CHAPTER EIGHT
Lauren barged in a bit before six in the evening. Or she tried to. The door rattled. Next came the swearing and banging.
“Anne! What’s wrong with your door?”
I undid the new sliding bolt and she thundered into the room.
“Your door’s broken,” she said, her brow creased.
“No, Mal had a new lock put on it. He was worried about security.”
A bald, muscular man had appeared after Mal disappeared off to band practice. Apparently, rock stars outsourced household chores to the head of their security team. This guy had the new sliding bolt installed in no time. He was eerily efficient and uberpolite. The whole experience had weirded me out a little.
“Hey, wow. You look great.” I said, taking in her slick dress and hairdo. A beautiful white orchid sat behind her ear. “What are you all dressed up for? Where are you off to?”
“What, this old thing?” She smoothed a hand over the slinky caramel-colored silk dress. “Thanks. And can I just take a moment to say, awesome job landing Malcolm Ericson. He probably doesn’t deserve you, but go you.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“When he told me the story, I couldn’t believe it. Love at first sight. That’s beautiful.” Shit, her eyes actually misted up. “I think you’ll be wonderful together. And why aren’t you dressed, by the way?”
“Huh?”
Right then, Mal strode out of the second bedroom in a black three-piece suit. Since when had wearing a vest looked so fucking hot? My lungs shrunk a size. Either that or the oxygen in the room had been mixed wrong. He was beyond slick with his hair tucked back behind his ears, the angular line of his jaw perfectly smooth. I’d barely gotten used to him half naked and now he was throwing Armani at me. I never stood a chance. Prostrating myself at his feet was the obvious reaction to such a heavenly sight. How I managed to remain upright I have no idea.
Forget Bond and his ilk. I’d take a drummer in a suit any day of the week.
With a low wolf whistle, Lauren looked him over. “Malcolm. Who’s a pretty boy?”
“Only pumpkin is allowed to objectify me,” he said, straightening his cuffs. French cuffs with cufflinks.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, then smacked a hand over my mouth because crap, my mouth. It was an idiot determined to make an ass out of me.
“Anytime.” He winked. The liar.
“Your pumpkin needs to get ready,” said Lauren, ignoring our carrying on.
He looked me over and frowned. “Anne, Davie wants everyone dressed up. You can’t go in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The party. Pumpkin, c’mon. We don’t have time to mess around.”
I shook my head, clueless. “Okay, you two. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Will someone please clue me in?”
“I told you about this.”
“Like you told me about you moving in here?”
“You didn’t tell her you were moving in with her?” asked Lauren, voice low and deadly.
“It was a surprise,” he said, recovering quickly. “A great big beautiful romantic gesture because I knew how much my Anne wanted me with her. She was just too shy to say so. Look at her! The woman practically worships the ground I walk on. And you heard her, demanding I sexually service her at all hours of the day. I can’t do that shit from afar, you know?”
Lauren raised a brow. “You told me she okayed it and had forgotten to give you a key, Mal.”
“Which was basically the truth.” He threw his hands out wide. “C’mon, ladies, we don’t have time for this.”
“Anne, I’m so sorry,” said Lauren.
“It’s fine. I’m happy he’s here.” And though a tempting idea, throwing something at him right now wouldn’t actually help. I took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. “Let’s get back to the ‘What the hell is going on here’ question. We’re meant to go to something formal tonight, I take it?”
“I told you.” He pulled out his phone, flicked through a few screens then shoved it in front of my face. “I’m a fucking great boyfriend, see?”
The message on screen read: AMEX ON TABLE. DRESS UP TONIGHT. My name, however, was nowhere in sight. Sure enough, over on the dining room table a black credit card sat waiting. I’d figured he’d just forgotten the thing. Him leaving it for me to go on a spending spree had never crossed my mind.
“It says you sent this to someone called Angie,” I said tightly. “Not me, Mal.”
“I did?” He glared at the phone. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Who’s Angie?” asked Lauren.
“Fucked if I know, but apparently she’s still looking for the card.” He laughed. “As if I’d give it to just anyone. Right, sorry. Anyway, Anne, can you throw something on? We gotta go.”
“Where?”
“Out.”
I scowled at him and didn’t move an inch. “Try again.”
“It’s a thing at David and Ev’s, a wedding anniversary party. Not that it’s even been a year, but whatever. Davie put lots of effort into it and asked us all to dress up. I’m sorry I screwed up telling you.” He fell to his knees, hands clasped to his chest. “Please? I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. See, look, I’m on my knees, Anne. I’m groveling just for you.”
“Okay. I’ll go. Next time, please make sure I get the message.”
“I will. Thank you. Thank you so much,” he gushed. “You’re the best, pumpkin.”
There was only one really good dress in my wardrobe. A vintage black lace dress from the fifties. I’d bought it for my twenty-first birthday last year. I liked to believe I’d just stepped off the set of Mad Men in it. Luckily, my hair wasn’t looking too bad hanging loose. Some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss were about as primed as I could get in less than five minutes. One of these days I’d have time to go all out getting ready to meet the members of Stage Dive. Just not today.
Out in the living room, the pair of them bickered.