Page 97 of Remy

She chuckles.

“Ivy,” I warn. “You can’t be serious.”

She holds up her palm in surrender. “I didn’t, I swear. But if I see someone looking at you like a snack, I’m not going to discourage a taste test.”

“I’m no snack. I’m more like a street taco—sometimes a handful and usually falling apart. But I assure you, I’m not interested.”

“Not even if it’s your mystery man from the dive bar?” Allison waggles her brows.

I hunch my shoulders, crowding in on myself like I’m struggling for warmth instead of the reality of struggling to curb my panic. “Nope. Not even. And I promise I’ll resent anyone who puts complicated men on my bingo card for this year, so you’ve both been warned.”

“Understood.” Ivy’s expression turns grave. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for after last weekend.”

Her arrow slices me right through the heart.

“We both do.” Allison cringes. “With Carlo, too. We need to do some sort of grand gesture to get him to soften the cold shoulder he’s been giving us all week.”

“That’s not what he’s been doing.” The words vomit from my mouth without foresight.

“He definitely has.” Ivy scoots farther along the building as Allison and I follow. “It gutted me when he handed over the call-out duties to Wesley but…” She shrugs. “I get it.”

No she doesn’t. God, how she doesn’t.

“Wesley’s a safer option, that’s all. And Dad wouldn’t want you out at all hours when you’re so valuable in the office.” I turn away, focusing on the bouncers at the front of the line, hoping dismissive body language is enough to change the conversation.

“I could be valuable on-call, too. But again.” She gives another shrug. “The whole Wesley thing is understandable. I’ll teach Daddy Pelosi I’m the right person for the job.”

I groan.

Allison chuckles.

“You never did explain why you were late Monday morning.” Ivy pulls her ID from her purse. “Please tell me you got laid.”

I keep my focus on the front of the line. “Yeah. I got laid.”

“Are you serious?” they both gasp in unison.

I glance at them with a roll of my eyes. “No. Who would I have slept with? The guy who delivers my groceries?”

“Why not?” Allison asks. “At least he’s got a job, right?”

I feign a glower.

She snickers. “Okay. Fine. It was definitely an unlikely event, but just as plausible as you turning up late. Until Monday, you’d never done that either.”

“And for it to have been on such an important day.” Ivy’s tone turns serious. “You knew camera crews would be there and still, you showed up looking like you’d just escaped a stylist session with an aggressive flock of seagulls.”

My skin breaks out in goose bumps, their scrutiny making me unsettled.

“Everything has been so weird lately.” Ivy sighs. “First the whole Hugo thing. Then Wesley shows up without notice to save the day. And then there’s that black bump on Carlo’s forehead that he so casually tried to hide.”

“He told me he did it at the gym,” Allison says with nonchalance. “He got up too quickly or something…”

“Since when has he ever gone to the gym?” Ivy raises her brows. “Believe me, I’d remember if he’d told me because I would’ve flashed my credit card to get a membership wherever that man went to pump iron.”

I should gag theatrically. Playfully warn her to stop.

That’s what I would’ve done last week before my simple life blew up in my face.

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