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“Know what?” I’m regretting this already. Shit.

She grins. Whenever Cher Lieberfield grins like that? Watch out, world. She’s about to drop some poison on your life.

“Presley bet Ms. Marcon that she couldn’t seduce any woman she was set up with. Presley picked you for the bet, Alessa. Some seriousShe’s All Thatshit.”

“What?”

“Your whole relationship is founded on a bet that Ms. Marcon couldn’t fuck you. Turns out youareas easy as the rest of us. Who knew?”

“That’s absurd. Shut up.”

“Offended? That’s fine. I would be, too. I don’t have any proof on me besides my word, which I know is worth nothing, but… if your girlfriend is as good as you think she is, you should ask her about it. See if she tells you the truth. And if you want some tangible proof? Ms. Bradford has your panties from that night.”

I can’t speak. My throat is clogged with too much tea. Or maybe it’s the heat.

“They were Ms. Marcon’s trophy from that night. Proof that she fucked you, Alessa.”

“Shut up,” I say again. “What do you care?”

“Care?” How dare she laugh like that? “Please. I don’t care. The closest I come to caring is thinking that it’s bullshit you would be unknowingly led into a situation like that. Pretty fucked up when you think about it. I only thought you might like to know before you go off marrying Ms. Marcon or purposely getting knocked up with an heir on her behalf.”

“I’m not…!”

“Relax. It’s a joke.” Cher goes back to her table and closes the lid on her Chromebook. “Perhaps it was fate that brought us here together today, Alessa. It had been weighing on me that I never had the chance to warn you.”

She finishes packing up the moment Kelly and Selkie come back out, gabbing incessantly about a cute guy waiting in line with them. They ask if it’s okay if he joins us at our table. Something about him being new in town and looking for friends. I’m too distracted to say no. Particularly when Cher sashays by with her tea in hand and laptop bag over her shoulder.

We make eye contact at the last minute. I wish I had never seen that stupid smirk on herstupiderface.

Chapter 34

Julianna

“You’re making the call,” I tell Presley over cocktails. “Because I don’t want to be the one to lick Moreau’s ass. You have a much more gifted tongue than I do.”

Presley knocks back her second Manhattan of the evening. This is following the Long Island iced tea from earlier, of course. What can we say? It’s Wednesday. We have to celebrate Hump Day somehow. Personally, I’m going home to hump my girlfriend after this is over, but Presley can do whatever she pleases.

“If I make the call, then you’ve gotta put together the spreadsheets yourself. No delegating to Vern or the interns.”

“You have my word.” Great. One less thing for me to think about.

We’re celebrating the finalization of our deal with Danica Moreau, the one we chose to go forward with in our business venture. Both she and Coleman made their compelling cases forgetting in on our hot start-up action, but in the end, Moreau Industries had the history and name backing up what we are setting out to do. Now one of us has to call her and sweetly ask for the money so we can move forward.

Tonight, we’re in the VIP lounge of Presley’s most recent nightclub, Red Sky, the same place my girlfriend came that fateful night she learned that I am to be with her always, even if I am not physically present. I can now see why that incident happened. Even on a Wednesday night, the club is full of horny kids looking to up their “body count.” I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those same people Alessa encountered are here again tonight.

I will say, though, that even if Presley and mine’s tastes don’t perfectly line up, she knows how to run a successful business. It’s not easy to keep nightclubs open in a small city like Portland. But Presley has mastered the art of limited space vs. space that is still functional for drinking and dancing. That’s why she has three successful nightclubs throughout the metro area with completely different themes based on the tastes of the neighborhoods they’re in.

“You and spreadsheets sound like a hot date, Jules.” Presley laughs into her glass. “Speaking of, where’s your girlfriend tonight? Got her at home doing her spreadsheets?”

“She’s home but doing homework.” I’ll be so glad when Alessa’s term is over and she’s mine for the whole summer. (Then I have her overworked senior year to look forward to, but I’m not thinking about that right now.) This finals business is not something I signed up for. “Says she has a big test on Friday and wants to study.”

“You think she’s telling the truth and not trying to ditch you?”

My mouth twitches. “First of all, Stu is there doing his paperwork while also keeping an eye on her.”

“I’m only saying. A lot of those college girls make up shit to go hang out with their friends and be stupid young adults. Especially the girls. Remember how we were?” She chuckles again. “Remind me to never date a girl in college again.”

Something’s not adding up here. Then again, Presley has the loosest lips when she’s been drinking, and she’s had more than a bit tonight. “When have you dated a girl in college since you were there?” Presley likes her women younger than her, but she rarely goes college co-ed for more than a hot one-night stand. Can’t say I blame her at this point, either. They’re a handful.