Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I said Yes)

7. Evilla

Chapter seven

Evilla

A whole lot of restructuring can take place in five days. As far as I can see, Mont is keeping his end of the bargain. I can live with myself if everyone else gets a good deal, too. So far, the hostile takeover hasn’t been so hostile. In fact, morale around the place is pretty darn good.

Compliments of Mont’s mom, we now have a new pudding flavor. Mother’s Marvelous and Miraculous Magic. That way, the ingredients are kept secret. I think everyone likes a mystery, and not naming a flavor or giving hints as to what it tastes like is guaranteed to get sales just because people want to try for themselves what the box promises. That it’s darned delicious.

As far as pudding goes, the woman is a miracle worker.

We don’t have our own offices here, mostly because the previous owners thought it was bad for morale to lock everyone away from each other or call some people more important and worthy of limited space than others. All the desks are pretty much out in the open, with very few of the soul-sucking cubicles typical of most offices.

Since I don’t have a private space, and Mont isn’t going to call me into his office to have a one-on-one meeting, as that would only arouse suspicion, he corners me in the lunchroom when I’m fixing my third coffee of the morning. Don’t judge. The coffee here is seriously watered down, and I hardly ever step out to get my own. Espresso makes me wild, and I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m wild enough already. All my life, people have told me that I’m too extra.

Well, I like being too extra.

Being too extra makes me hella good at my job.

I try to pretend I don’t see him, but that would be like coming face to face with an opossum hanging from a tree and pretending it’s not awesomely amazing and cute as the dickens. Not that Mont is cute in any way. He’s not. He’s too masculine to be called cute. Those muscles of his and his expensive, perfectly fitted clothing, insane jawline, and godly cheekbones…it’s not cute, but it is bad for the libido. My libido . It wakes up instantly in his presence and gets ideas that my brain is not here for. Not today, Satan.

Yes, today, Satan! My vagina practically screams.

I can’t pretend I don’t notice he’s here when I’m staring right at him, so I clear my throat and put on my big girl panties. “Good morning,” I greet in reluctance.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly, but there’s something in his dark eyes. Something that says he wants something. From me.

Before my lady bits get any ideas, I remind myself it’s only fake girlfriend duties. He’s kept his end of the bargain so far. I haven’t done jack shit at all to meet mine, but he hasn’t asked me to, and I certainly wasn’t going to volunteer any sort of get-togethers or meet-and-greets with his family. I mean, I already met his mom. That should be more than enough to put to bed any doubts about me being real or not.

“I was wondering if you might…if you’d think we could…um, do something in order to get to know each other. In case a situation arises where we might need to know each other. At least the basics.”

“I could print out a fact sheet for you. And you could give me one in return.”

“Very good.” But he doesn’t look like it’s very good. “But I think we should know how to act around each other. If we’re stiff and awkward, it’s not going to fly. Looking like we can’t stand each other doesn’t exactly scream match made in lovey-dovey land either.”

“Eww,” I say with a frown.

“My point exactly.”

Ugh. I knew this was coming. I knew it, and I had something in my arsenal prepared. It’s always good to have an ace up one’s sleeve. “There’s a charity event. A Bingo night for a rat rescue that my friend runs.”

His mouth drops, and he blinks at me. Blinks at me some more. Then, he smiles. And drops the smile before blinking three more times. “Oh. You’re serious. I could have believed Bingo, but rats?”

“Pet rats,” I correct him.

“Ahh.”

“You think someone would raise money to help wild rats?” Maybe someone should. Wild rats probably need love as well.

He shrugs. He should not look so hot when he does that. It’s just literally bone and gristle lifting up, but on him and in the divine black dress shirt, it looks tantalizingly delicious.

The next most scrumptious flavor of pudding? Magical, Marvelous, Miraculous Mont Montfield. That is exactly the kind of wrong thought process that has been going through my brain on repeat for the past however many days since I first met this man. I’m not going to admit knowing how many days it’s been, though.

“Nothing wrong with helping wild rats.”

“Hmm.” Damn it, he did not just go there in his mind the way I went there in mine. “It’s for pet rats. They end up in rescue too, just like other small animals.”

“And when is this lovely social event?” he asks.

“Friday night.”

“As in, tomorrow?”

So much for hoping he’d get the days wrong. He just stands there looking scrumptious and innocent and hot and nice. Everyone here is singing his praises for being such an amazing, caring boss. A boss who wants to give back. Literally. He’s handing over all the shares to his employees, and he’ll keep the same amount everyone here has. We’re all owners. It will be official soon. Everyone here got a raise as well, and when the restructuring is completed, everyone will feel like their job matters even more than they already knew it mattered. Plus, health insurance is getting a big boost and becoming incredibly comprehensive.

“Yes, tomorrow,” I say.

“And this would be at what time?”

“Seven.”

“Seven on the dot, or I come and pick you up at seven and find that you’ve already left and the event is nearly over, and we only have five minutes together to get down to very important business?”

Very important business sounds way too sexy.

“It starts at seven, but you can’t pick me up. I don’t want you to pick me up.” The annoying grade school teacher in me taunts me on the can’t part. I’m not sure why anyone would choose to harp endlessly on that one correction , though. Also, there is such a thing as can’t.

Yeah, I went there.

“I can meet you there then.”

“Hmmpf,” I harrumphed.

“A question sheet isn’t going to cut it. If we can’t even stand to be in the same room together, it’s going to be very obvious.”

“You showing up with all my friends is going to make obvious something I don’t want to be made obvious. It will get back to my family, then it will get back here, and then it will be everywhere like a deluge of horror.”

“We could go somewhere private. I could meet you there after the fundraiser.”

“Private? No thanks. That sounds like a good way to get murdered.”

I think I’ve finally exceeded the vast levels of patience he pretends to have. He didn’t have much in the restaurant the night he found out I wasn’t Genevieve. Granted, I was a terrible date, so he had a right to be surprised and annoyed.”

“Crab legs.” It’s the first thing I think of.

Those crab legs were divine. Maybe even more divine than Mont’s legs. Not that I look at them. Seriously, I don’t. I don’t know the first thing about the shape of his posterior region, and I refuse to call it an ass. Calling it an ass makes me sound like I do know all about it. Ass gets fixed in the mind. Ass means hard-as-rock butt cheeks in dress pants that always sit with the exact amount of epic assness .

“You’d like to go for crab legs?”

“Yes?” I suppose that shouldn’t sound like a question. It’s not the crab legs I’m unsure of. It’s the word like in that sentence. Would I like to go for them? Yes. Alone. Even if being alone with a giant pile of crustacean appendages piled on a plate might look questionably silly.

Alas, a deal is a deal.

“Great. I know this amazing place.”

“Can it not be a five-star restaurant? I don’t have the budget for that,” I tell him.

“I’m paying. Obviously.”

“There’s nothing obvious about it. You don’t have to pay for me. You’re holding up your end of the deal, and I can hold up mine. I can pay my own way. So, if you can find a budget crab legs restaurant that isn’t going to poison us—because sometimes, budget can also mean eight days old and left out in the hot sun to age like not-so-fine old cheese—then I’m fine with that. Even if we were dating for real, I wouldn’t let you pick up my tab. At least not all the time. I don’t believe that’s right.”

“But you’re the one doing me a favor.”

“This isn’t a favor. It’s a deal. You do your part, and I do mine. Your part lasts indefinitely when it comes to this company, and mine lasts for another month, three weeks, and two days. Roughly. Give or take a day or two in there since some months have more or less days.”

“Still. When a man asks a lady out—”

“This isn’t the old days, unfortunately, cool as that would be. This is now, and I’m no lady. I might be a female, but I’m a female who says I can pay for my own crab legs. I want to pay for my own crab legs. I can pay for my own crab legs. So just let me pay, and we won’t have an issue.”

“Will you walk out with them in your purse again?”

“This time, I’ll probably ask for a to-go container. I was sort of making a point last time and didn’t want to stick around long enough to ask for one. That was probably quite a scene. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I found it quite entertaining.”

“No, you didn’t.” He didn’t. I know he didn’t.

“In hindsight.”

He still didn’t. “In hindsight, I give myself two cringes for that.”

“Are you apologizing?”

I hate that he seems shocked. I can admit my wrongs. “No. But it’s done, and this meeting will be much better. Smoother. No lies, and no getting grouchy. Just a sheet of facts and learning how to react to each other’s body language and cues.” That’s probably the best way I can term that.

I need it to have terms in my mind. I need to know what we’re doing. A meeting sounds so much better than a fake date because it’s still going out together, which kind of makes it sound like a date. We’re not friends, but even two friends meeting for drinks or dinner can still sometimes go way off the rails. That’s not going to happen. We’re not dates, and we’re not friends. We’re co-workers having a non-related work meeting.

Fuck.

I guess those sometimes go sideways, too.

“Anyway,” I say in a rush, hoping my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Let me know the place and time. I’ll meet you there.”

Maybe he did choose the right moment to corner me in here because he nods, turns around, and strides out. And no, I do not get fixated on his bottom as he leaves. I remember myself. Even if I nearly forget my coffee, the reason I came in here, and everything else.