“I call dibs on the bed, by the way,” he says without looking up. “I might as well live up to the accusations.”
“I was here first, so the bed is mine. You can sleep in the hallway.” I don’t want to open my bag in front of him—I packed some nice panties in there and they’re right on top. Weddings are full of surprises and I didn’t want to have grannies on if things took a turn for the best. Obviously, that’s not going to happen, but I still need to get my clothes out, while holding up the shower curtain, and hiding way too many lacy, thongy things. I manage to get the suitcase unzipped and shove a hand inside.
Nick has his hands behind his head. He looks over at me. “You’re cute when you’re mad. Did you know that?”
“Your life expectancy will significantly decrease if you sleep in here tonight.”
“You should really go home.”
“You should really cancel your contract and stop stalking me.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Well, neither am I. Sophie’s my friend and I promised her some things. I’ll be damned if I let you shove me out.” Where the hell is my dress? My fingers loop around the strap. Finally. It should be right under the mountain of panties, so I give it a quick tug with one hand while holding the curtain up with the other.
Two words: underwear everywhere.
It’s like a panty explosion in a rainbow of colors. The little lacy bottoms go flying, as the dress emerges from my bag. Several pairs land on Nick’s face. I press my eyes shut and try not to scream. Jumping up and down and yelling won’t help. It won’t.
Nick sits up and suppresses a grin, as he peels panties off his face. He holds up a pair of satin butterfly bottoms and sticks his fingers through the opening, looking impressed. “Are you sure that you’re not the slutty bridesmaid? Because these crotchless babies are just the kind she’d wear.”
I snatch them away and shove them into my bag. “The slutty bridesmaid doesn’t wear panties at all, jackass. Damn, how many weddings have you shot? She’s not wearing anything but her dress, and will flash her titties at you later. You go to her room for the night and I’ll push you off a cliff tomorrow. I hope you have worker’s comp.” Translation: Go to Hell.
Nick actually laughs. Wonderful. The guy has a death wish. As I disappear into the bathroom, he calls out, “Are you sure you don’t take meds?”
“I hate you!” I yell through the door.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you covered that part already.”
What the hell am I supposed to do with this? I press my head to the closed door and try to calm down, but I can’t. I have to live with the man who’s destroying my life for the next five days, while also trying to convince my mother that I made the right career choice. This was supposed to be my opportunity to show off my mad skills, not have some lowlife complicate everything.
Two people can’t be in control of one wedding, which is why there’s a non-compete clause in my contract. But it’s too late now. I can’t tattle to Sophie without causing tension between her and her father-in-law, and I don’t want to do that. That leaves me only one option.
I have to kick Nick Ferro’s ass in every conceivable way.
CHAPTER 8
When I emerge from the bathroom, my dress is zipped up and my hair is done. I don’t want to see Nick again, but it’s not like I can hide forever. I glance around quickly and find him standing near the window with his phone pressed to his ear.
His voice drifts inside. He sounds defensive, like he’s trying to convince someone of something. “I already have. Listen, it’s a business move, pure and simple. I’m on target to have the task completed before the deadline, and I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.” His back tenses as he listens to the response. He must suck in a breath and hold it because his ribs expand, but don’t contract. Nick shakes his head and I can see his jaw is locked tight, like he’s holding back his thoughts.
Nick must feel my gaze, because he looks over his shoulder and sees me. His voice drops, but I can still hear him. “Yes, sir. Listen, I can’t talk now. I’ll fill you in later. Thank you.” He disconnects and turns around. “Do you always eavesdrop?”
“You’re in my room and talking way too loud, so, yeah. I heard you.” I’m sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping into a pair of black heels. “By the way, get over yourself. Like I care what you think or do.” My hair slips over my shoulder as I put on the second shoe. When I look up, Nick has a strange expression on his face. “What?”