Take Three (The Jilted Bride #2)(12)
As a matter of fact, when he told me he’d fallen in love with someone else at our wedding, a part of me expected him to say that the “someone else” was Joan.
“Oh…” I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m looking for a new assistant.”
“That’s great! Good luck with your search,” she walked away.
“Joan! Wait!”
“Yes?” she turned around.
“I said I’m looking for a new assistant.”
“And I said good luck with your search. Was there something else?”
I sighed. “Matt always said that you were the best thing that ever happened to him, that you were amazing and totally professional…I can’t seem to keep a steady assistant and—”
“I’m aware. That’s why I’m not interested. And actually, now that you’re not dating Matt, I have no reason to tolerate you.”
“Joan, I swear I—”
“You’re rude, egotistical, selfish, and completely painful to be around. Why would anyone want to work with you?”
Ouch…
“Because I’ll pay double?”
She raised her eyebrow. “Does that include Christmas and birthday bonuses?”
“Whatever you want…”
Please say yes.
“If I choose to consider this,” she folded her arms, “which I probably won’t, I need requested days off guaranteed, a signed statement swearing you’ll never disrespect me, and a twenty percent advance. I want everything in writing and I need the contract signed by a notary.”
“Am I really that awful, Joan?”
“Yes. You really are,” she gave me a half-hearted smile and walked away.
I tossed a couple pints of strawberry ice cream into my hand-basket and headed for the register.
As the cashier scanned my items, I picked up the latest Us Weekly and flipped through the pages. In two photos Phillip and I were sprawled against the sand of a private beach, kissing one another, sleeping side by side.
I remembered that day. It was the day he told me his wife was seeking more child support in the divorce proceedings, the day he told me it would only be “a matter of time” before we could finally be together.
In another photo he was caressing my back on his balcony, where we “made love” under the moonlight a week before my wedding, when he said he didn’t want me to marry Matt, that he wanted me all to himself.
“What a slut, right?” the cashier popped her gum.
“Excuse me?”
“Selena Ross,” she pointed to my magazine. “I can’t believe she cheated on Matt Sterling! And with a married man? What a ho!”
Do not take your shades off. Do not take your shades off...
“I’m sure there’s more to the story,” I managed. “I’ve heard she’s got a good heart.”
“A good heart? Yeah right! She’s a bitch! My friend won tickets to a ‘meet and greet’ session with her last year and Selena refused to take a picture with her because her shoes were scuffed!”
I did that?
“Oh…” I placed the magazine back into the rack.
“Exactly! She doesn’t appreciate her fans and I hope this scandal ruins her career,” she bagged my ice cream. “That’ll be $34.67. Credit?”
I almost pulled out my credit card. I handed her a fifty dollar bill and didn’t bother waiting for change. I grabbed my bags and rushed out to the black SUV.
“Ready for more shopping, Miss Ross?” the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.
“No,” I pulled my scarf over my head and cried. “Take me to the airport please.”
Chapter 6
Ethan
I wanted to know whose bright idea it was to put an expansion site in the Deep South. What the hell was in Arkansas?
I tried to get out of the assignment by telling the board about my plans for the new Italy stores, but they weren’t impressed. They gave me my undercover name—Ethan Reynolds, debriefed me on the assignment, and told me I needed to research the site since I was due to leave in a couple days.
I walked into our records office, but I didn’t see any attendants. Since it was a little after one, I figured they were still out at lunch.
Just as I was about to leave, I heard a voice scream, “I can’t believe she did that!”
I walked behind the counter, past several rows of shelves, and spotted a female employee watching her laptop and eating a donut.
I cleared my throat to announce my presence.
“Shhh,” she kept her back to me and held up her index finger. “Selena Ross is so not getting my vote for the People’s Choice Awards this year!”
“Who?”
“Selena Ross!”
“Is she a singer or something?”
“How do you not know who Selena Ross is?” she spun around.
Her eyes met mine and she blushed. “I’m uh…I’m sorry, Mr. Lockwood… I didn’t know it was you.”
“It’s okay. I don’t keep up with celebrity culture. Could you get me all the files on the Fayetteville expansion site?”
She nodded her head and disappeared behind the shelves.
I leaned over her desk and looked at the computer screen. There was a picture of the “Selena Ross” woman dressed in a sheer gown that left little—if anything, to the imagination: It was nothing but a thin white scarf that snaked around her body—exposing her taut stomach and well-toned thighs. Although her br**sts were covered, I could see them struggling to stay put underneath the thin fabric.