Page 89 of Bridesmaid for Hire
“So…you don’t think it’s one of those weird signs? Like because we had a connection with some titi sticks, now we have to get married? Nothing like that?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Well, fuck, if that were the case, I would have partnered up with someone else.”
“Uh-huh, and who would you have partnered up with?”
He thinks about it for a second then grins. “Reginald. Then I could really call himDaddy Reggieand it would make more sense.”
I nearly spit out my drink. “Daddy Reggie? Who the hell calls him that?”
“All his employees,” Brody says. “Well, behind his back, of course. I don’t think there’s a soul that would call him that to his face.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” I say. “Sometimes I think it would be nice to be called daddy.”
Brody raises a brow at me. “Is that right?”
I shrug. “Why not? If someone called me Daddy Maggie, it would let me know I’m doing something right.”
“I’d say you’re doing more than something right,” he says before taking a large sip of his drink.
I stare at him for a moment, his words registering. “Brody McFadden, was that a compliment?”
“Barely,” he says as he takes a seat at the high-top table with me. The space was cramped, so his long legs brush up against mine.
I shift. “The hairs on your legs are tickling me.”
“Be happy it’s just my legs.”
I raise a brow at him. “Is there something else that could tickle me?”
He brings his drink to his lips. “Take your wildest guess.”
I shake my head. “I don’t even want to go there.”
“That’s what I thought.” He finishes his sip and lets out a large sigh as his shoulders slump. “Is this what rock-bottom feels like?”
“Rubbing your leg hairs on your best friend’s sister?” I ask.
He lightly chuckles and shakes his head. “No, what happened today.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Jesus, Maggie, I’ve been a goddamn mess since this all started. My boss sent me here on a mission: to convince the Hoppers that I’m the one they should be working with, and instead, I’m passing out from a branch scraping my leg. Not sure that was the great impression she was hoping for.” He smooths his hand over his forehead, and I do feel bad for him. Despite all the tension between us, I can’t imagine the stress he must be going through.
The stress from his boss.
The stress of having to impress someone.
The stress of needing to keep a secret.
The stress of having to fake a relationship.
It’s clearly consuming him, and he’s not handling it well.
So, I press my hand to his thigh. “It’s not rock-bottom. Just a few hiccups.”
His eyes connect with mine. “Hiccups? More like burps…belches. Horrifying bellows that ring through the banyan trees.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think we’re at banyan tree shaking just yet, but one more feral cry from you and you might reach that status.”
He lifts his drink to his lips and downs the rest of it.
“Oh boy,” I say. “Is that what’s happening tonight?”
