Page 4 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

I don’t know what they’re talking about, but it’s a rare woman who can say no to Felix Caine. Even I fell for him once, years and years ago. He’s the reason I studied communications in college; he lit up when he talked about how much fun journalism was, enough to spark an interest in me, too.

I could have gotten my degree in journalism itself, I guess, but I’m glad I didn’t; I didn’t end up loving it the way he did, especially the actual internship. By the time I figured out what I really wanted to do—work with animals, not people—it wasn’t worth starting all over again. So I graduated with my degree in communications and haven’t touched it since.

That’s what crushing on Felix Caine will get you.

He’s beautiful by anyone’s standards—six-foot-two with golden hair, dimples, and a blinding, mischievous smile—but it’s not just his looks that pull you in. Felix is the most charming man I’ve ever met. He would be sleazy if he weren’t so genuine.He treats everyone like they’re his favorite person, and he isn’t even insincere about it. He loves talking to people, meeting them, making them smile or laugh. Flirtation is his natural state. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. That’s just how he is—and I haven’t seen him in a while, but he doesn’t seem to have changed.

For the life of me, I will never understand how he and Cyrus—and, by extension, Poppy—became such good friends. Poppy can get along with anyone, but Cyrus and Felix are as different as night and day. They shouldn’t be able to stand each other. And yet here they are, some nine or ten years into their friendship after rooming together freshman year of college, and they’re still rubbing along just fine.

“Does Jules even know how to make eclairs?” Cyrus says now, pulling my attention away from his friend. He sets his laptop on the table next to his chair, putting the cupcake next to it, and then he stands up.

“We think no,” I say, scooting back to give him room. “We’ve never seen her make them.”

He sighs again. “What has her so upset?” He digs in his jean pockets and pulls out his phone. Then he taps around for a minute and holds the phone to his ear, waiting. It’s only when he speaks again that I realize who he’s calling, but I’m too late to stop it.

“Jules,” he says into the phone, his voice exasperated. “Look, this has to stop. We can’t keep eating all the stuff you’re making.”

I wince; over on the couch, Poppy shakes her head. Even Felix looks faintly appalled at the way Cyrus is trying to handle the situation.

“No—” Cyrus says after a second of silence. “It’s not—I’m not—don’t—cry,” he finishes lamely. He turns to me, looking bewildered and grouchy and not at all penitent despite the fact that he just made things worse.

“Apologize and hang up,” Poppy says in a disapproving voice. “Now, before she starts crying harder and can’t hear you anymore.”

“Sorry, Jules,” Cyrus says into the phone, sounding tired. “I’ll let you go.” Then he hangs up and looks around the room at the three people who are highly unimpressed with his performance.

“That’s not how you comfort a crying woman,” Felix says into the silence, his voice thick with disgust. “You have three sisters. What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know if you can talk,” I say before I can stop myself—rude, maybe, but it’s true. “How many women have you made cry in the last six months?”

“I don’t make women cry,” Felix says, sounding offended now. “I make them happy.”

Poppy and I snort at the same time; she rolls her eyes, and I open my mouth to speak.

“It doesn’t count if you make them happy and thenstopmaking them happy. Because then they cry,” I point out, and Poppy nods.

“Exactly,” she says. “If you treat a woman well, she thinks you like her. Then she’s disappointed when she finds out you don’t.”

“I do like her,” Felix says, even though we’re not talking about anyone in particular. “I like all women.”

“We know,” Cyrus, Poppy, and I all say at the same time.

“And I don’t see what’s wrong with treating women well. Shouldn’t I?” Felix goes on—and I can tell this is a rant he’s gone on more than once, because he looks downright annoyed now. “I don’t get it. Should I only be nice to the women I want to date and rude to everyone else? That’s a crappy thing to do.”

“Nicelooks different to you than it does to other people,” Poppy says.

“Speaking of dating,” Felix begins. He turns to Poppy, but Cyrus stops him.

“Poppy said no,” he says to Felix. “Cut it out. And get your feet off my coffee table.”

Felix’s jaw drops, his eyes widening in outrage. “She has her feet on the table too!” he says, gesturing to Poppy.

“She’s not wearing shoes,” Cyrus points out—from her spot on the couch, Poppy wiggles her yellow-sock-clad toes—“but don’t you dare take yours off. Your feet will stink.”

“Excuse me,” Felix says. He straightens up, putting his feet back on the floor. “They don’tstink.I am one of the cleanest people you know.”

“That’s probably true,” Cyrus grunts. “Your clothes all over the floor, won’t even let anyone go in your room, but a million different beauty products in the shower?—”

“That was a long time ago,” Felix cuts in, rolling his eyes. “I’ve changed. And it wasconditioner.Don’t act like I use all this stuff you’ve never heard of. Most people use conditioner. Ladies?” he says with a look at Poppy and me.

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