Which I for one have no problem with.
After all, a woman should be allowed to get her way in her own bedroom of all places.
I fall to the bed and grab my phone to pull up a search on Google. I limit it to recent news—I’ve already had my fill of the illustrious background of the admirably pedigreed Muffy Aston—and my breath hitches when I see one image in particular that catches my eye from the results.
It’s a charity gala from this weekend—the two of them certainly moved fast!— raising money for “the arts,” whatever that vague term is in reference to. Muffy looks as regal as anything in a dark red dress that contrasts stunningly against her pale skin. She looks like a sexy, villainous vampire from a movie.
The one who tries to steal the heroine’s man.
Except in this case Muffy the Vampire has seemingly succeeded in slaying her conquest.
Francis is standing right next to her. No, he isn’t holding her hand or kissing her, but the way his arm is planted around her waist, his hand settled comfortably on her hip, is somehow worse. He grins proudly, a look to match the smug smile of self-assurance on his date’s face. As though she knows exactly who she is, and more importantly, she knows exactly whose woman she is.
They look like a bona fide couple.
Once upon a time that was me standing next to Francis on the red carpet. Of course, my name never made it into the captions, being the nobody that I am.
Here, Maude “Muffy” Sinclair Aston is the definite headliner, coming before even Francis Hickenbatter.
The blood in my veins begins to boil, which causes my foot to throb in protest, as though highlighting my new status as a lame duck.
I calmly place the phone down on the bed and lean back against the headboard to close my eyes and breathe.
At least now I don’t feel too guilty about this morning with Jesse.
It’s obvious he’s not as immune to my charms as he’d prefer to be.
But he’s taken.
For all intents and purposes.
Good grief, if that’s his idea of love, I’m not sure I’d be interested.
Love should be, well frankly, toe-curling, nipple-hardening, body singingly glorious.
Like sex.
Jesse makes it seem like a partnership. As he very well put it himself.
To be honest, the man should take me up on my offer if only to stir something a little more exciting up between him and this Emily.
The point is obviously moot, of course.
He said no, so I’ll leave it at that.
But I certainly haven’t given up on Francis—though I’m now quite firm in my insistence that he should be the one to make first contact.
I once again wonder what he’d think of everything that happened in Jesse’s apartment. As much as he enjoys me teasing other men in a flirtatious way, I doubt he’d be thrilled at me getting that intimate—as clinical as it all was.
Especially with someone who looks like Jesse Castiglione.
“At the very least, he’d show Francis up pretty dang good,” I say to myself with a grin.
Chapter Thirteen Guiseppe
It’s Friday.
I’ve spent the week mostly camping out in my office. The kick Honey gave me on Tuesday turned into a fine bruise over the course of the week.
The reactions from the few people who saw me were enough to convince me that I should remain a hobbit until it fades. It’s been a strange mix of subtle admiration (mostly from women and a few of the younger male associates), mild horror (unfortunately, mostly from the partners) and ridicule (from the obvious: Todd, Vaughn, and Andrew had a field day with it).
It’s still a nice little purple smudge on my cheek, but I have no choice but to crawl from my cave today. Friday is when ABC holds continuing legal education presentations so the attorneys can satisfy their state bar requirements.
The firm is nice enough to serve lunch as well.
I arrive early and see that today it’s pizza, which I find comically ironic for one of the top-grossing firms in the country. Still, no complaints from me, especially since I seem to be one of the first to arrive and have my pick.
I grab a few slices and a can of Coke, then head to the front row to take a seat. Before I can sit, Allison calls out to me. She works in the Managing Attorneys office, which handles filing paperwork, either to the court or various agencies, as well as handling the bar requirement for ABC attorneys.
“Jesse, do you think you could help me out?”
She’s standing on a chair in the back, fiddling around with the projector.
“Sure,” I say, even though it means my pizza growing cold.
She flashes a grateful smile and steps down.
“Oh my God, what happened to your cheek?” Despite the alarm in her voice, I see how her green eyes sparkle with excitement.
I got into enough scrapes, and more than a few knock-down-drag-out fights back in school to know how impressed some members of the opposite sex are with this sort of thing.
Still, no need to encourage that sort of reputation here just to stroke my own ego.
“It was just an accident is all.”
“Oh,” she says, the light somewhat dimming from her eyes. They brighten again as she points to the projector. “I just need the focus adjusted and I can’t reach it. You’re so much taller than me and I don’t want to have to call someone from the office just for this.”
“Not a problem,” I say, rising up on the chair.
It takes a while for me to find the right settings to get the focus just right and pointed in the right direction. Why it was off in the first place is beyond me.
By the time I stand down, to an Allison who is pink-faced and gushing with thanks, the room is half-full.
“Thanks again,” Allison says. “I don’t know how to thank
