Page 33 of Handsome Devil
It really wasn’t worth the battle.
I mean… unless he drew first blood.
Christ, what was up with me?
Why did my spine tingle—morbid joy?—when I thought about drawing him into an argument? Why did I want to fight it out with him so damn bad?
Because you want to win.
Yeah. That.
But I knew I couldn’t win. I hated the idea of being faced with a battle I was only going to lose. It wasn’t easy for me to give up the fight.
Ugh.Memories.
I could remember feeling this way—the last time Dane Davenport showed up in my life… and stuck around for a goddamn year. It wasn’t easy to stand down in high school, either. But I knew he’d win if we went head-to-head. So I did. And I survived that year from hell.
I could survive a few more days in the man’s presence.
It’s a battle you can’t win.
Just let it fucking go.
I tried to focus, pulling up my calendar on-screen. As usual, I had a ton of phone calls to make.
But I picked up the phone and buzzed Suri again. “Sorry to keep bothering you. Can you send me Janelle’s schedule, anything you know she was in the middle of working on or had coming up? I need to make sure it’s all handled.”
“Of course. I’ll get right on that.”
“Thanks.” I realized I should get in touch with Janelle’s models, as soon as possible. Make sure they knew who I was, that Janelle was no longer with us—and that she didn’t try to take them with her. “And let me know if Mr. Davenport heads out at all? I need to pop into Janelle’s office to grab her model files.” I was assuming they were still there, in the filing cabinets.
But I was not going back in there while he was in there, if I didn’t have to.
“For sure,” she whispered. “He’s still in there now. I’ve got frostbite on the back of my neck.”
So it wasn’t just me, then. Other warm-blooded animals found him chilling.
“Stay warm,” I advised her. “Who knows when this Arctic breeze will blow out of here.”
I hung up, then called the only person I could truly turn to in a crisis. I couldn’t seem to focus on work anyway, and I really needed to vent to a non-coworker.
“Mmmphh.” That was the sound of Katie Mayes’ face smushed in a pillow. I knew it well.
Ever since my best friend married a rock star, then had his baby, she’d been even less amenable to dragging her ass out of bed at an early hour. I, on the other hand, was a morning person. Dressed, accessorized, polished and ready to start my day, latte in hand, by eight-o’clock, which gave me plenty of time to scan my social media feeds, check fashion news, and strut into the office by nine o’clock. Ish.
“Wake up,” I urged. “This is a BFF Code Red.”
“Huh?” I heard shuffling and what sounded like her dog yelping. “Sorry, Max,” Katie whispered. More shuffling and a male voice groaning. Jesse, who used to be a morning workout guy, had opted to linger in bed with his wife in the mornings since becoming a father. Their precocious toddler was almost two years old now and keeping them on their toes.
I wondered how much sleep they’d gotten last night and felt kinda bad for waking them up.
“What time is it?” she asked me. “Are you okay? Where are you? What’s going on?”
“It’s almost ten,” I said. “I’m at the office. Don’t worry, I’m in one piece.”
“Oh.” I could practically hear her sag back into bed. “It’s one ofthoseCode Reds. I thought it was serious.”
Yeah, so, I called Katie with a BFF Code Red at least twice a month. Usually because of some minor dating drama that I’d overreacted to. Or a really good sale on designer shoes I didn’t want her to miss. Even so, she rallied like I might be calling from my deathbed each and every time, just in case.
