“Hey, Ian. It’s Dylan. Is Reese with you?”
“Yeah, he just walked in. Hold on.” I hear shuffling through the phone followed by a muffled “it’s your girl.”
The tenseness that has set into my shoulders seems to release a bit at the sound of my title. I love being ‘his girl’, and that’s always how Ian labels me. Even during mine and Reese’s casual bullshit phase.
“Love. Are you missing me already?”
I smile, my first smile in twenty minutes. “Always. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
After several seconds, he asks, “Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to be guessing?”
I sigh heavily, mentally preparing myself for the reaction that will surely ruin the amazing, post-orgasmic mood he’s floating around with. Mine sure as hell has been ruined. “No. But before I tell you this, I’d like to start off by saying I think I handled this very well and am quite proud of myself.”
“Is this wedding shit? Because you know I back you up one hundred percent. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”
I let out a small laugh. “No, it isn’t wedding shit. I’d actually prefer a discussion with both our mothers’ over the one I just had with Bryce.”
I don’t need to be in Ian’s office right now to know Reese’s free hand is in his hair. “What do you mean the discussion you just had with Bryce? You saw him?”
I hear Ian’s voice in the background, saying something I can’t make out before I respond. “He got on the elevator with me when I was leaving your building.”
His breathing fills my ear. “Did he? And what did you two discuss?”
I can sense the irritation in his voice and suddenly feel like it’s being directed toward me. “What’s with the attitude? I didn’t ask him to get on the elevator with me.”
“No, but you picked out that fucking outfit you had on.”
I’m on my feet, rage coursing through my body as I begin pacing alongside my bed. “Are you serious right now? I don’t remember you complaining about my wardrobe when you had your dick in me. And how the hell was I supposed to know he was in your building? I thought Ian closed the account with him.”
“He did. Don’t fucking yell at me because you, once again, decided to wear something that could draw you undesirable attention. You could’ve stripped all your clothes off once you got in my office, or waited until I fucking got home to pull that stunt.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not my style.”
“No shit. What did he say to you?”
My free hand fists at my side as I burn a hole into my carpet with the strides I’m taking. “You know what, Reese? Don’t worry about it. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. I fucking handled it like I said I would.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“No. And if you want to yell at somebody, yell at yourself. You’re the one who decided to work with that asshole after I told you months ago he creeped me out. Thanks a lot for thinking of me.”
“Dylan!”
I hang up my phone before tossing it onto the bed. What in the actual fuck? I actually do the right thing here and before I can even tell him what happened, he’s blaming me for it? How is this in any way my fault? I’m not the one who agreed to work with that prick. I wouldn’t care how important this account was or how much money was involved. I would never work with someone who made my fiancé uncomfortable. If anyone has the right to be angry in this situation, it’s me. Reese got paid, laid, and has the nerve to take this out on me?
No. Fuck that.
My phone rings on my bed but I ignore it, making my way downstairs. I have no desire to talk to him right now or anytime soon, for that matter. And I’m in desperate need of a cupcake. Nothing else will do right now.
I march through my kitchen with purpose, through the doorway and behind the counter. Brooke and Joey are sitting at my consultation table as I slide the panel on the display case open and reach for one of my chocolate mousse cupcakes with a ganache-filled center.
“What are you doing?” Joey asks, the sound of the chair scraping on the floor following his voice. “Dylan, no sweets.”
I straighten up and leer at him. “If you come between me and this cupcake right now, I will end you.” Removing the wrapper as quickly as I can, I shove the whole thing into my mouth as Joey rounds the counter, disapproval on his face. “I mhey have anonther,” I say through a mouthful, closing my eyes and moaning at the chocolaty goodness. Fuck yes, cupcakes.