"Exactly!"
Oh yeah.She was right aboutthat. But I was starting to think there was even more to this story. "You wanna know what I think?"
"What?"
I winced. "I think I’m the new Miss LaRue."
She laughed. "Oh stop it. You are not."
It was no joke.During the show's previous season, a new team member had appeared on the scene. Her name was Rebecca LaRue, and she was a high-end interior designer – mostly for rich and famous people, like movie stars and what-not.
Although the show featured several houses per season, Miss LaRue, as she preferred to be called, had helped with only one house – a vintage mansion in Beverly Hills, where her business was located.
Her taste had been decidedly upscale and even more impractical.
I almost smiled at the memory. The brothers hadnotbeen thrilled with any of her suggestions, and they hadn't bothered to hide it.
Still, it had made for some great television as "Miss LaRue" tried to convince all of them that kitchens without countertops were"just the thing."
Even now, I wasn't even sure what that meant. But this – along with a whole bunch of other insane ideas – had made for some great fireworks, with Brody in particular.
On the show's final episode of the season, Miss LaRue had quit in a huff, leaving a trail of bleeped-out profanity in her wake.
The episode had slaughtered the competition, ratings-wise, and had spawned a multitude of memes and parodies.
I heard myself say, "Landon – that producer guy – he thinks we're not gonna get along."
"Who? You and Miss LaRue?"
"No. Me and Brody. That's why Landon made the offer. He thinks we're gonna fight."
Cami snickered. "Either fight or donk."
Donk– I'd heard this word plenty of times over the last few years, and I knew exactly what it meant, to Cami, anyway.
"Trust me," I told her. "Brody and I arenotgoing to donk." I didn't care that he had a hot body or that everyone else drooled over him.I didn't like him. And I didn'twanthim either.
Cami replied, "Yeah, but the producer doesn’t know that. And really, when you think about it, he wins either way." She hesitated. "I mean the producer guy, not Brody."
At the mention of Brody's name, I bit my lip. As Cami went on to speculate on the producer's motives, I wandered to the nearby window and peeked out through the gaps in the blinds.
Brody was leaning against the door of his pickup, glowering as Waverly griped up a storm.
From here, I couldn’t hear a single word, but the look on her face was clear enough.She wasn't happy.
It was easy to guess why. After Landon and his limo had disappeared down the street, she'd coldly informed me that if I took the job,she'dbe my boss.
She'd said it like a threat – as if such a thing could scare me off.
Hah!
I'd waitressed my way through college – in restaurantsandin dive bars. It would take a lot more than a bad boss to scare me away.
It was a good thing, too, because just when I'd resigned myself to the idea of working under Waverly, Brody had coldly announced thathe'dbe my boss,nother.
As if that were an improvement.
The funny thing was, Waverly didn't even put up a fight. Instead, she'd simpered up at him like he was the juiciest morsel in her favorite steak house. And then, she'd apologized for the mistake.To him. Not to me.
