And besides, who better to help me sleep with a future Tate & Cane employee than a guy who’s fucked probably half of the females in the building? Swiping my phone off the table, I fight a yawn as I punch in the number I know by heart.
Vince answers on the first ring. “What’s up, dickhead? Where the hell are you?” he yells, his voice muffled by clanging and chatter in the background. “Please tell me you’ve decided to tickle Gloria’s happy button because she’s especially bitchy this morning.”
Vince Tribiotti is about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“Not happening, get over it.”
However, he refuses to give up the fight. “You know you’d be making everyone’s lives more bearable, right? I mean, this is worse than the shittiest case of PMS I’ve ever had the misfortune of witnessing.”
“I’d rather get my dick caught in the ceiling fan.”
The unmistakable sound of air sucking through clenched teeth fills the line as Vince groans low in his throat. “Man, quit it with the dick threats. I don’t care if it is just your pathetic shriveled up piece of meat on the line.”
This conversation is headed nowhere fast and I’m already late for a meeting with Sophie’s teacher. I roll my eyes as I pour another cup of coffee. “Look, I need to go, but are you free for lunch today? I need your opinion on something.”
“Not today, man, but it doesn’t matter because I need you and your camera-toting ass at the office as soon as you can get here. I’ve got a campaign I need you on.”
I tilt my head down the hallway to make sure Sophie’s door is still closed before answering. “I took today off for some bullshite teacher conference. I can’t bail on it.” Although I’d love nothing more than to bail. Even to fight off Gloria and her twelve hands.
“Non-negotiable,” he says with a smug edge to his tone. “Have your ass on Madison Avenue in an hour. Don’t fucking let me down on this, Mackay, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Taking one more gulp of coffee out of my mug, I grumble and pour the rest down the drain. There must be another photographer at Tate & Cane who can cover the project. As much as I want to help my friend out, the last place I want to be is anywhere in Gloria’s grabbing distance. “Can’t you get someone else?”
“No can do. You were specifically requested. I’m just following orders.”
I sigh and scrub my hand down my face. “Can you at least take me out for dinner before you screw me over next time?”
“Be here in an hour.”
“An hour and a half, and you’d better have a shite load of coffee.”
***
Vince mentioned Gloria, and I made a decision. Why wait until the gala to start showing off my new fiancée? Three weeks of planning was more than enough preparation to present the lie Laken and I had concocted. I’ll admit to having somewhat of an agenda when inviting Laken to meet me at the office, and I hope a surprise attack doesn’t backfire on me.
However, this is Laken Cavanaugh we’re talking about, and nothing she does should surprise me by now.
After cutting my meeting at Sophie’s school short, I text Laken and tell her to meet me at Tate & Cane. I fully expect some sort of argument from her, demanding to know why and wanting a play-by-play account of what to expect. However, to my surprise, barely a few seconds go by before a return text pops up with a “yes” and about seven exclamation marks. Seven seems a little excessive, but I think maybe she’s getting into this engagement ruse as much as I am, which gives me hope.
The project Vince mentioned ends up with me alone in a conference room, taking publicity shots of Gloria. It’s for some society page only rich people read that’s promoting the gala and her ability to have her hands in the workings of every board and pair of pants in New York City. It irritates me that she managed to convince Vince to drag me in for this, but honestly, as long as a vagina does the talking, it’s not hard to convince Vince of anything. I should’ve expected it.
The shoot goes as well as I imagined it would. Like sitting bare-arsed on an erupting volcano. Gloria makes a play for my cock, which I manage to block with a well-timed sidestep and an “accidental” flash of my camera that blinds the hell out of her. After I remind her I’m off limits to anyone but my future wife, she gives me an unaffected laugh and saunters out the door with a not-so-veiled warning to not keep her waiting much longer.
Now as I stand in the middle of the makeshift photoshoot surrounded by a clumsily hung backdrop, shade umbrella, tripod, and light stands, I kick a wayward extension cord out of my way and curse at the missed opportunity.
Where in the hell is Laken?
“Sorry, I’m late!” She rounds the corner, her usual wild blonde curls wet and plastered to her flushed cheeks. “It’s raining outside, so I decided to catch a cab, and then there was this insane midtown traffic. I know you told me to be here at eleven, so when I looked at the time, I saw it was ten fifty-five, so I just bailed in the middle of Madison Avenue and ran the whole way here. You left my name at the front? Thanks for leaving my name at the front. I made a few wrong turns in this building, because fuck, this place is huge. Oh God, I didn’t mean to say fuck! We’re the only ones in here, right? I mean, there aren’t any managers or anything who could’ve possibly heard me say fuck to ruin my chances at—”
Crossing the few feet to where she stands, I place a hand over her mouth to stop her incessant talking. “Laken, breathe.” She nods, the corners of her eyes pulling down in sheer panic. “There’s no one here. It’s just me and you, all right? Take it down a few notches, aye?”
“Right,” she says, brushing a piece of drenched hair out of her eyes. “So, what’s the deal?”
“Deal?”
“Yeah, I mean, where’s the fire? I bailed on my e-commerce class for this, Mackay. You said you had an amazing opportunity waiting for me at Tate & Cane.” Taking off her rain jacket, she shakes it, splashes of water dampening my pants. “Am I meeting with company bigwigs? Did you get me the internship?”
Laken’s eyes hold so much promise that a part of my stomach twists to dash her hopes. I know I’m a shite for holding onto her as long as I can—as a single mom, she needs this job—but I know the minute I get her the internship she’ll walk away. Am I a dick for dragging this out as long as I can? Maybe. Okay, probably, but in my defense, she did lose the paper boat race bet at Turtle Pond, so I’m under no obligation to cut our deal short.
