He went on a bit about dancing and drinks. Babbling a little, if I were being honest. It was oddly endearing.
“It might be fun. If you call ‘fun’ avoiding your cheating ex while forty people ask why you’re not together,” I said, if only to save him from his rambling.
“What?’ Ronan’s strong brow furrowed. “Who the fuck is your ex?”
Mentioning Derek was the metaphorical blast of cold water I needed to get rid of this little infatuation.
“No one.” Abruptly, I pushed back from the desk and stood. “As requested, my fit. Jeans. Sweater. Basically, the Meráki uniform, since that’s what we sell. Happy?”
“I—wait, Laney, you’re clearly?—”
“Busy,” I finished as I bent down to take the edge of my laptop screen, ready to close it. “Like I said. Call me when you have the annulment papers for me to sign, Ronan. I’ll talk to you then.”
8
ENTER THE EX
LANEY
“None for me, thanks.”
I waved away what had to be the seventh offer of wine or champagne that night. I had to give it to Chiswick, the trendy farm-to-table eatery in Georgetown hosting Megan and Kevin’s rehearsal dinner. The service was excellent, even bordering on annoying.
The entire bridal party, along with a good smattering of Megan and Kevin’s closest friends and family, made for a merry group. At least forty people filled the back half of the restaurant, where we were enjoying passed canapés and champagne before sitting down for a three-course feast.
Given the fact that Megan and I had known each other since we were in diapers, that also meant that a good number of the people in this room had known me just as long. Which also meant they knew me when I was engaged to the trash bag who had been eyeing me all night.
“So, Laney, tell me, how’s your mom and dad?”
I sighed and took another sip of my club soda, wishing my heart could handle a little vodka. This conversation had beengoing one of two ways for most of the evening. People either knew what had befallen my family (and my social life) over the past few years and were terribly sad about it, or I had tomakethem sad by telling them the story.
Bracing myself for pity and possibly even tears, I bared my teeth in a rueful smile. “Actually, my mom passed last year. Cancer. Dad’s doing all right since he moved to Arizona.”
Megan’s aunt—or maybe it was her second cousin—clapped a manicured hand to her mouth in shock. “Oh, you poor thing! I had no idea!”
How would you?I wanted to ask.We’ve only met in passing at the occasional birthday party or graduation. You barely knew me or my parents, and certainly not enough for those crocodile tears.
Instead, however, I smiled politely and accepted a perfumed-soaked hug while others looked on with varying expressions of pity and curiosity.
“Laney.”
I was released from the woman’s grasp at the sound of a familiar deep voice beside us.
“Excuse me, Gladys.” Derek Schlossberg—otherwise known as the spawn of Satan—turned his trademark grin on the woman, who was apparently named Gladys. “I have to steal the maid of honor. Bridal party stuff.”
I might have been grateful for my ex’s intervention if I hadn’t sworn to hate him for all eternity.
Gladys fanned herself in response. “Of course, you charmer. Laney, lovely to see you. Things will look up. You’ll see.”
I allowed Derek to escort me to the other side of the room. It was only when we were near the punchbowl and well out of Gladys’s eyeline that I yanked my arm out of his greasy clutch. “That’s enough.”
“You could try some gratitude. I figured you’ve given that little update enough tonight.” He smirked. “Plus, death is kind of a downer.”
God. It was just like him to take a simple favor and hold a person hostage for it.
“I might be grateful if you didn’t immediately turn it into a guilt trip,” I said. “But I don’t need rescuing. Least of all from you.”
“Oh, I definitely don’t need reminding about that.”