Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Are you sure about that?”
English laughed as she got a good look at me. “You’re going to give Leslie a heart attack.”
“Let’s hope not. She’s not a bad mayor.”
“Fuck, I missed you. Promise you’ll never leave the city again.”
“I’ll give it my best.”
English looped her arm with mine. “What took you so long anyway?”
“Well … I ran into Gavin King.”
English choked. “You’re kidding?” Her smile was predatory. “How was that?”
“It was … I don’t know.”
I never could judge Gavin exactly. I’d been his wingman for so long. I watched him go home with more women than I could count on both hands. I’d never been jealous until we slept together. And even then, I’d had no right to be jealous.
But still … I didn’t know if his flirting was him being his normal self around me or if it meant more. The look in his eyes right before I left had made me reconsider moving back. I couldn’t do this if he wanted to talk about what had happened. I’d moved on. I was well past that moment in my life. I might have feelings for him still, but that didn’t mean I needed to act on them.
“Oh, you’re going to hook up again.”
I scoffed. “Bad idea. We all know what happened last time.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Bad girlfriend. I know the drill, Whit. You’re the one who gets revenge and who leaves behind glitter bombs on ceiling fans and watches the world burn before admitting that someone hurt you.”
I bristled under that assessment, but somehow, from English, it was almost affectionate.
“But Gavin isn’t dating anyone.”
“He never is.”
“No,” she said, pulling me to a halt before we reached the tearoom. “Like, he hasn’t even been bringing anyone to events.”
I snorted. “Okay. Sure. He just told me he took home the girl he brought to your engagement party.”
She arched an eyebrow. “One, we should consider why he told you that. And two, I haven’t seen him with anyone since then.”
I did the math. The engagement party was in July. That was almost nine months ago. There was no way he hadn’t been with anyone in that long. That was … unheard of for the Playboy Prince of Manhattan.
“I know his reputation precedes him, as does yours,” she said pointedly. “But maybe he’s growing up.”
“I doubt it.”
English laughed. “Fine. Have it your way. Just come save my life, would you?”
“My pleasure.”
We strode into the tearoom. I recognized Leslie Kensington from the campaign advertisements and the news. She was currently campaigning for her third term, which would be voted on this November. Some part of me wondered how much of the fancy wedding was related to her campaign and how much was a mother wanting what was best for her son. A large part of me thought it was the former more than the latter.
Leslie was too composed to make a face at my appearance, but the wedding planner blanched as I was escorted over.
Leslie rose to her feet and shook my hand. “You must be Whitley. We’ve heard so much about you,” she said.
“Mayor Kensington,” I said with a grin. “I’ve only ever seen you on the news.”
“Leslie, please, why don’t you take a seat?”
“Whit, this is Fanny McEwan,” English said, gesturing to the wedding planner, who was making no secret of her distaste for me.
“Hello,” Fanny said without extending a hand. “Perhaps next time, we can arrive on time.” She looked around the place. People were definitely looking at me, but she was the only one who cared. Well, maybe the mayor cared, but she was too good at her job to show it. “And maybe in more appropriate attire.”
I gestured to myself. “What? This old thing? Don’t you recognize Elizabeth Taylor’s old furs?”
I was lying through my teeth but betting a lot of money that she wouldn’t know that.
Fanny looked way out of her depth. “I’m certain you know precisely what I’m talking about.”
“Let’s get back to the menu,” English said, deftly changing the subject.
The wedding planner looked ready to skewer me, but I smiled brightly, as if I had no idea. The next hour continued in much the same fashion. Despite my extreme attire, I was a good maid of honor. I’d attended a ton of weddings for clients back in LA and had opinions about the sort of grand-scale wedding that the Kensingtons wanted.
English looked relieved by my input. She was a publicist. Handling events was her thing, but she hated weddings. I was one of the only people who knew that fact. Her last wedding to a cheating douchebag movie star had been a huge Hollywood affair with all the pomp that LA could throw at it. She would have happily married Court barefoot in the sand with just her friends and family in attendance. But she loved him enough to endure this whole thing a second time.