“Ohhh-kay,” she says. “We could, you know, meet up later? Or tomorrow night?” She pins me with a hopeful, wide-eyed gaze.
“I don’t think so,” I say, and then, because none of this is her fault and because precision is important in life as in the law, “It was nice hanging out with you tonight, but like we discussed, it was a one-time thing.”
I press my hand into her back and usher her to the exit, glaring over my shoulder at Weggers as I do. I maneuver her outside my apartment and tell her, “I wish you all the best.” Then I shut the door tightly and lean against it.
“How’s the hookup life working out for you?” Weggers asks.
When I look up, he’s smirking. “Screw you.”
He snickers.
The real miracle of the last fifteen months is that none of us has offed Weggers in his sleep.
“Why are you here?” I demand.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Why didn’t you summon me to Rush Creek?”
“Would you have come?”
I consider. “No.”
“That’s why I’m here. I learned from chasing your brother Preston all over creation that it’s not worth my effort. So I came straight to you.”
“How’d you get into my apartment?”
“Your doorperson was very happy to let me up.”
Shit. That’s what I get for turning down her generous offer to share her break in the maintenance room, no strings attached. Since then, she has laser-eyed every woman I bring home—only a few, but unfortunately always on her shift—and she hasn’t stopped trying to convince me to change my mind.Look,she informed me one evening,I pay attention. They’re upstairs with you for an average of two hours and forty-seven minutes, and they leave here looking dehydrated and glowing. Do you have any idea what percentage of men in Manhattan can get a woman off? Lower than the chance of being killed by a meteorite. For the love of God, Rhys, just once.
I (gently) told that she was, literally, too close to home…but apparently that didn’t save me from her vengeful impulses.
I point at Weggers. “It’s illegal for a process server to misrepresent?—”
“Save your breath,” he says, waving his hand again. “I told her the truth. I told her I was your grandfather’s lawyer and that I was here to share your grandfather’s legacy with you. I asked if I could wait in your apartment, and I showed her proof of my identity, evidence of my lawyer-client relationship to your grandfather, and a copy of the letter, which she read. She approved of it, by the way,” he adds. “Said she thought your granddad’s plan for you would have a positive effect on your attitude toward commitment.”
“Who cares what my doorperson thinks about my attitude toward— No, you know what? I don’t want to hear your answer to that. I don’t want to hear anything?—”
“Too late!” he crows, eyes dancing. “I already read the first sentence of your letter! ‘Rhys Hott. You can’t stay cynical about love forever.’”
I sigh. “I’m not cynical. I’m realistic.” Marriages succeed at the same rate as coins come up heads. Hardly odds to bet your life on.
Weggers peers through his reading glasses at the letter and carries on:
Let’s see if we can turn around your grim view of love by exposing you to a rosier view of romance. At the time of the reading of this letter, your sister is in charge of some number of weddings. A subset of these will take place within the following two months. These will become your responsibi?—
“He did fucking not!”
“I wish your brothers were here!” Weggers chortles, almost dancing with delight.
I bury my face in my hands. I’m so fucking glad they’re not here. They’d have way too good a time with this.
Eventually, I’ll have to confront them. But now is not yet.
“Do you want me to keep reading?”
I snatch the paper out of his hand and read the rest to myself.
