Reluctantly Yours(13)



“Okay. Time out. Just breathe. Where are you now?” she asks.

“I’m at JoAnna’s apartment. There was an issue with a review copy order and she needed me to stop by. She flew to Los Angeles this afternoon. Maybe I can try calling Vance at The Magnolia. JoAnna’s done so many events there. Maybe he can cram us into one of the conference rooms. Or—”

“Wait. So, you’re in JoAnna’s penthouse and she’s gone for the weekend?”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you, but I’m under a lot of pressure here and you keep asking where I am, but it’s not where I am that’s important, it’s where I need to be…finding a location for Lauren’s party.”

“That’s where I think you’re wrong.” I can hear her smiling through the phone.

“Listen, Jules, I know you love a good brain teaser, but the clock is running down on me here, so I need straightforward responses.”

“It’s the simplest answer. You should have the party at JoAnna’s.”





I take another shot because hosting your friend’s bachelorette party in your boss’s penthouse apartment without her permission is super stressful. When Jules originally suggested it, my gut reaction was hell, no but then Lauren texted me how excited she was for the party and with no other options this late in the game, I caved, sending a mass text with the updated address.

The thing is I couldn’t even ask JoAnna for permission even if I wanted to. Her flight would land at LAX long after Lauren’s party was scheduled to start. And what if she said no? JoAnna has been nothing but kind to me, even motherly as I navigate this city on my own, but using her apartment for a personal gathering is definitely crossing into inappropriate territory. I scratch at my neck. Either the sequins on this rented dress are irritating my skin or breaking the rules is giving me hives.

In addition to giving me the idea to host the party at JoAnna’s, Jules called a caterer friend of hers that was able to make extra hors d’oeuvres last minute. She didn’t have time or ingredients for me to make personal selections so I was at the mercy of what Jamie and Greg picked for their Hawaiian luau themed wedding reception. So, Luau Thai chicken and sweet and sour meatballs it is!

While the rest of the ladies are out in JoAnna’s living room, snacking and sipping on drinks, thanks to an alcohol delivery service, I pull my custom-made pin the junk on the hunk game out of my tote. That’s right, Etsy, I made it myself and saved fifty bucks. Although the guy at Kinkos gave me a funny look when it came off the machine.

Ryan Gosling smiles back at me, the over-muscled body double I used for the lower half is disproportionate to the size of his head. The empty spot between his legs the intended target for my printed and hand-cut paper dicks.

“Chloe!” I can hear my friend Claire yelling for me down the hall.

Claire, Lauren and I were three peas in a pod growing up. Claire lives in Seattle now and while we haven’t been the best at keeping in touch, when she arrived an hour ago, we easily picked back up where we left off in high school.

“The dicks are coming!” I shout as I pull the paper dicks out of the bag, but she’s already there in the doorway, and I hold up the poster so she can check out Ryan Gosling on steroids. I wave the paper dicks around, then I explode with the giggles at my little joke. “Get it? They’re coming?”

“Hilarious,” she deadpans before waving me out toward the hallway.

I’m still laughing as she waves her hands, urgently motioning me out of the guest room where I’ve stashed all the party supplies. I didn’t think pin the junk on the hunk would garner such enthusiasm.

“Where should we hang it?” I ask.

“Forget the game. The stripper is here. And he’s gorgeous. Not like a Jersey Shore beef cake, fake tan kind of stripper, but a sexy businessman stripper. Where did you find him? WallStreetStrippers.com?”

Ooh la la. A stripper sounds fun. Even better than pin the dick on the prick or whatever this game is called. But I gather the game up and bring it anyways because I did put a lot of effort into it.

As I start to follow Claire back into the living room, her words finally penetrate the vodka-induced fog clouding my brain. I really should have been keeping track of how many shots I’ve taken.

“Wait.” I stop short, nearly dropping the paper dicks on the floor. “I didn’t hire a stripper.”

There’s only one man that would have access to JoAnna’s apartment without needing to be buzzed in. My stomach clenches with anxiety. Oh God.

“Really?” Claire’s eyes turn to saucers. “So, who’s the stud in the suit?”

My eyes scan the sea of scantily-clad women until I find him. There, across the room, looking like sex on a stick in a navy suit, with his thick, dark hair, perfect nose and chiseled jaw, being hounded by all the bachelorette party attendees is Barrett.

My heart stops. This is a scenario that I never in a million years considered. And why would I? Why would Barrett stop by JoAnna’s on a Friday night? When she’s out of town? Doesn’t he have better things to do? Like take candy from babies and suck people’s souls from their bodies dementor-style?

He sees me then, and when our eyes connect, everything stops. It’s what I imagine a deer feels when its body is lit up by the high beams of an oncoming vehicle. Frozen, stunned, unable to do anything but wait for impact.

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