Page 26 of Naughty Nelle

Sheesh. He is really fucked up. “Blake Burns. He’s the Head of Production for Conquest Broadcasting. All shows report to him—so technically, he’s your boss.”

“Oh,” he mutters. “Do I need to dress up?”

“No. You can go very casual. I’ll lay out a pair of freshly laundered jeans and a tee.”

“Do you want to come along?”

My stomach does a little flip. This is the first time he’s ever invited me to lunch with a network executive. Probably just more of his fuckedupness.

“I can’t. I have a lunch date.”

“You’re taking a lunch break?” he asks incredulously, cocking his brows.

I almost want to toss my coffee at him. “Seriously, Brandon. A girl’s gotta eat.” Even a dieting one.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Is it with a guy?”

I hesitate for a moment and then respond, “Yeah. A really cute one.” And then a smug smile flashes across my face. “My boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he murmurs with a downward twist of his luscious lips.

Got him!

“Have I ever met him?”

“No. You’ve never wanted to, but you should.” My smile stays on my face. Amnesia comes with its benefits.

With his brows furrowed, he takes another long sip of his iced coffee and then sets the tall cup down. “I want you to google Blake and put together a file before I leave.”

“No prob.”

“And be sure to be back here by two.”

Frowning, he stalks off. Score one for me. He fell for my white lie. On second thought, it wasn’t a lie at all.

I’m so excited about seeing Jeffrey Billings, my brother and best friend in the whole world. With our crazy schedules, it’s been next to impossible to get together. I’ve agreed to meet him at Toast, a lively, trendy restaurant on nearby Third Street.

Wearing a hot pink crew neck sweater, he’s easy to spot. I run up to him. Seated at an outdoor table, he jumps up and gives me a delicious bear hug.

“Honey, you look faa-bu-lous!” he drawls, eyeing me from head to toe. I’m wearing a tight T-shirt, a short belted skirt, and sandals. The skirt used to sit tightly on my thick waist but now it hangs loosely on my hips.

“Thanks,” I say, sitting down. “I’m on my skinny side of fat.”

“I’d say you’re on your fat side of skinny,” he counters, returning to his chair.

I laugh. Either way you look at it, I’m still not thin by Hollywood standards; in this town, an eight is a plus size. I guess I’m now what you’d call curvy. But one thing for sure, Jeffrey can always put a big smile on my face. He’s done it for years, even in the darkest times. Though by birth he’s my first cousin (Mama was his father’s twin sister), he’s always been more like a sibling. We lived nearby in Culver City and went to the same school, and when Mama died, Pete and Jo, his wonderful, big-hearted parents, took me in and made me feel like the daughter they never had. I was only five at the time so Jeffrey and I grew up together. Having a gay playmate was almost like having a big sister. We played Barbies together, and when his mom, who I’ve always called Auntie Jo, took us shopping, he picked out all my clothes and knew how to make an outfit from Sears look like a million bucks. And he threw me the best birthday parties ever—always with the most over the top themes—that somehow succeeded in making me not miss having my real parents (especially Mama) there to celebrate with me. It’s no surprise he became an event planner—and it’s even less surprising he’s LA’s top one.

“Did you go on a diet?” he asks, still in awe of my appearance.

“It was more like a cleanse. I was forced to go to some holistic spa for a few weeks while Brandon was in the hospital. The food sucked. If I ever see a chia seed again, it’ll be too soon. And alcohol was strictly forbidden.”

“Oooh!” Jeffrey sympathizes. “That’s horrible.”

“And on top of that, they forced me to work out. I’ve never sweated so much in my entire life.”

“Well, at least it paid off. You look amazeballs. Wait till Chaz sees you. He’s going to friggin’ freak.”

Chaz Clearfield is Jeffrey’s significant other. A successful fashion designer. “Is he stopping by?”

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