Page 47 of Chips & Checks
“No!” Sofia, Vivian, and I all shout in unison. We grew up hearing about how Viktor chapped Molly’s nipples when he was a baby, and the story still lives in infamy.
“Alright, alright. Maybe instead, we can talk about what’s going on between Violet and Bowen.” Knova applies a fresh coat of lipstick, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Vi, sweetheart, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. How long do you think you can pretend you’re not totally into Bowen? Because newsflash—we all see it.”
I flush hotly. “It’s not like that.”
“Right. And I’m a shy virgin.” Knova winks.
Heat sweeps across my cheeks. “Or we couldnotdiscuss it. How’s your shop doing, Sofia?”
“Great.” Sofia flutters her long eyelashes at me. “So,whatis going on with you two?”
“Um…” I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t want to lie to my friends, but I don’t want to tell them the truth, either. What would I say, anyway? That we agreed to fake-date and sometimes fool around on the side? Bowen and I already agreed to sit together tonight so that Chad will hopefully read the damn room. “Nothing I want to put a label on,” I mumble at last. That, at least, is true.
Viv sighs. “Really? You’re not going to give us any more than that? I spend ninety percent of my waking hours trying to juggle a baby and my job. I amdesperatefor adult conversation that doesn’t revolve around diapers.”
“Or your brother’s dick,” Sofia adds in her sweet, guileless voice.
Viv points at her. “Don’t you start, too. You’re supposed to be the sweet one.”
“Um, hello?” I point to myself.
Knova snorts. “If there’s a sweet one in this group, we all know it’s not me, and from what I’m hearing, you’re finally getting in touch with your naughty side. Spill the D-tea, Vi!”
“I would love to,” I deadpan, “but if we don’t leave in three minutes, we’re going to be late.”
Knova crosses her arms and pouts. “Stop changing the subject.”
“No, really.” I hold up my phone. “Do you see the time?”
We really are cutting it close. My reminder precipitates a mad scramble to finish getting ready. When we finally bolt out the door to our waiting transport van, Vivian launches into a long story about how difficult it has been to find a babysitter for a one-year-old.
“Mom’s always happy to step in when I need a break,” she says, “but since Dad works for the team, they both want to come to these events, and I don’t want to make her feel like she has to stay home for my sake…”
The rest of us nod along in sympathy, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that we’ve moved on from the subject of Bowen.
* * *
When the other women split off in search of their husbands, I go looking for Dante. I have a question for that man.
I spot Bowen across the room, smiling as Destiny leans in closer to say something to him. She’s the notorious flirt of the front office, always clocking fresh meat. Why do I care who he talks to? Bowen’s rules say we’re nothing serious. But my gut twists sharply anyway, betraying my stupid heart. Annoyed with myself, I turn away quickly, determined not to care even if we are pretending to be something we’re clearly not.
My boss is standing with his son, Sergio, close to the open bar. Sergio’s mouth is pinched, like he’s just swallowed a wholelemon, and it’s not hard to guess why. In theory, he owns the team… but in practice, his father is trying to hold onto the wheel, even though it was his idea to step down years ago.
Dante might not officially be my boss, but he sure feels like it. So I defer to him whenever possible.
“Violet.” Dante greets me with a slight incline of his head. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to thank you for the custom stool,” I tell him. “It’s been really helpful already.”
Dante frowns. He shoots a glance at his eldest son, who is busy staring moodily into the depths of his cocktail glass. “I didn’t buy acustomstool. Sergio?”
Sergio shakes his head.
“Are you sure? It seems like an expensive stool. It looks like a spacer before it pulls out. It’s built into the cabinet, so I assumed—”
Dante huffs. “That does sound expensive.Renee!” He shouts the name so loudly that I jump, and Sergio startles so badly that he slops his drink down his wrist. The liquor splatters his shirt, staining it a distinctive shade of pink. Sergio sighs and reaches for one of the napkins laid out on the bar. His attempts to blot the material are ineffectual.
Renee appears from somewhere in the crowd, slipping past the startled people standing closest to us. “You rang?” she says, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.
