Shopping for a CEO (Shopping for a Billionaire #7)(8)

Except one with the smooth, shiny forehead of a Botoxed woman.

“Fine,” Marie says with a sigh. “No more Poopwatch jokes.” She reaches for a To Do list with a mad rush of scribbles and cross-outs, additions and arrows. “Does that include the pre-reception slide show?”

“WHAT? What on earth would you have in a slideshow about my...about the ring getting caught in my...about Poopwatch?” Shannon screeches.

Marie smirks. “Gotcha to say the word.”

“Elope.”

Marie’s face falls.

“And you know Declan will jump at the chance if I even whisper that word once,” Shannon adds.

“I don’t know what to do with you!” Marie says with a sniff, playing the wounded mom. “You’re so selfish that you won’t have a bridal shower—”

“Selfish? I asked everyone to donate to charity in lieu of gifts and a shower, Mom!”

“—and now you’re joking about elopement. It’s as if you don’t want a big, fancy society wedding with all the glamour and mystique and thousands of eyes on you.”

“I don’t! That’s the point!” I can see Shannon’s getting wound up in a way that only Marie can wind that key in her back.

Marie turns to me and, as if it weren’t at all a non sequitur, asks, “Andrew is stringing you along again?”

I burst into tears.

Marie is a pro. Shannon’s so outclassed.

“I slapped the CE—, er, a major client! Greg is going to explode when he learns what I just did to Andrew!” I wail, my tears curling down my jawline as I shove a cookie from a tray that Marie made into my mouth.

That’s it. I am done. He has firmly taken every cell of my body, melted it, turned it to dust and shaken it so hard I am now just particles on the wind, clinging wherever I land.

“Greg?” Marie and Shannon exchange a look, then burst into laughter. “Your boss?”

“Honey, Greg doesn’t explode,” Shannon says with a quiet mirth. “He’ll just bumble along and say nothing about it. Besides, Andrew kissed you without your permission.”

Good point.

“But she let him. I saw that. They were evenly matched, tongue for tongue,” Marie counters.

“Ewww, Mom!”

“What? Like you and Declan couldn’t see it? You don’t get close up views like that watching The Bachelor on an iPhone while maximizing the screen.”

I stop crying and stare at her.

“Not that I do that,” she mutters, shoving a rescue cookie in her own mouth.

“That was so unprofessional,” I say, chiding myself. “He’s a major client. I need to keep my tongue in my mouth.”

“And your hands off his ass,” Marie adds.

“And my—what? I did not touch his....oh., no.” A vague, yet remarkably visceral, memory of my hands scraping against the fine fabric of his trousers, the cashmere turning into butter as my fevered palms met his hot marble thighs and ass makes me pant.

Shannon’s frown is like a nonverbal tsk tsk tsk.

I guess I did take the opportunity to explore the, uh, terrain.

His spin trainer should be given a Nobel Prize for Sculpture.

My phone buzzes, jolting me. I look at my text messages.

“My mom,” I groan. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

“Has Pam learned to say the words ‘toilet paper’ out loud yet?” Marie asks with a snort.

I sigh. “She can’t even say ‘menopause.’”

Marie goes quiet and eats another cookie, then mutters, “Can’t say I blame her.”

It’s 11:06 p.m. You said you would be home by eleven, the text reads.

You know where this is going, right? So do I.

I’m at Shannon’s place. I am fine. I am running late, I text back. But the text just says Sending, and doesn’t go through.

“Has she microchipped you yet?” Marie jokes. I look at her, all blonde and coiffed and smiling. Marie is the opposite of my mother in every way, from energy level to assertiveness, and while I know I should answer my mother’s worried missives, and I know she’s struggling tonight, I can’t. I just can’t. Andrew has tasted me, again, and that takes precedence.

Speaking of tastes, I reach for a rescue cookie. At this point, I need a rescue buffet. Where the hell is Declan with my Cheetos and marshmallows?

And...pause. Because I know, right? Cheetos and...marshmallows? Here’s the trick: you make rice cereal marshmallow treats. The kind with a box of rice cereal, a bag of marshmallows and a stick of butter, all mixed together and pressed in a greased pan.

Except instead of the rice cereal, insert crunchy Cheetos.

Unpause so you can marvel at the amazement that is this delicacy. I know! It’s like you’ve been living a culinary lie all these years.

You’re welcome.

Marie waves another cookie at me. “Earth to Amanda!” She points to the dining table. “Declan was just telling me that he loves the idea of a wedding cake in the shape of bagpipes.” On the table I see schematics of wedding cakes so complex they look like an architecture firm has designed blueprints for them, complete with pulleys and fire sprinkler systems.

Shannon gives me a look that says anything but. “No, Mom, he was saying the opposite.”