Page 64 of The Love Destroyers

And then she launches herself at my mouth.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SEAMUS

I instinctively sidestep her, and the look of shock on her face when she nearly knocks her head against the door tells me she’s not a woman who’s used to getting rejected. Shit.Shit. She’s obviously capable of holding a grudge, so our week might be over before it even starts.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re gorgeous. It’s just—”

“Oooh,” she says. “You’re gay.” Shaking her head, she steps back. “Of courseyou’re gay.”

“Of course?”

“I should have known right away. Straight men don’t dress like that.”

I glance down at my outfit, which seems perfectly generic—black sweater, black jacket, jeans. Nothing about it screams gay or straight or anything. But maybe me being gay is the only explanation she’s willing to accept for why I didn’t want her tongue in my mouth within five minutes of meeting her.

“I’m not gay.”

“Sure,” she says. “Of course you’re not.” Then, angling her head, she asks, “What happened to your head, anyway?”

“It’s no big deal. Someone hit me with a paperweight.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about anything like that happening here,” she tells me, reaching out to pat my hand. “I don’t hit my assistants, no matter how cold my coffee is. But I still can’t seem to keep a PA. Jeffrey, that’s the asshole, tells me it’s because I’m too nice. He says people walk all over me because they know they can get away with it.”

“And didhewalk all over you?” I ask.

“Oh, didn’t he ever,” she responds with a sigh. She takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the chaotic house. I step over a bra and a tube of tinfoil. “We’re starting the night at a brewery, aren’t we? Buchan or something. That’s what Nicky said.” She scrunches her nose. “Please tell me they have a full bar.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” I say, because I’m not above sneaking in alcohol for her. Tipsy people are talkative.

“Oh thank God for you. You’re nice to look at, and you know what it takes to be a good assistant. This is good. This is going to work.” She snaps her fingers and pauses partway to the couch, nearly tripping over a fuzzy discarded scarf or possibly the rabbit. “Midori,” she says. “Some Midori sours would be just the thing tonight.”

“I can definitely arrange that,” I say with a smile, thinking of the indignities my poor flask has suffered.

She steps over the fuzzy, unmoving object, and I decide it’s safe to do the same. Finally, we reach the immaculate couch. “Why don’t you take a seat here and get to know Carrot? I’m going to have to ask you to hold him in the car. I can’t get fur on my outfit, of course, but he gets carsick if he’s in a cage in a moving vehicle, the poor thing. I’ve already given him CBD treats and medicine to help with his anxiety.”

She motions for me to sit on the couch, and I do, and am handed an armful of gray fur from within the rabbit retreat. Carrot sniffs at me but makes no other movement that speaks of life, so he’s either a stuffed animal or stoned out of his mind.

“Oh my gosh,” she says, beaming. “He loves you. This is great, totally fantastic. You’readorabletogether. My Reeders will love it.” She fishes a phone out of the pocket of her almost nonexistent robe.

“No photos,” I say, lifting a hand to cover my face. No one’s looking for my brother, my sister, and me anymore—and if they were, I seriously doubt they’d be scoping out Ellie Reed’s social media accounts to find us. But I don’t want my brother and sister to get freaked out if they see me all over her social media.

“What?” she says, her tone no longer so nice.

“I prefer to stay behind the camera,” I say with a firm smile, “but I’d be happy to take photos of you and Carrot.”

“But you’re supposed to be my assistant. I’m a social mediainfluencer.”

“Which is exactly why I’d never try to upstage you.”

Her forehead creases with obvious annoyance. “My viewers all know I’m supposed to be going on vacation with Jeffrey. I can’t just be alone. They’ll think I’m lonely.”

“How could anyone be alone if they have Carrot?” I ask as Carrot continues to sit comatose in my lap. How much CBD did she give him, anyway?

“Ican’tbe alone,” she says, her tone brittle. “Who would want to watch that? Me sitting alone at a restaurant. Me drinking Midori sours. Me dancing in the moonlight by myself.Boring. Pathetic.” She crosses her arms under her tits, giving them a lift.

It’s hard not to think of Emma, whose childhood wish was to be independent. Who gave away most of her trust fund because she didn’t like relying on anyone other than herself.

---