remains, how does one eat such a dish?
BESTIES FOREVER
Lolly Benoit. The Parking Lot Outside Mariano's Hotel. Palm Beach, Florida.
Ikeep my head up and my shoulders back until I make it back to my truck. I leap in, slamming the door and jamming the key in the ignition. My hands are still shaking but not with nerves this time. With fury.
“Can you believe the audacity of that guy?” Mr. Wiggins opens his eyes a slit and goes right back to sleeping. He doesn’t give two hot doggie-shits about Mariano.
I should take a cue from my Wiggs and go into zen mode, but I’ve gone from the highest of highs driving over to Mariano’s hotel to the lowest of lows sitting in the hotel parking lot. I am keyed up and I want to get away—from the hotel and Mariano Arias and the humiliation.He’s not the man I thought he was at all.
Oh, he’s just as handsome as ever, and I did not make up whatever that was when my fingers accidentally touched his, but none of that matters now he’s got some kind of riches-to-rags sob story to tell. Becausedamnif he didn’t just dangle everything I’ve dreamed of—a date with my polo-crush, a job at his side, a chance at riding for theGolden Horseshoes—except with one major, disqualifying slant: none of it will actually bereal.
I’m seething again, as if there’s a dragon inside me desperate to burst free. I could just burn the world to the ground with rage. Or disappointment. Disa-rage-ment? Is that a thing? It is now. I do the next best thing to going on a fiery rampage. I don’t even bother texting ‘can i call u?’I just dial.
“Hey you!” Because she’s my BFF for a reason, and because she knows I only call when texting absolutely will not suffice, Alicia answers on the first ring. Just the sound of her voice—someone warm and friendly and happy to hear from me—someone who actually likes me—drops my temperature from the inside of Satan’s butthole to just north of Beelzebub’s testicles. I’m cooling down, even though I’m still hot as hell.
