Page 32 of VOGUEish

This was the perfect opening for him to be an ass. To squash any inkling she might have that he’d make a fine husband. To be the bully she’d called him. The grump to her whimsy.

While Chandler considered how a bully would reply, their drinks arrived. By the time the waitress had left, he’d decided against being a total ass. Isabella had been treated badly enough in her lifetime. She didn’t deserve to be spoken to like shit by him just because his cocky self worried she might have her sights set on him.

Chandler raised his drink in a salute. “To our not being each other’s type.”

She grinned, nodded aggressively, and they clicked drinks and sipped.

He relaxed. They were on the same page. Which meant he could just be himself. He turned his chair and stared at her. “Type aside, when I saw you walk in tonight, I honest to God forgot to breathe.”

She snorted. “I became a meme for grace, and you forgot how to breathe. We’re quite the un-pair.”

Un-pair. He liked that. He leaned toward her. “Damn near died until the guy sitting at the bar beside me told me to pick my jaw up off the ground and take a breath.”

Her expression went from amusement to amazement to appreciation. “I don’t think any guy has ever forgotten to breathe because of me.”

His lips twitched. “I’ve never met a woman who made me forget to breathe. You did the same to me in the taxi.”

“No wonder I’m not your type. I’m bad for your health.” She raised her margarita. “Cheers to the man who reminded you oxygen is your friend with benefits.”

The waitress materialized in front of their table. “Have you had a chance to decide on what you’d like for dinner?”

“I’ll have the fried tacos,” Isabella said, even though neither of them had glanced at the menu. Did that mean she always ordered fried tacos, or that she wanted the waitress to leave?

“Same.” He never ordered fried tacos. Once they were alone at the table, he leaned in. “Tell me, Isabella P. Chance, what have you been up to since the first time we met?”

She fiddled with the bracelets on her wrist. “Traveling from one place to the next and writing articles for travel sites, as well as magazines. I’ve also been working on a book.”

He knew about her articles. He’d done his research and read several. She had a fabulous storytelling voice. “Fiction or nonfiction?”

“Nonfiction.”

“What is the topic?”

“Bullying.” Her eyes shot bullets toward him as if saying the word reminded her of his bully status.

He ran his finger under his tie and undid the top button of his collar. Isabella hated bullies and honestly saw him as one. The knowledge caused a piece of his soul to snap off, much like her heel had. He should explain he wasn’t a real bully. Hated it every time he had to fire someone. Went out of his way to try and make sure they landed on their feet.

At the same time, her view of him protected her from harboring unrealistic expectations if he should indeed be forced to play the part of her fake fiancé at her class reunion. “Why were your classmates bullying you at your prom?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought and have narrowed it down to three possible reasons. One, I was poor at a rich kids’ school. Enough said. Two, I wasn’t exactly polished back then. If you recall, I had a lot of rough edges when it came to how to make the most of my face and hair and body. Or three, I was wrong to think being the smartest would make me likable. Instead, my continually screwing up the curve got on the nerves of my classmates. I don’t know. Those are my best guesses.”

He didn’t recall a lot about how she’d looked that evening. Everything had happened so quickly. “Did you have any friends in school?”

“One. Chloe. Unfortunately, her family took her out of school the last few months of our senior year and that sucked.”

He nodded slowly. “That explains why there was no one at the dance I could get for you.”

“Right. But not to worry—we went away to college together and had a blast.”

Calling Nonna to come to Isabella’s rescue might have been the very best deed he’d ever done. A request worth any favor he owed Nonna because look how well Isabella had turned out. And if he felt that way about the whole thing, it stood to reason Isabella felt the same toward Nonna. Which explained Isabella’s willingness to follow the contract to the letter and look for a husband. The thought of her soon being married didn’t settle well, so he pushed it away. “Are you still friends with Chloe?”

“Absolutely. Besties for life. The loft we live in is one she inherited from her grammy. My turn. What were you like in school?”

Her honesty compelled him to be equally transparent. “Withdrawn. I lost my parents, and that took me a while to work through.”

“I’m so sorry. What happened? Or is that too painful?”

He’d never spoken about this to anyone. But if Isabella could talk about the worst moment in her life, he could do the same. “They were on a Route 66 cross country road trip in their vintage Bentley when a deer ran across the road in front of them in Illinois. My dad swerved to miss it and steered right into the path of an oncoming semi.”

---