Page 119 of Champagne Fizz

I sense Simon beside me. I know that he followed me out here—to talk about the wedding—only he’s once again witnessed my pleasure erupting at the drop of even the slightest sexual suggestion. Cruelly, my mind echoes with his voice telling me I’m beautiful when I come and the intimate memory of his gaze as my body unraveled before him.

When I face the real Simon, he’s standing a few feet away on the rooftop, his eyes dancing over my flushed skin. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are a weird mix of desire and sadness.

“Did you tell Arie about this too?” I snap, angry that he both wants me and pities me. It’s just like college, when I was a freak people took advantage of, and laughed at, and pretended to care about.

Simon shakes his head no, but I don’t believe him. Every look and expression leaves me gutted and hollow.

“I didn’t tell Arie anything about us,” he says cautiously, and I bend down to pick up my folder on the ground. It’s open and some of my papers have scattered in the wind, white sheets dancing over the sides of the building like white flags of surrender falling.

I grab a copy of the wedding itinerary and slap it into Simon’s hand. “This is what needs to happen on Saturday,” I say, angry at the hitch of emotion in my voice. “Deliveries, rentals, and vendor information are on the back. I’ll be here at eight a.m. to set up the reception, flowers are delivered at ten. All major events on the timeline are printed in red. If you have any questions about what Flambé has agreed to provide, there’s a detailed list on page three: menu, waitstaff, signature cocktails. Since you, Arie, and Connor are all attending the wedding, I expect hors d’oeuvres, the cake, and drinks to be set upbeforethe ceremony, as well as any dinner prep. If there’s a problem, or anything is behind schedule, you tell me ASAP. You don’t wait or try to fix it yourself. I’m in charge on Saturday. I should know every detail and hiccup, so I can make it right. If I say redo the hors d'oeuvres you redo them. If I say clear out the dining room, you clear it out. Now, tell me what questions do you have for me.”

Simon gives me a half-smile, his eyes sparkling. “You’re hot when you go all Sue Blade on me.”

“And none ofthatis happening!” I snap, pointing my folder at him. “No flirting. No suggestive comments. No whispers in my ear. Nothing! You keep your sexy tone and your hands away from me.”

He nods noncommittally.

“I’m not kidding!” I warn. “After what I just walked in on!” I motion to the restaurant where I found the three of them talking about me. “Even if I’m pissed at you—and Iampissed at you, Simon—my body is going to react.” I nod to the railing and what he just witnessed. “And you know that. Which means I expect you to be responsible and go out of your way to piss off, so I don’t have to excuse myself to the bathroom in the middle of the wedding. Got it?!”

Simon’s flirty smile is gone, and he nods again, his attention on the itinerary sheet. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally looking up.

His words are a bag of rocks in my gut.

Sorry for what? Talking to Arie? Walking out on me? Turning me into a joke? Touching me?

“I don’t want your apology,” I snap. “I want you to get this done.” I tap the itinerary. “I want Ned and Olivia to have the best day of their lives and to never know any of this BS happened today—or any day!”

“Okay,” he agrees, nodding. “I’ll see that it’s done. But Kendall—”

“Don’t!” I raise a finger in warning, because I know he wants to talk about us, and I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for it. “Ned, Olivia, and the wedding. That’s all we’re allowed to talk about. That’s it. Do you understand?”

He looks at me sadly through his glasses before weakly conceding a “Yes.”

“Good.” I grab the remaining papers that are littered on the patio and head for the elevator. I can’t handle his blue puppy-dog eyes apologizing, and I need to hold onto this rage as long as I can. I can’t—I won’t—give into him.

I punch the button on the elevator, and I feel just as reckless as the cart when the doors shut and the metal box jolts to a start, rocking all of its contents. I vow to put steel over my heart when it comes to Simon, promising myself I won’t think about him, or what he said to Arie in my defense a few minutes ago. Simon will never seriously sell his share of Flambé. That was all pomp and flourish, something crazy and threatening in the heat of the moment. Nothing more than hot air. Arie’s his best friend, and I’m just some girl he fooled around with for a few days.

As the elevator shoots toward the ground, my composure starts to crumble, and despite all my Sue Blade power-talk and power-walk, I feel wetness on my cheeks. I don’t know if that’s true emotion or just adrenaline forcing me to leak from my eyeballs.

That was a complete crap-storm of epic proportions. But at least boundaries have been drawn, and expectations have been set, and maybe—with a little luck—Arie might find the grace to put Ned and Olivia first this weekend.

But who can trust a dragon.

32

SIMON

Iwalk back into Flambé knowing I’m screwed. Things weren’t good with Kendall to begin with, but now they’re impossible. We aren’t even going to walk out of this as friends.

And then I decided to throw a match in a haystack with Arie.

Not my best moment.

But also—screw her! I’m so angry with Arie I could spit blood. I can’t believe how easily she took sensitive information and used it to win some self-imposed pissing contest with the wedding planner. But that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Even if I didn’t have feelings for Kendall, Arie would’ve still pulled this shit. And the fact that Idohave feelings for her, makes it even worse.

I used to respect Arie for being a female-alpha-hole ready to tear The Man down, except Kendall isn’t The Man. Kendall’s a real person, a kind person, who happens to also be a hundred-times more sensitive than the average girl. But did Arie care? Was there a virgin-girl-code that Arie felt the need to respect? Hell, was there even a friend-code—with me—that she even thought to honor?

Nope.

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