Page 6 of Relationship Goals

“That would be great,” I gush.Manifesting!That Academy Award is going to look so good on my mantel. I wonder if I can get one of the big fashion houses to dress me for the awards ceremony. Yes. I can do this!

Probably.

John Pugilisi folds his fingers on top of the glossy conference table. “We will have plenty of time to get down to the nitty-gritty details.” He says it slowly, like he’s talking to a favorite granddaughter. I can’t decide if it’s charming or patronizing. “You just go with Luke and enjoy the introduction to the football club today. We’ll ease you in.” To Luke he says, “Take her to meet Michelle when you’re done.”

Luke grunts.

“Thank you so much,” I say, offering my hand for another round of handshakes, and the two owners oblige me.

Hell fucking yeah.

I have a close call with the urge to fist-pump but manage to restrain myself…barely.

Luke gestures impatiently for me to follow him, and I do, almost forgetting to snatch my handbag off the chair.

“Thanks so much for taking the time—” I turn to say as we walk out the door, and it shuts in my face.

Luke doesn’t look surprised, just disgruntled. That’s probably his usual expression, though. RAF. Resting ass face.

“You got something you want to say to me?” he asks, challenge in every syllable.

I don’t think he’ll appreciate my observation about his RAF, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind instead.

“You’re very tall,” I tell him. I almost say something about how muscular he is, too, but that feels like outright creeper behavior, so I don’t.

“That’s right. Good observation skills,” he says acidly. “Come on.”

Silent, I follow him down the plush carpeted hallway. I don’t like silence. Nope.

I pull my phone from my handbag, because if Jean were here, she would at least be able to act as my personal verbal human shield. A message lights up the screen.

Jean:I’m heading out. The owners came out to shake my hand and said you were going on a tour. I trust you to stay out of trouble. -Jean

Jean:Please stay out of trouble. -Jean

I can’t help snorting in amusement. Despite my misgivings and theweird vibe from…well, everyone, at least Jean thinks I will be fine on my own. Jean, who always worries I won’t be able to figure out who’s texting me unless she signs her name.

Luke’s long legs have taken him far ahead of me, and I double-time it, my heels sinking awkwardly in the carpet as I try to catch up. The tight pencil skirt doesn’t help matters, and I have the distinct impression that I look absolutely absurd.

I start to say something to fill the silence. The moment I open my mouth, Luke turns and silences me with a look that practically drips with derision.

My jaw snaps shut automatically.

Inhaling through my nose, I fight the need to talk.

This is why my parents put me in theater when I was four—put that talkativeness to good use, they always said.

And then my mouth opens again, and the first thing on my mind pops out.

“You have the worst reputation,” I say out loud. “That’s how I remembered who you were.”

Oh god. Why did I have to saythat?

Luke frowns at me from over his shoulder. “Do you ever think about what you’re going to say?”

It comes out milder than any reproach I expected, but I wince all the same.

“Not often,” I admit. “Definitely keeps things interesting.”