Page 4 of Grudge Match

I roll my eyes, kicking back the rest of my drink to drown the acid climbing up my throat. There’s no way I’ll win an argument with the best litigator in town. “I really don’t want to waste my time or your money. Those things are silly and an exercise in futility. I’m unsure why my love life, or lack thereof, worries you, but I thank you for your concern.” I slide my ass toward the edge of the booth and try to make my escape.

“Take this.” Lincoln hands me a pink envelope with my name on it. “It’s your invitation. My wife went through a ton of trouble to get you one and did it as a favor to me. Daisy knows I don’t want you to leave New York. You’re the best lawyer I’ve met in ages, and I look forward to making you a partner next year. She thinks if you meet the love of your life and settle down, I’ll stop worrying about you moving home to Vermont.”

“Partner?” I freeze, focusing on that word and blocking out most of the rest. Becoming a partner is one of the few things that could keep me in the city longer than intended, but I never thought it might be possible so soon.

Lincoln shoves the envelope in my sweaty palm to assert his will. “Take it. Daisy says there’s even a cash prize involved. What’s the harm in giving it a whirl?”

Chapter Four

“Ineed to apologize in advance. I didn’t get to the last four chapters of this week’s book. My boss kept me late most of the week and cut my reading time in half.” Ramona scoops a large amount of salsa onto a tortilla chip and shoves it in her mouth, hoping to distract the group from noticing her crimson cheeks. She lifts her hand, assuring everyone she hasn’t completed her thought, but that hardly prevents the table from coming alive with chatter.

“The last four chapters! That’s the best part! I hope you’re not expecting us to skip over those scenes!” Mary Portman, a girl from our building who invited us to join the book club late last year, voices her disappointment.

Frustrated babbling follows, shaming Ramona into silence and fueling my protective nature. She hates being the odd girl out and despises being placed on the spot. In the group’s defense, they’re whispering complaints amongst themselves, fearful that Ramona’s failure to complete the assignment will keep us from discussing the entire book. After all, the club has a strict no-spoilers rule.

“Settle down, ladies.” I sip my margarita on the rocks, hoping some tequila settles my frazzled nerves. I don’t appreciate people ganging up on Ramona. That’s my job. She’ll soon return the favor with gusto. “Ramona’s not asking us to leave out the last chapters. She only wanted to give everyone a heads-up. Besides, Ramona might be living a real-life romance as a very Bad Boss. Soren Nielsen has used every excuse to keep her late this week.” I give Ramona a slight nudge to let her know I’m on her side, utterly oblivious to the look of horror etched on her face.

Two margaritas might be my limit.

“Don’t listen to the lush on my right. Elodie could never handle her liquor, and she definitely doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Ramona stammers, desperately trying to save face as the vulture circle, demanding details she can’t provide. “We’re colleagues. He’s taken an interest in my career and has been nothing but professional.” She slaps my thigh and gives me her version of the stink-eye. Ramona has never been good with dual-eye coordination.

“Sorry.” I hiccup and loudly slurp my drink, working up the courage to engage in a nasty discussion about the over-the-top sex scene in chapter 12. I know it’s coming. The girls have been whispering about it since we sat down. Unfortunately, I had to throw Ramona under the bus, but I’ll make it up to her later. “He’s hot as sin. I don’t know how you keep your cool around him.”

“How hot?” Sabrina chimes in, but the sound of her voice makes Ramona cringe and clam up.

“He’s a tall, ginger Viking who fills out an Italian suit like Apollo filled out a toga,” I slur, quietly laughing as Ramona grows visibly furious. I love her to death, but she takes herself far too seriously.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I give her a side hug and rest my woozy head on her shoulder. “Ignore me. But don’t sell yourself short. You’re gorgeous and the only one who doesn’t see it. I’m pretty sure Soren Nielsen has noticed.”

Mary places her hand over her heart and releases an exaggerated sigh. She’s always had a flair for the dramatic, but I can tell she’s got something up her sleeve. When I see her eyes shift to Sabrina, sitting on the edge of her seat, the few sober brain cells I have left put two and two together. Despite my revelation, I’m not quick enough to nip it in the bud.

“I’m envious of your friendship, and I’m stunned that neither of you have found love in a city as big as New York. I hope you’re not planning on moving back to Vermont any time soon. I’m confident you will find the love of your life here. And what better way than attending Madame Colette’s event on Valentine’s Day? I’ve got enough invites for all of us, and you’ve got six hours to complete her survey.” Mary reveals her scheme, shoving two crisp invitations in our hands.

Ramona tears open the envelope, devouring the content with ravenous curiosity. “What’s this? What is this? I don’t understand what this means. Who is Madame Colette? Is she a card reader?” Ramona blurts out question after question, her eyes wide with confusion.

In a bold move, Sabrina jumps into the conversation and tries to explain. “She’s the Match Queen! Madame Colette is matchmaker to the stars. She’s the one who hooked up Fabrizio Donatello with the singer Mitzy Robbins. Who would have thought an Italian actor who hardly speaks English would do so well with a country singer from Alabama? But Madame Colette was right. They’re hopelessly in love and expecting their fourth baby next year. She also matched actors Ewan Rafferty and Bella Swift. And we all know how well that turned out. You go to her website, enter that special code and your information, and she gets you a match for Valentine's Day. All you need to do is go on an all-day date on the fifteenth, and if you like one another, she’ll send you to the place of your choice and give you twenty grand. You could pretend to like each other and enjoy the vacay for that kind of money!” She claps to herself and urges the other girls to join in.

“Who are those people?” Ramona turns to me and whispers, requesting clarification instead of announcing her ignorance regarding the current events of popular culture.

Sabrina’s announcement provided a much better explanation than she offered me at school, but I’m not sure if any man is worth wasting a whole day on some god-awful twelve-hour date. Or does all-day mean twenty-four hours? That would be a deal-breaker, for sure. “What does ‘all day’ imply?” I ask for clarification.

“It’s from lunch to dinner—about eight hours?” Mary replies, then reaches for her phone, lifting the screen to show me The Match Queen’s very pink website. “We have until midnight to enter our information. It’s last minute, so we’re unlikely to receive a match, but mingling might be fun.”

“I’m not interested in this, but thank you for snagging these invitations. I appreciate it—”

Ramona cuts me off mid-sentence and tears the envelope from my tight grasp, almost ripping it in half.

“I’ll enter your information if you won’t. We’re going. If for no other reason than to prove I’m not dipping my pen in the company ink.” Ramona scans the text embossed on Madame Colette’s expensive card stock, leaning closer to read the fine print.

My brow creases, Mary’s head angles with confusion, and Sabrina places her finger on her lips, everyone trying to decipher Ramona’s metaphor. Once I make the connection, I roll my eyes and correct her. “I think the guy is the pen, and the woman represents the inkwell. So, unless you have a penis, you’re not dipping anything anywhere.”

She huffs and sticks out her tongue, mocking me by waving the invite in my face. “Same difference. We’re going.”

“I have nothing to wear,” I declare, hoping it ends the discussion.

“We’ll go shopping. Everyone here is going. Right, ladies?” Ramona addresses the table but keeps her eyes focused on me, her sinister grin frightening me into silence.

I feel cornered, but prolonging my protests will only feed her sudden swell of confidence. There’s no way in hell I’ll enjoy myself, but I pretend to agree to shut the conversation down and get everyone back on why we’re here—reviewing smut.

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