Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t permanent,” she counters with a playful grin, and this is fine—this banter. Really, it is.
“But I bet it was funny.”
Her smile turns sly, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “And it was worth the return prank of mayonnaise in my lotion bottle.”
The thought of it turns my stomach. “So this really is payback.”
As she sends the picture to Beckett, her phone rings. She gasps, freezing in place for a few seconds. She shows it to me—Angelina’s name is flashing on the screen. But Maeve looks like she’s trapped between hope and dread.
“Answer it,” I urge. An agent calling on a Saturday can almost always only be good news, but I can see the worry in her eyes.
With a deep breath, like she’s trying to steady herself, she picks up the call.
Angelina’s brassy, confident voice carries over the silence as we turn onto an elegant block, where stately homes preside over meticulously manicured lawns. “First off, congratulations,” her agent exclaims.
Maeve furrows her brow, then asks tentatively, “Thanks?” She glances at me as if I’d know what her agent is congratulating her about. But it could be a lot of things.
“And second, congratulations,” Angelina repeats.
Maeve shakes her head, clearly baffled. “Um, sure. But for what?”
“They decided last night, they told me. You got the job.”
Maeve’s hand flies to her mouth as the car turns down the street toward the party. “I did?” The words come out like a squeak.
I pump a fist, mouthing, “Told you so.”
“You did,” Angelina says, her voice full of warmth and pride. “I know you have that party right now, so have a blast. Paint your heart out, knowing you got this job. And I’ll get you more details by tomorrow. But you’ll be meeting with the owners soon. In a couple days. And they’re hoping you can start pretty much straight after that. They’re very excited.”
Must be gallery owners she’s meeting with, and that is excellent. A gallery commission would be a huge win.
“Thank you,” Maeve says, in a voice choked with emotion as the car pulls up to a mansion. “Thank you so much. I was so sure it was all over. Oh my god. This is a dream come true.”
“You deserve it, sweetie.” There’s a pause, then her agent adds, “Or should I call you Mrs. Callahan?”
18
PAY IT FORWARD
Maeve
A weathered valet with thinning hair and a pale complexion swings open the car door before I can fully process the last words from my agent, let alone the fact that I got the gig with the Sea Dogs. For a huge commission. The biggest of my career. A mural that will be seen by thousands every time there’s a game. A job I didn’t think I’d land.
But right now, I need to focus on this job. The valet offers me a hand, looking me up and down. “You must be the painter. Come inside. Mr. Vincenzo is eager for your contributions.”
He’s the eccentric fashion designer hosting this party.
That’s when it hits me—the man in front of me isn’t a valet; he’s a butler, and he’s Serious with a capital S.
“Great, um. I have someone with me,” I say, pointing to Asher, still in a daze. From the Sea Dogs job, but also…did Angelina actually call me Mrs. Callahan? That’s…well, I don’t want to think too long on why she would.
The butler offers a thin-lipped smile. “That’s perfectly fine to bring an assistant,” he says.
“Oh, he’s not my assistant,” I say, nodding to Asher, who’s stepping out on the other side, giving me a questioning look.
The butler jerks his gaze to Asher, quickly scanning him with robot eyes and efficiency. “Your partner then? Lovely.”
My stomach drops. “Actually,” I say, but the rest of the sentence dies on my tongue.
There’s only one reason Angelina would call me Mrs. Callahan. Somehow, the news that we got married is already out there on the Internet.
But we weren’t wearing our rings earlier when we left the hotel. Did Mrs. Matrimony leak the photos? That doesn’t seem like her style, but who knows? It couldn’t have been Jen and Hal—they took pictures of us before we got the brilliant idea to honor a marriage pact.
The driver scurries around to pop open the trunk, and I briefly contemplate sliding my ring off, but there’s no real privacy. As I grab my gear, Asher comes up next to me, whispering out of the side of his mouth, “What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter through clenched teeth because…butlers. They’re terrifying.
I bet part of a butler’s job requirement is to have bionic hearing. I’m sure Mister Pale Butler watches everything like a hawk too. I can’t very well take my band off in front of him now. He might think I was acting single to try and pick someone up. It’d be obvious if Asher slipped his off as well.