“What do you think about this one?” Nanette asks as she turns from the closet to face me, holding up, ironically, a Nanette Lepore silk A-line dress with an asymmetrical hem. It’s not one of my favorites so I shrug.
“Why are you interviewing for a job here?” I ask her.
“Well…I didn’t actually take a vacation to come here and see you,” she admits to me with a sly smile. “I quit the magazine, and thought, what the heck, Brooke is starting a new career, why shouldn’t I?”
My jaw just hangs open and I really can’t think of a single fucking thing to say to her. I’d like to say something like, “You could have told me the truth,” but that rings hollow given that the minute she go here, I pulled her into Bishop’s and my lie.
“And you know, you and I could be roommates,” she continues without even blinking an eye. “I couldn’t pay rent until I got a job, of course, but I’ll help clean up and stuff.”
Yeah right. She hasn’t lifted a finger since she got here.
“Nanette,” I start to say, hoping to perhaps get her to slow down and think this through, but my doorbell rings.
Bishop.
I’d invited him to dinner tonight. I was going to make fajitas and margaritas, and now I’m thinking just margaritas. That’s really all I want.
I look back at the mess for a moment, and then to Nanette. “Look…that’s Bishop and I need to get dinner started. We’re having fajitas if you’d like to join us.”
“Sounds awesome,” she says brightly, and then proceeds to drop my dress to the floor before turning back to my closet and grabbing another.
I grit my teeth and walk out of my bedroom.* * *—
“I want to kill her,” I hiss to Bishop in a low voice that can’t possibly carry through to my bedroom, where Nanette is still rooting around in my closet.
Bishop has the sense to not laugh but instead refills my margarita glass. It took me two minutes on my front porch to tell him what had just transpired before he pulled me into my kitchen, sat me on a stool, and made a pitcher of margaritas. Her poured me a glass and started fixing dinner while I drank.
And drank.
I was on my second glass—with him filling that up—well, second and a half glass.
“She can’t stay here,” Bishop says in a low voice, and I want to kiss him so much for saying that. “You’ll end up killing her, and I don’t want conjugal visits with you in prison.”
I snort and take a sip of my drink. When I set it back down, I lean across the counter so I can lower my voice even further. “I have to be careful with her. I don’t know what she’d do about our secret if I pissed her off.”
“Christ,” he mutters as he slices a red bell pepper. “What a mess this is causing for you.”
I agree with that sentiment by taking a long pull on the margarita. He eyes me with a smirk before going back to cutting. “Do you get freaky kinky when you’re drunk?”
I blink at him in surprise, look down at my drink, and then back to Bishop. “Um…I don’t know.”
He nods at my drink with a wicked smile. “Keep drinking. We’ll find out tonight.”
There’s no stopping the giggle that comes out of me. I run my finger along the rim, gathering some salt. I lick it off and then ask him, “But seriously, what am I going to do? And what about this job interview with Sebastian? Either that’s a total fabrication he made to get in her pants, or he’s really going to seriously consider opening it up to her?”
Bishop stops chopping and lays the knife down. He places both palms on the counter and leans over it to put his face closer to mine. “Listen, Brooke. I don’t know what her game is or what Sebastian’s is. All I care about is that you don’t get trampled on. Want me to talk to him?”
The horror that overtakes my expression gives Bishop his answer.
But it doesn’t dissuade him. “There’s nothing wrong with a person like me using my star clout to get something from the organization. Celebrities and sports stars do it all the time.”
I shake my head, cutting off the offer. “It’s sweet, but no. I’ll handle the job issue myself, but any advice you have about Nanette is appreciated. I do not want her for my roommate, short term or long term. How do I tell her that?”
I get a soft look from him; it tells me he truly feels for me and my predicament. I also see a low burning anger in his expression. That’s his protectiveness. Reaching a hand out, he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. An intimate, sweet move that has my belly feeling like it’s filled with champagne bubbles. “Let’s not get too panicky right now. She could be just blustering, and like you said, there’s most likely not even a real job offer. She could be heading back to New York as planned this weekend. Let’s just wait and see.”