Faking It with the Frenemy, page 7
“Makes sense. So where’s your mom? Working?”
“No, she’s getting married. So she’s really busy.”
“Oh.” That’s…awkward. It reminds me entirely too much of how my own mother used to get married all the time. Well, not all the time. Just five freakin’ times, each successive husband becoming older and richer. Thankfully I only had to witness the fifth one, but she told me all about the others in great, excruciating detail, with twenty photo albums. She even took pictures of her individual toes on the day of those weddings. “That’s…” I search for a suitable word, but can’t think of any. “That’s…um…good for her, I guess…?” I say, hoping her mom isn’t marrying for money, but for true love or at least some kind of course correction.
Vi scowls. “I guess.”
I squirm. This is really uncomfortable. “Are you going to be in the wedding? Maybe a flower girl or train bearer or something?” My mother wanted me to be a flower girl for her fifth wedding. She thought it was adorable and showed her true love for the groom. When I told her I didn’t want to, she made me do it anyway.
Vi looks down at her plate. “No. She doesn’t really want me there.”
But I hear more. She doesn’t really want me.
Oh, you poor thing. Even my mother lets me know she loves me, although her way of showing it is pretty messed up. Like telling me to marry the richest guy available.
“She doesn’t even want Princess, because her fiancé doesn’t like cats. She says he’s allergic, but I think that’s a lie. He’s a creepy perv.”
“I’m sure Princess is better off with you,” I say softly, not wanting to get into all the other drama. That’s her parents’ issue to deal with, not mine.
“Yeah, maybe.” Vi forces a smile. “The girls at school are nice and so much more mature than the ones at my old school.” Then she sighs, the sound small but audible.
There’s no way ten-year-olds are mature, but obviously she’s decided to be like them and fit in. Then my gaze goes to her hair. If she’s trying to fit in with the “mature” girls in her school, she should never go to school with hair like that. “So. What’s the new style in your school?” I have no idea what’s cool in school these days, and I don’t want to be like my mom, who just assumed that what was awesome to her would be awesome to teenagers.
“Something like this.” She points at her own hair. “I teased it this morning, although it doesn’t hold the shape very well. I think I need a new spray. The girl in the tutorial looked really great.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. What she needs is better technique. Her hair looks like a raptor’s nest. Besides, do little girls even tease their hair? Is that a thing, or is she just doing it because she saw it on some social media site?
I’m curious, but hold my tongue. It’s none of my business. So instead, I say, “That should help, but you can also try something else. I used to tease mine too, and learned a few tricks. Want me to show you?”
Her eyes sparkle. “Really?” Then she stares at my non-teased mane. “But how come you don’t wear it like that anymore?”
“It isn’t really right for where I work. But I can show you.”
She considers, then nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
Chapter Twelve
Wyatt
Dipping my fingers in water and sticking them into an electrical socket would be less painful than this.
The woman—Bethany—across the table radiates a polished sexual energy. Her red hair glints, her brown eyes glint and her red nails glint. Every time she throws her head back and laughs, her teeth glint.
All that glinting reminds me of metal robotic claws…long, shiny ones, reaching for my bank account. The worst thing is that I’m certain she’d wrap them around my dick too if she thought that was what she needed to do get to my recent wealth.
I can feel it shrink in horror. You better not! She isn’t even that hot.
Technically she is sort of pretty, in a luscious, overtly sexual way. I can see why David thought she’d be a good rebound date to take to Geneva’s wedding. She might’ve been, too, if I were single and looking for a meaningless roll in the hay to pass the time.
Elbows propped on the table, Bethany is leaning forward intently. Her breasts look like they’re about to explode out of her dress, and I wonder if she plans to continue leaning until her nipples pop over the low neckline.
Oddly, it reminds me of Kim. And the way her breasts felt against me yesterday morning—soft and firm at the same time. Why was that so arousing, especially since she acted like I was covered in raw sewage?
“So tell me everything,” Bethany says breathlessly. “I’ve always been interested in those big tech deals.”
Except she isn’t really interested in the deal. What she’s interested in is exactly how much I made off Sweet Darlings Inc.
I’m going to kill David for setting this up. “It was mostly just selling a few patents.”
“But the articles said you made billions.” Her teeth flash.
Billions… She can’t even read right. The articles covering the deal have never said billions. Would she leave in crushed disappointment if I told her it was really just a little over one billion, plus a position at Sweet Darlings?
In my head, Kim’s cool expression and immediate departure from Éternité play in a weird overlapping montage with this woman’s excitement. I wonder what Kim would say if I explained my success to her. Would she be as admiring as Bethany? Or would she still turn away?
Whichever, at least it would be an honest reaction.
Yeah, just like how she called our time together a “mistake.”
The reminder stings, even after all these years.
It’s already after eight. I’m finished with my entrée—mainly because I gobbled it down in a hurry to get the hell out of the restaurant. Bethany’s slower, but she only eats half, and in small, nibbling bites, like she’s some kind of dieting rodent. She gestures for the dessert menu.
Oh hell no. Not doing this.
Dad raised me to be nice to women, but I know if I make him proud, I’m going to end up stuck here for hours because Bethany won’t end it with just dessert. She’ll want coffee…and cheese…and cognac…
Time to end this charade. Which means I need to start acting like the most direct and straightforward of my friends.
“I’m full,” I say baldly, channeling Dane. “I need to get going.”
“So soon?” Bethany says, fluttering her eyelashes. The fake lashes’ movement reminds me of centipede legs. I suppress a shudder.
Our waiter comes over as though he’s sensed I need him. I hand him my credit card. The man’s going to be tipped well.
“Maybe coffee? At my place?” Bethany asks, her voice so breathless that I’m afraid she’s about to hyperventilate. If she does, I’ll ask the waiter to call 911, but I’m not going with her to the ER.
“I have a kid waiting for me at home,” I say, hoping she gets the hint.
“Can your sitter stay longer?”
Guess she’s the self-centered, oblivious type. Been there, done that, got divorced for the effort. Not wasting any more time with another Geneva. “She has another gig tonight,” I lie.
The waiter returns with the bill. I sign it, leaving him an extra thirty percent.
The barest hint of a frown is marring Bethany’s forehead. “How about this weekend? I’d love to get together. You could bring your child along, if you like.”
I resist an urge to rub my forehead. Bring Vi on a date? She wouldn’t talk to me for a year. She might even run away from home. “Actually, I’m busy. Work.” I give my watch an unmistakable look. “And I gotta get going if I want to be home in time. Nice meeting you.”
Then I stand up and hurry out of the restaurant, without waiting for Bethany. The woman’s a leech, and my politeness has a limit.
Sorry, Dad. But if you were here, you’d probably tie her to the chair so I could make my escape.
The valet brings my Audi around and I drive home. I’m going to have to come up with some other way to find a date to Geneva’s wedding, since neither Dane nor David seems able to help.
When I reach the complex, I park in the garage and head upstairs. I like this apartment, and the normalcy it represents, even if I am stuck next to Kim. But it isn’t like we’ll run into each other much. I’m busy and so is she. If half the stuff I’ve heard is true, her boss is difficult to please.
I eye Kim’s door as I walk past and unlock my unit. The light’s on in the living room, but no one seems to be around.
“Vi? I’m home!” I call out, hanging my keys on the rack near the door.
Not even a disdainful meow greets me. Fine. I don’t care if Princess wants to ignore me. She is a cat, after all, and I’m pretty sure she’s unhappy her real owner—Geneva—isn’t living with us.
But where’s Vi? And Lori?
Maybe they’re in Vi’s room, arranging things to her taste. She’s been…pretty particular recently. It upsets her when people touch her stuff or move something around.
I knock on her door. “Vi?” When she doesn’t answer, I shake my head. Probably has that Bose headset on and music blaring into her ears.
But what about Lori?
Sudden panic squeezes my chest. I open the door and step into the room.
Empty.
Did something happen to Vi? I check my phone for texts, but there’s nothing. What the hell is going on? Did Lori take Vi out to grab something? I frown as a thought strikes me. I hope she isn’t buying her makeup.
I call Lori.
“Hi, Mr. Westland,” she says, her voice perky and yet bored at the same time—a magic only teenagers can perform.
“Where are you?” I demand.
“Uh… Home?”
The frustration and annoyance of the evening roll through me, swelling and rushing like an ugly tsunami. “What the hell are you doing home? You’re supposed to be watching Vi today!”
“Umm… Didn’t Vi’s mom call you? She texted me that she picked her up from school…”
“What?” That makes no sense. Geneva can’t stand dealing with Vi. As a matter of fact, she hates it that she got pregnant in the first place, and said she considered Vi an unfortunate accident when we were in the middle of going through our divorce. The only value our daughter has is how good she can make her mom look, and Vi just doesn’t measure up to Geneva’s ideal.
“You might want to call her and see.” Lori sounds mildly peeved. “Or, you know, maybe check your texts.”
“I already checked. No messages from Geneva.”
“Oh.” She sounds vaguely more understanding now. “Oh. Well. Okay.”
I inhale deeply. Whatever happened, it doesn’t seem like it was Lori’s fault. “Sorry I yelled at you.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Westland. But yeah, it was your ex-wife, so you should, you know…talk to her.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” I hang up, then immediately call Geneva.
What the hell is she plotting? She’s still irritated that part of the divorce settlement stipulated no further claims on each other’s assets, ever. Her idea, because she was afraid I’d come after her and her rich fiancé. But I know it infuriates her that she can’t claim a penny of the money from my Sweet Darlings deal.
If she’s trying to use Vi…
Geneva finally answers. “What do you want?”
“Where’s Vi? Is she with you?”
“Vi? Why are you asking me?” I can almost hear the wrinkling of her nose. “Did she say she was going to come see me? Ugh. You keep her at home. You know how Churchie doesn’t like kids, and I don’t have time right now. I have a wedding to plan.”
She isn’t lying. In my panicked anger, I forgot how self-centered she can be. Not wanting to hear her prattle on and on about her asshole fiancé and the wedding, I hang up, then finally remember I got Vi her own cell phone when we moved to L.A.
“Hey,” she answers.
Relief flows through me. Followed almost immediately by a fury hot enough to singe my scalp. “Where are you?”
“Eating ice cream and watching TV.”
“I didn’t say what, I said where!”
“Dad,” she says, all Miss Maturity. “Take a breath.”
“Take a—?” She’s lucky she isn’t standing in front of me, because I might just throttle her. “You’re grounded until you’re sixty!” I yell, even though a small voice in the back of my head says maybe I shouldn’t threaten that until she’s home first.
“Whatever. The most you can ground me is until I’m eighteen.”
My blood boils. I inhale, whether to calm myself or to gather more angry words to fling at her, I’m not sure yet. There’s some murmuring in the background, then a new voice comes over the phone.
“Hi. I just want to let you know there’s no reason to worry, because your daughter’s with me. I ran into her after work, and decided to keep her with me. Apparently, she got locked out of your apartment.”
A woman. I relax a little. I know it’s stupid—women can be just as vicious as men—but at least the probability that Vi is with a perv isn’t as high. Her voice is familiar…probably one of the neighbors I ran into when I was looking at the unit. The people in the building seem like a friendly enough bunch…other than Kim.
“Hey, ’preciate it. Do you mind telling me where you are? I’ll come get my kid out of your hair,” I say, reaching for my keys.
“Sure. Apartment 1104.”
I put the keys back on the rack, and go out into the hall. I’m in 1106. And 1104 is…
My head slowly swivels. That’s…
Fuck.
Chapter Thirteen
Kim
I give the phone back to Vi. “You shouldn’t give your dad static that way,” I say. “He’s just worried about you.”
She rolls her eyes.
Oh boy. Why me? I’m not capable of guiding a young kid. “If he’s that bad, do you want me to call the cops?” I ask, almost certain that she’ll back off and realize she’s having an unreasonable temper tantrum. “I can have him arrested for child neglect and endangerment. You’ll never see him again, and you’ll get a whole new dad.”
Her small jaw drops. “You can really do that?” Something I can’t quite read sparks in her eyes.
Does she actually want me to have her dad arrested? What the hell kind of dick is he? “Yeeeees,” I say, suddenly unsure.
She gives me a considering look. “Would he be in jail for long?”
“I don’t know. Probably not that long.” Back in Corn Meadows, Mr. Felder went in and out of jail for being a drunken lout and a wife beater, but he never spent that much time inside his cell. His lawyer always got him off.
I reach for my wine and take a sip. Maybe I should’ve bought something stronger.
Vi shakes her head. “I don’t want to do that. I heard jail sucks. All they do is toss each other’s salad all the time.” She makes a face.
I choke and sputter, but I’m too stunned to care about wine stains. “Where did you learn that? You’re only ten!”
“So?” She looks at me like I’m the dumb one. “I’m old enough to know about jail. But seriously, who wants to eat salad all the time? Talk about a punishment.”
Oh my God. Torn between laughter, horror and relief, I cover my face. Thankfully, there are three knocks on the door.
I turn to her. “I think that’s your dad.”
Her shoulders droop. “I know.”
“Cheer up.” I squeeze her hand and go answer the door with a smile…
Only to see Wyatt on the other side. “You! What are you doing here?” Did he come over to demand I honor that dumb bet?
He doesn’t look any happier than I feel. “I’m here for Vi.”
“Vi?” I gape at him. “You’re her dad?”
He nods curtly. “She’s here, right?”
“Yeah.” I step aside automatically so he can come in, even as my brain’s having trouble processing this bizarre turn of events.
Hands on hips, Wyatt walks over and stops in front of Vi, vibrating with annoyance. “Young lady, you’re in so much trouble!”
“Why? I already did my homework.” She flips her hair over a shoulder. Her hair’s now neatly brushed and just slightly teased to give it some volume.
“You know why! Did you make Lori think you were with your mother?”
Guilt flashes through her gaze, but she shrugs. “Why would I do that? Mom wanted to come see me, but couldn’t because something went wrong with the wedding plan. She said she tried to call you, but you didn’t answer…as usual.”
I almost shake my head. The girl is a terrible liar. She should at least look him in the eye when she lies. That way it seems more believable.
Wyatt is livid. “You’re so grounded!”
Vi’s stubborn expression says, What else is new?
“Wyatt.” When he looks at me, I incline my head toward the door. “You can have your family argument once you’re home.”
Wyatt glares like I’m the cause of the situation between him and his daughter. I stare back levelly. It’s not like I did anything wrong.
Eventually he relaxes slightly and inhales. “Thank you for taking care of Vi.”
It couldn’t sound more begrudging, but whatever. “No problem.”
“Vi, let’s go,” he says.
She grabs the cat. “Thanks for dinner, Kim.”
His lips thin even more, like it’s a crime to feed his kid. Hey, buddy, I didn’t spit in her food or anything gross like that. Disgusting food toppings are your specialty, not mine.
Wyatt nods once at me, then leaves with Vi.
I look out in the hall, just to make sure he actually leaves. He says something to Vi quietly enough that I can’t make it out, then opens his apartment door and they vanish inside.
I pull my head back in and shut my own door. Then, as I’m cleaning up the dirty plates…it hits me. Wyatt really did move in next door! He really is my neighbor. But why? Doesn’t he want a mansion to show off his billion bucks? And why is Dane giving him a statue that’s going to end up looking ridiculous in that apartment? It’s going to stand out like a Porsche in a pigsty.
