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She scrunches up her nose again as she shakes her head. “Nah. It ran its course.”
“Good.”
She does a double take as she twists in her seat to face me. “‘Good’? You’ve never celebrated the demise of any of my relationships before.”
“First of all, they’re not relationships. They’re flings?—”
“Rude.”
“—and second of all, we’re in the home stretch now. We’ve got to sell this whole happy family story. And that means you’re going to have to be a lot more discreet about your outings.”
“‘Discreet’ is my middle name, asshole.”
She’s joking, but I’m not. “It’s not enough, Bee. Flitting off to France for a weekend just because you feel like impressing some cocktail waitress? Buying out a theater because you want to win over the coat check girl at the opera? That shit can’t happen anymore.”
She pales as she realizes just how serious I am. “The whole point of our agreement is that I’m free to live?—”
“I’m not saying this is forever. I’m saying that you need to play the game well so that your father doesn’t suspect we’re rigging it.”
Her mouth clamps shut. I can tell she wants to argue, but simple logic is against her here. “Fuck,” she breathes at last.
“We’ll figure something out, okay?” I reassure her. “But we’re at a critical stage. And it’s not just you and me anymore. Wren’s involved, too.”
The moment I say her name, Bee’s expression mutates. The hard line of her eyebrows relaxes just a little and her frown turns up slowly into a saucy smirk. “Getting fond of your pretty little baby mama, are you?”
“I’m just stating the obvious.”
Her smile gets a little wider and just a smidge more superior. “If you say so. Speaking of which, you gonna tell me what happened with you and her just now? That door slam came with a vengeance.”
I scowl as fresh irritation floods through me. “We were supposed to come back home together straight after work. She decided to go rogue on me and detour back to her place instead.”
“Ah. So you stormed her place and dragged her back here like the caveman that you insist on being?”
I finish the last drops of my drink and nod begrudgingly. “More or less.”
She shakes her head with that annoying pursed smile of hers. “You’re really laying the honey on thick, huh? Glad to know you were listening to me.”
“The fuck am I supposed to do?” I snarl. “I cook for her; I buy her books; I give her gifts. She’s got a closet full of designer brands and a kitchen stocked with every brand of junk food she likes. And she likes a lot of junk food.”
Bee looks deeply unimpressed as she stares at me in disbelief.
“What?” I snap at last.
She lifts her hands and starts slow clapping. “Wow. Amazing. You’re doing a fantastic job.”
“I loathe sarcasm.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle?—”
“Let me clarify: I hate when you use sarcasm on me.”
She scowls and punches me in the arm. “Well, tough. I’m not Elena.” As soon as the words leave her lips, she goes ghost-white and clamps her lips closed tightly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.”
“No, no,” I growl. “Tell me. What did you mean by that?”
Sighing, she starts playing with the condensation ring that her glass left on the marble, her eyes hooded and downcast. “I guess I just meant that she never really criticized you. She let you off the hook all the time. She went along with everything you said and every decision you made, even if she didn’t agree with it.”
I stare at her with wide-eyed disbelief. “Why would she do that?”
