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West: What was that? Sorry. I’d love to discuss that with you further, but a wise woman told me I should focus on handing her her ass in the kitchen, not smacking her ass in the library.
Gigi: Speaking of libraries.
West: Oh, did that get a rise out of you?
Gigi: Well, I do like books. And you have so many. And so many big books.
West: I’m glad you were admiring my big books, along with my tall shelves.
Gigi: Seriously, though! A girl could get lost in that library. I could spend hours curled up on that couch, escaping into a story. I’d devour one, then the next one, then another.
West: So, you’re like Belle.
Gigi: Be still my beating heart. You know your princesses.
West: I would write LOL if I were an LOL-er. But yes, I do know the basic pop culture references, thank you. Also, I have a younger sister who loves them. But it raises the question—am I the beast?
Gigi: The beast is my favorite hero. Want to know why?
West: The library.
Gigi: Actually, that’s only half of it. Once you get past the whole keeping her prisoner thing, he’s so…real. He has so much to overcome. His anger, his pride, his uncertainty.
West: True. He’s not even sure how to eat appropriately, if memory serves? Doesn’t she teach him table manners?
Gigi: Yes. AND THEN HE REPENTS near the end! Gah. When he realizes he was wrong to keep her and lets her go to see her father, I DIE every time. I SWOON. For a beast. He’s so flawed and real. Therefore, I don’t just love him for his library. I love him for his heart.
West: You’re quite passionate about this beast.
Gigi: I’m passionate about most things. In case you haven’t noticed.
West: Oh, I’ve noticed. And I approve. Though, I’m glad you didn’t pick Snow White’s Prince as your favorite. If you had, we might not be able to see each other again.
Gigi: What? Why would I? He’s the most boring prince ever.
West: Right? Could he be any duller? He doesn’t even have a name.
Gigi: I call him Prince Dullsworth the Lame Who Has a Weirdly Red Mouth. Also—did you just say you’d stop seeing me if I liked the wrong prince?
West: Yes. I did. I have standards, Gigi.
Gigi: Standards are hot, Prince Panty-Melter of Brooklyn Who Has a Ladder in His Library.
P.S. That sounded dirty, didn’t it?
West: Yes, and I expect nothing less from you, Princess Kinky Who Wants to Fuck on My Ladder.
Gigi: Now I know what I’ll dream of tonight…
West: And on that naughty note, I must go. Get my beauty sleep. Plot world dessert domination. That sort of thing.
Gigi: So, it’s sleep that makes you so pretty? Good to know. Sleep well.
West: Goodnight, beautiful. See you soon.
Gigi: Soon.
15
GIGI
I can do this. No problem.
No conflict of interest.
No violation of my Rules of Engagement.
There’s no reason I can’t pop by a chocolate shop and buy a few gifts for my friends.
Warning my staff the next day that I might be late returning from lunch, I swing out of Sweetie Pies into the warm summer sun and stroll the few blocks over to Cocoa is Love. It’s a perfect day for purchasing a few completely friendly gifts for people who are all just friends and family.
Pushing open the door, I step into the air-conditioned shop and inhale the mouth-watering scent of really good chocolate.
I say hi to the woman in linen behind the counter then begin my hunt. Perusing the shelves, I consider each bar with care. That’s what shopping for others is—a chance to show them that you’ve taken the time to learn what makes them tick.
For Harrison, it’s a chili pepper chocolate bar. He says chocolate gives him super-powered editing energy, and the peppers will give him an extra edge with his evil red pen, mwahahaha. I find a bar infused with grapefruit zest and, despite my personal reservations, add it to my basket for Gram, that crazy grapefruit lover. Next, I grab a bar of chocolate with dried cherries for Ruby—cherries are her favorite, but not maraschino cherries because, eww—and a few mini variety bars for my hardworking staff.
With that done, I move on to my next gift selection.
Just one of the many I’m here to purchase today. Not the entire reason I made a special trip to the chocolate shop at all.
Eyes darting around, I check the shop for witnesses like I’m about to dip my hand into the cookie jar.
But I’m being ridiculous, of course. Buying a gift for West is nothing to be secretive about. I’m simply repaying his thoughtfulness.
Tit for tat.
Mmm, I do like his hands on my tits, and he would be so hot with a tattoo. Even if it was something silly like a teapot on his bicep. He’s hot enough to pull off a teapot tattoo.
