Page 51 of Billion Dollar Mistake

“You know how I have the yacht party for the celebratory drinks for Mr. Spencer selling 200 million dollars worth of product?” I explain.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“I don't have anything to wear and since you’re the most fashionable and fun friend I have…Will you help?”

Summer rolls her eyes. “Stop trying to kiss my ass.”

My brows rise and a grin stretches across my mouth. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, I’ll help your lost cause.”

She brings the pan to the plate and looks at me, lifting it higher as if to offer me some. I shrug. “Please.”

She grabs another plate and then serves me some as she answers, “Don’t stress. I’ll help you find something to wear, but let’s eat first.”

“You’re the best. I knew you were the right one to ask.”

I turn to get some forks out for us but pause to ask, “Where’s Chelsea?”

“She stayed at the douchebag's house,” Summer spits.

We sit down across from each other with our plates of food.

I get her hesitation, so I can’t blame her for the attitude. “Ah, right. Well, I hope for her sake, he’s treating her better.”

Summer looks at me like I've got rocks in my head. “People don’t change. And definitely not him. He needs a new personality,” she mutters.

I can’t help but agree with her.

“So anyway, what are you going to do with your hair and makeup?” She shifts the subject back to the party.

“My usual,” I say, already having that part figured out.

“Nice. But wear your red lipstick.”

I smile. I love the red lips too. And the fact people think it’s a me thing makes me happy.

My mind suddenly goes to Jeremy. He bought me a brand new one, in the exact shade I like. Now, I can’t help but think of the way his fingers grazed my hands every single morning when I put it on.

Summer narrows her gaze at me. “Something’s up with you.”

“Nothing’s up with me.”

“Chelsea can lie about being happy in that relationship all she wants, but you… You can’t lie straight to my face.”

I sigh. It would be amazing to finally share something about Jeremy with my best friend.

“Last week, I ended up stuck in an elevator for two hours with one of our richest clients. That’s usually not a big deal, but in this case, it was. Because we had been flirting through text for days before that,” I blurt.

Her fork hits the plate with a bang, and I wince at the sound.

“Sorry. What? Who?”

“Jeremy.” I’m unable to help the smile that forms on my face, remembering the electricity we had.

She makes a tut sound. “I can’t believe you kept this from me. Now, you’re not leaving until you tell me every single detail.”

I laugh and explain, “I freaked out in the elevator, so he held me and calmed me down.”

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