Page 100 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Chapter Eleven

G eorgia

“What did you end up wearing?” Sutton asks, her voice ringing through my car speakers.

I flip on my turn signal and take the exit toward downtown Nashville.

“The peach-colored dress that I bought for Valentine’s Day and didn’t get to wear because I canceled on my date,” I say. “Do you remember that dress?”

“Spark my memory. Half of your closet is peach-colored, and you cancel so many dates.”

I remove my sunglasses and toss them onto the passenger seat. The sun hovers above the horizon, creating a spectacular wash of color across the sky. I couldn’t get the full effect with my sunnies on, and while I might cancel dates, I won’t miss a sunset if I can help it.

“There’s a deep V-cut in the front, and gold and cream flowers kind of crocheted on the fabric,” I say. “Flouncy skirt that hits just above the fingertips. Three-quarter-length sleeves. Super feminine and flirty.”

“Ah, yes. I do remember that one. You look gorgeous in that. Good choice. Tell me you wore your nude heels that clasp around your ankles and gold jewelry.”

I laugh. “Yes. It’s like you know me or something.”

“I know you well enough to know that the only thing you do know about fashion is what looks good on you. I wish I had that skill.”

“You don’t need that skill because everything looks good on you, Sutton.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“Well, I’m feeling particularly sweet tonight since I had a whole spa day today and forwarded the bill to Myla.” I sigh blissfully. “I feel like a million bucks.”

Sutton laughs. “See? I totally hooked you up. You really have no reason to complain about this gig.”

“ Oh no. You don’t get to act like you’re doing me a favor here, bestie. I still have to put up with Ripley Brewer for the next few weeks. My complaint stands.”

I follow the GPS through traffic, getting all green lights as I drive toward Ruma … and Ripley.

A shot of adrenaline courses through me.

The pep talks I’ve been giving myself over the past two days have helped settle most of my anxiety.

I’ve reminded myself that I handled Ripley well at The Swill on Tuesday and walked out of there with the upper hand, just like I planned.

Thanks to my degree and work in broadcasting, I also have loads of filming experience.

I’ve been in front of more cameras than I’ve been behind. Remembering that helps my nerves.

Besides, there’s no reason that I can’t have fun with this.

What’s not to love about going out a couple of times a week, essentially for free, when, quite frankly, you have nothing else to do and little discretionary money in the bank?

Getting paid to help prove your best friend is brilliant is a great gig.

And having the opportunity to flirt with a handsome asshole who knows I’m only pretending but has no choice but to keep his mouth shut and just smile back? That’s gold.

“You’re meeting Myla at the restaurant, right?” Sutton asks.

“Yes. We’re meeting at the VIP entrance in the back. She called this afternoon and gave me the rundown but said she’d meet me there just in case I panicked or had last-minute questions.”

“Are you getting close?”

“Actually, I’m pulling up right now.”

Ruma looms in front of me on the right-hand side of the road. Crimson letters, lit up from the inside, spell out the name on the front of the brick building. The parking lot is packed, and a line extends along the front sidewalk. It’s only slightly intimidating.

I drive to the back and spot Myla standing beside an oversized bald man next to a matte black door.

“I see Myla,” I say.

Sutton cheers. “Okay. Go. Have fun! And, Georgia … thank you,” she says, the final words softer. “I know I’ve said it a million times, and I must sound like a broken record, but I owe you, friend. Big time.”

“You’re welcome for the millionth time. And you don’t owe me anything. We don’t keep a scorecard in this friendship.” I pull into a parking spot between two fancy sports cars. My little cracker box with a dented bumper looks very out of place. “Love you, Sutton.”

“Love you. Call me on your way home.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

I end the call, turn off the ringer, and shove my phone into my purse.

My heart pounds as things get very, very real. I take a deep breath and give my teeth and nose a quick check for food and boogers—a fear I picked up from my mother—then open the door.

The balmy air is scented with spices as I step onto the asphalt. I lock the door behind me and navigate the cars worth more than some small countries. All the while, I remind myself that I have nothing to worry about.

This is going to be fun.

“ You look stunning ,” Myla says, her red curls bouncing as she steps toward me. “I absolutely love that dress.”

“Thank you.” I stand a little taller, her words building my confidence.

“I took way too long picking it out. I had it down between this and an icy-blue number I’m obsessed with.

But I watched this woman on Social explain color wheels and how to dress for your season.

Icy blue isn’t in my preferred color palette, so now I have second thoughts every time I put it on. ”

Myla laughs. “I’ve seen those videos. Is it narcissistic to think I look the same in all of them? I’m not saying I look good in them. I’m just saying they all look the same.”

“I had to get Sutton to tell me which one I am, so no judgment here.”

Her warm grin is disarming. I appreciate it.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she asks, fastening an audio pack to the back of my dress.

“We’ve already been inside and fitted your table and the surrounding area with cameras and microphones.

They’re all discreet, so you shouldn’t notice them.

Gary is on the other side of the door and will follow you as you ‘meet’ Ripley.

Be warned that the camera will roll as soon as you walk in. ”

“No pressure.”

“No pressure.” She winks. “A man named Adam will be standing at the host stand. He knows who you are and will usher you to the table. Ripley is already inside and waiting.”

Of course, he is.

“Just remember that you and Ripley don’t know each other,” she says. “You’re meeting here for the first time after being matched based on your search history. Aim for an easy conversation and take some time getting to know each other. You don’t have to dig in too deep right off the bat.”

I sense the apprehension in her tone. I can’t blame her. Besides seeing our interaction last week, I’m sure Sutton filled her in on our typical exchanges. Someone had to explain.

“And avoid bloodshed, right?” I ask, hoping to make her relax.

Myla sighs in relief. “I’d love that. Although, if we skewed the concept, we might have a different show on our hands.”

I laugh.

She steps back and looks me up and down. “You’re a knockout, have confidence in spades, and you’re funny. You’re going to do great. Remember that we’ll do a quick confessional after you’re done this evening before you leave.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I’m excited to see how it goes. Good luck, Georgia.”

“Thanks.” I take a deep breath and turn to the giant man at the door. “How are you this evening?”

He nods and opens the door. I have to stop myself from saying, “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” because he explicitly didn’t ask.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter, entering the restaurant.

Thanks to years of working in broadcasting, my instincts kick in, and I focus my attention on Adam. Gary stands just out of my periphery with a camera catching my every move.

Breathe.

“Welcome to Ruma,” Adam says, his posture perfect. “How are you this evening?”

“I’m great, thank you. How are you?” I ask, wondering if Baldy is still behind me. He should take notes.

“Very well.” Adam smiles. “Please, follow me.”

Shoulders back. Keep a pleasant look on your face. Don’t start wondering if the back of your dress is hiked up your ass.

Adam leads me through an arched doorway.

Act natural.

We pass quietly through the restaurant, and I notice its beauty. Dark wood and brass hardware give the space a true elegance. Deep reds, warm golds, and rich browns and blacks create a cozy yet regal ambiance. Even the other patrons are beautiful.

It’s no wonder Ruma gets so much press. It’s a total vibe.

We turn a corner, my heels tapping against the hardwood floors, when my gaze lands on Ripley. My steps falter.

Holy shit.

He stands slowly when he sees me coming, unfolding his long, lean body from the table. His wide smile showcases his perfectly straight, white teeth. His baby-blue eyes are bright and clear, twinkling in the light. I’d think he was happy to see me if I didn't know better.

But, of course, I do know better.

A dark, well-tailored suit fits him like a glove. A crisp white shirt lays beneath his jacket with the top button undone. He’s dapper and dashing—and I can’t even say anything mean to knock him down a few pegs.

Lord, help me through this.

He has the wherewithal to act impressed with me as I approach him. “You must be Georgia.”

I smile at him like I didn’t loosely plot his demise last night. “I am. And you must be Ripley.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Oh, please . I bite my lip to keep from laughing as he presses an almost kiss to my cheek.

“I like this quiet version of you,” he whispers, his breath brushing the shell of my ear before pulling away.

My body betrays me as goose bumps spread across my skin. It’s the first time since the Senior Mixer that we’ve had contact without the threat of pain, and I wasn’t prepared. If he notices, he doesn’t make it known.

Ripley pulls my chair out for me. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” I say as I sit, wondering how badly that pained him. “Are you always this charming?”

He pushes my chair a smidgen closer to the table than necessary. “Always.”

I stifle a laugh. Sure, you are.

“I think we should address the elephant in the room right from the beginning,” he says, taking his seat.