Page 83 of Wicked Proposal
“Duh,” Eli gapes. “You look like a mother-freaking-princess, Mommy!”
“Now, where’d you learn that word?”
“April Labeene. Ms. Spencer at daycare makes us dance to her songs.”
“Yellow flag for the fancy daycare?” Kallie winces as soon as Eli’s out of earshot.
“Kind of, yeah.” I’m starting to think the “fancy daycare” I spent a fortune on is probably not as fancy as it made itself sound. Just ridiculously expensive. “But August’s almost over. Might as well make it count.”
“He’s starting the new school, then?” Kallie brightens. “The one Mr. Definitely-Not-A-Sugar-Daddy is paying for?”
“Okay, first: he isnotmy sugar daddy.” I hold up a finger, then two. “Second,I’mpaying for it.”
“With his money.”
“That’s called ‘nitpicking.’”
“And that’s called ‘denial.’” She sits me back down on the bed and pulls up a chair across from me, rummaging through my makeup purse for anything resembling lilac. “Now, hold still while I beat your face.”
“I’m pretty sure that qualifies as grievous bodily harm.”
“Only if I make it look ugly.” She topples the purse on the bed. “Christ, it’s like an expired eyeshadow cemetery in here.”
As Kallie—metaphorically—beats my face, I list in my head all the reasons she’s wrong.
Yulian is my new side-boss. That’s all this is. The rules are clear on that: nothing is going to happen. No hugs, no kisses, no dancing the horizontal tango in luxury hotels.
Just stunning dresses, daily selfies, personal security, expensive dates, a shit ton of cash, and—oh.
Oh, no.
“I’m not his sugar baby,” I repeat, though this time it’s more for my benefit. “He’s paying me for a service.”
“The service of being pretty in front of his peers?”
“Yes!” I blurt. “And I hate it!”
“You’re right,” she says flatly. “I see how wrong I was now. You’re definitely not his sugar baby.”
“Thank y?—”
“If anything, you’re his salt baby.”
She fastens my new pearl necklace around my neck. I grimace at the cool weight of it against my skin. If I put together the price of everything he’s sent me this past week, it’d probably add up to more than my advance.
God. What if Kallie’s right? What if Iama sugar baby?
“He doesn’t want anything from me,” I sigh, frustrated with myself. Frustrated with my best friend for always seeing right through me. “Not—not likethat.”
“You could sound less sad about it.”
“I’m not?—!”
“Also, dude, I’d totally tap that ass. If I could. Like, if I was into girls and you weren’t my best friend and shit.” She dabs a little blush on my cheeks. “You can’t tell me Mr. Matching Lingerie hasn’t thought about yourassets. The stuff he sends you? Straight from the spank-bank.”
I cringe. I’d been trying not to think about the matching lingerie part. “He’s probably just obsessive,” I blurt. “Doesn’t want a random gust of wind to ruin the perfect picture he’s painting.”
“Oh, he wants to paint something, alright. With his thick, wooden brush.”
