Page 3 of Lord of Debauchery

And lock down my trust fund.

Whatever. I didn’t want blood money.

“I brought muffins and your favorite cupcake as a little treat,” she mused, her tone far too freaking happy.

While I heard her, I was too busy worrying about life in general to respond.

“Jesus. Why are you so dead set on sabotaging yourself?” she asked in return.

“I’m not doing that!”

“Really?” She popped the cork before glaring at me. “Then why were you thinking that you could accept foreclosure?”

“I was not.”

“I can see right through you,” she said in a singsong voice before pouring two glasses far too full. But I was thrilled she had. Some of my best times were spent laughing and drinking with her. The simple pleasures. They gave me my greatest sense of peace.

Besides, at this point I could gulp down the entire volume of liquid in one minute flat.

“Since I also know that you were contemplating drowning your sorrows, here you go.” She handed me a glass, leaning against the counter afterwards. “This place is going to make a fortune, girlfriend. The extra finesse and money you’ve put into it will be noticed.”

“That’s just it, I put a lot of money into something that barely had mediocre success.”

“That’s because it was the same tried and true everything, including food and linens. You’ve taken it up a couple notches. Take a deep breath then gulp the wine. My orders.”

“Won’t I choke?”

She rolled her eyes before grabbing her pen. “At least it’s a decent order this week. That means you might be hopeful.”

“It means I have a wedding party coming early next week, all the pain in the ass girls heading here to have girl time for a few days. You know what that means?”

Her laugh always made me laugh. “We were young once, unless you don’t remember. So they’ll giggle, talk about men’s butts, and maybe watch some porn. All while feasting on chocolate in the hot tub.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” I took a sip, marveling in the smoothness of the grapes, alongside the hints of both raspberry and blackberry with a dash of currants. Janie knew my preferred tastes.

“You need to get laid.”

I spit out the entire amount in my mouth, barely missing her crisp white blouse. At least she had the common sense to jerk to the side, laughing not with me but at me.

As if I could blame her. I hadn’t been called the gangly klutz in high school for nothing. At least I’d filled out to my five-foot eleven-inch height. Becoming marriage material, so my father had told me far too many times. God! Why was the bastard entering my mind today of all days.

Because he can erode your self-confidence. That’s why.

Oh, groovy. Unacceptable.

She grabbed two kitchen towels, tossing me one. “I’m serious. You haven’t let down your hair in I don’t know how long.”

“Oh, I can tell you when. Since my ex almost fiancé was found fucking my three-year assistant on top of my desk. That’s when.”

Her glare returned. “You’re a glutton for punishment. Why not just claim yourself as a masochist and head to a BDSM club.”

“Um, no. Hell, no.”

“Well, you obviously like pain.”

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