The Billionaire Bargain #2(4)
“I swear to God,”I muttered, as softly as I could to keep pain from lancing through my head as I shuffled to the door,“I will cut his balls off and mail them to China first class and send him the bill. I will carve him like sliced ham and feed him to that witch Portia on an artisan sandwich.”
Something about this last sentence made me pause as it rang a mental bell, something familiar about what I had said, something I was supposed to remember—it was gone. Ah well. The ridiculous threats were making me feel marginally better, so I continued them as I advanced across my apartment towards the cacophony that was currently my front door, shuffling as slowly as I could both to avoid stepping on anything small and painful, and because I was feeling a perverse pleasure in taking as long as possible to answer whatever entitled jackass was at the door—like I didn’t already know it was Grant, the *, probably back to mock me some more.
“I will call a press conference and tell the world that he has a tiny dick and a crippling addiction to reality television.”I remembered Grant’s distaste at the state of modern television, and allowed myself a wicked smirk at the thought of twisting that particular knife.
I tried to look through the peephole, but it was dark; damn teenagers kept sticking gum over it as a joke. I called through the door:“Who the hell is it?”
“It’s noon, Lacey, for heaven’s sake,”Kate’s voice shrilled through the keyhole. I winced; I love that girl, but that particular tone was cutting through my skull like a buzz-saw.“Open up, open up, open up!”
My hand was barely finished pulling up the latch when Kate barreled through the doorway like a tornado that had been through a printing house. The San Francisco Chronicle, the San Francisco Examiner, the SF Weekly, the San Francisco Bay Guardian…she could have opened up a newsstand with just what she had in her left hand.
She promptly dumped them on the floor in front of me.
“What the hell—” I shrieked, my surprise triumphing over my short-term memory, and once again instantly regretted raising my voice.
“Don’t‘what the hell’me, Lacey Newman,” Kate said.
She grabbed a first page at random, and I cringed at the full color photo of me in the sleek little black dress—considerably sleeker in the photo than on me now, rumpled with a full night’s sleep and speckled with green mattress lint from my futon bed—gasping in surprise and apparent delight as I looked down at my hand and a diamond so big it looked like it had been chipped from the idol of some forgotten god in an Indiana Jones movie.
Kate’s eyes followed mine, and then fastened on my hand, the engagement ring still perched there and sparkling away.“Is there something you want to tell me? And do you maybe also want to tell me why you couldn’t have told me it last night, or when we went out for drinks, or any freaking timewe talked in the last week?”
Where the hell to begin? I avoided even thinking about trying to untangle last night’s events for Kate’s benefit by casting an eye over the sea of newsprint Kate had dumped on my floor.
Splashed across the pages were photos of me with my mouth making a perfect‘o’of surprise, photos of Grant gazing into my eyes in an impressive pretense of adoration, photos of us both with our arms around each other, smiling like we had just stepped out of a fairy tale. PLAYBOY POPS THE QUESTION, one headline blared. ONE GALA NIGHT WE WON’T FORGET, insisted another. WHO IS THIS LUCKY LADY, wondered a third.“Did you rob a paperboy? Where did you even get all of these?”
“The pharmacy next to the bodega by my place, and don’t change the subject,”Kate answered promptly.“I got them after I heard about it on the radio when my alarm went off this morning, and after I heard three little old ladies and a teenage girl gossiping about it at the bus stop. Lacey! You did not say anything about this at drinks! You said basically the opposite of this when we went for drinks! You cannot go around saying the opposite of things you are going to do or I will know you are not Lacey Newman, and I will have to hold you hostage until you confess to being a Russian spy who has replaced Lacey in order to inveigle your way into my confidence and steal my lingerie designs.”
This was a long spiel even for Kate, and I could see in the way that she was rushing through her words that despite her bubbly, silly tone, she was trying not to show that she was hurt.
“Seriously, girl, I know my designs would do wonders for the Russian morale in this economic downturn, but you couldn’t say anything to your best friend? Even last night?”
“I didn’t know last night!”I hastily reassured her.“I swear, if I’d known anything about what that jackass had up his hand-tailored sleeve, I’d have been in that taxi to you in two seconds flat. He sprung this on me last night. It’s his idea of listening to my advice about PR.”
“Wow.”Kate took a second to process this.“Does he maybe want to look up ‘listening’ in a dictionary or something?”
“Tell me about it,”I sighed. I reached out and squeezed her hand.“I should have called you again when I got home from the gala. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, apology accepted!”Kate said, and hugged me tight.“Just make up for lost time and spill. How are you doing with all this? How do you feel? Are you going to go through with it? Can I look at the ring up close?”
The last question was by far the easiest to answer, and I slid it off my finger for Kate to inspect. She oohed and aahed over it as she turned it over in her hands, and I contemplated again the headlines on all the local papers strewn over the floor— All the local papers strewn over the floor— All the local papers— “Oh shit,”I said out loud, interrupting Kate’s monologue about Grant’s excellent taste in choosing the round brilliant cut over the more trendy rose cut, which she personally felt was only an excuse to sell oddly shaped gems.“Kate, you said you heard people gossiping about this? Did you—is my family—does everyoneknow?”