"The poor thing probably didn't even date him," the redhead whispers before looking at me with genuine concern. "I'm sorry about her. She gets carried away with romantic fantasies. You don't need to tell us anything. But just out of interest, did you win that date? Like on a call-in radio show or something?"
See? This is what I get for banning Liam from talking about our relationship in interviews. I thought I was making it easier on myself, considering my one appearance on the red carpet led to me shutting down all of my social media to avoid the vilest cyber-bullying I've ever witnessed. It blows my mind that Liam's fans claim to only want what's best for him but then threaten violence on the woman he loves.
God, people are weird.
When Liam saw how much hate I got for ‘replacing’ Angel, he agreed it was probably best to keep our relationship on the down-low, at least for a while.
However, now that these two glamour models are staring at me like I'm a bug on a windshield, I kind of wish I'd retained my Liam Quinn bragging rights.
"Nope," I say. "I didn't win the date. Liam and I are old friends. We've known each other for years."
"Ohhhhh," says the brunette, as if a light bulb went off. "That makes more sense. I mean, yeah. You and him?" She laughs, and the redhead joins her. "As if, right?"
The redhead finally finishes up with her wad of tissue paper and hands me my bags. "Well, if you ever see him again, tell him he's always welcome to shop here. We'll give him a special discount."
I wonder if slapping a smug store clerk would get me another entry on Liam's naughty list. If he'd witnessed this little exchange, I'm sure he'd cheer me on. I push down a flash of anger and fix them both with my fiercest glare. Within a second, their smiles drop.
"Actually," I say. "I'm going on a four-week vacation with Liam tomorrow." I hold up my left hand and waggle my massive diamond ring. "And this chunk of ice is what he gave me the day he asked me to marry him. Pretty freaking awesome, right?"
The brunette blinks for a few seconds before stuttering, "No. No way."
The redhead doesn't even bother trying to speak. She just gapes.
"Yes way, Chastity." I give her a smile. "So, Merry Christmas to me." I stride toward the door, but just before I reach it, I turn back to them. "Oh, and to answer your question, yes, he's an amazing kisser. Better still, he fucks like a god." They both gasp. "Goodnight, ladies, and thanks for your help. Enjoy that commission, won’t you?"
With that, I pull the door open and step out into the freezing weather. Unfortunately, my triumphant exit is marred when I slip on a patch of ice on the sidewalk and fall heavily onto my ass.
Dammit.
Like a true badass, I climb to my feet and proceed to strut down the sidewalk like I'm a six-foot-tall supermodel with three percent body fat, rather than a five-foot-three stage manager with a cheese addiction.
Looks like I was wrong about pretty underwear. It can make you feel powerful after all.
FOUR
I'm Telling You Why
December 1st
The Apartment of Liam Quinn
New York City, New York
"Lissa, would you stop pacing? You're giving me motion sickness, which is ironic since I'm not the one going on a trip."
I flop down on the couch next to Josh and sigh. "I'm sorry. I've never taken a trip where I haven't planned out every detail. I'm nervous. "
"You're hiding it well. I couldn't tell by the way you circled the apartment fifteen times while you rearranged your luggage, or by the twenty times you checked your passport." He pushes his glasses up his nose. "I know it's not midday yet, but maybe you should have some wine. Or a Valium." Josh taps something into his tablet and squints at the screen. "Goddamn sonuvabitch."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Sure, you always swear at technology and glare like you want to murder it. Spill, please."
He leans back and tilts the screen so I can see. It shows an entertainment website featuring a dozen photos of Angel in Australia, apparently sharing an intimate night out with her leading man. They're laughing and hugging, and in one, it looks like they're about to kiss. The headline reads, "Hollywood's Sweetheart Finds Love Down Under with New Prince Charming."
"Josh—"
"I know you're going to tell me it's not what it seems, and they're just working together, but fuck, Lissa. I can't stand seeing her with him. I really can't." He slams the tablet onto the coffee table and strides into the kitchen.
"Why so jealous? You weren't like this when she was pretending to be in love with Liam."
"That was different." He opens the fridge and grabs a beer. "Back then, I didn't think I had a chance with her, so I had nothing to lose. Now, I have everything to lose, and it freaking terrifies me." He rips the cap off the beer and takes a long swig. "Watching her lust after that guy on set every day ... seeing her kiss him and have sex with him—"
"Pretend to lust. Pretend to have sex. She's just doing her job, honey. You know that."
"Lissa, you don't understand. This guy, Julian ..." he takes another swig of beer. "I've never wanted to beat up someone so much in my life."