“He’s not Brian, so cut yourself some slack, OK?”
Yeah, Brian. It’s a sobering thought.
“So, let’s talk about Brian,” Cassie says, handing her the lipstick, “is he still flashing his genitals in your face?”
“Cassie!”
“Well, is he?”
“Kind of.” She doesn’t feel too comfortable talking about Brian to her best friend for some reason. It’s as if what she and Brian had together was too personal.
“You both were really hot together last night. Like, really, really hot.”
“I know.”
“You should see Lori’s face. You were her party pooper.”
“Well, she was the one who insisted I lead the dance.”
“She wanted you to fall flat on your face. She doesn’t know you’ve been taking Zumba classes. Watch out for her. She’s an evil one.”
“You shouldn’t say that about my sister.”
“But she is. Maybe you should get Brian to teach her a lesson.”
Sam sighs. “I can’t even get Brian to roll over and play dead, let alone fetch.”
*
After lunch, they pack up to check out. Brian lugs both Sam’s suitcase and his overnight bag down to the reception, and realizes he has forgotten his phone.
“Be right back. Don’t miss me too much,” he tells Sam.
“You wish.”
He takes the elevator up and re-enters their old guestroom. His cellphone is on the bedside table where he left it. He seizes it and slips it into his pocket.
He turns to go to the door but stops short.
“Fancy meeting you here,” says Lori at the doorway. She’s wearing a halter top with a copious amount of cle**age over tight, tight jeans.
“The sibling object of your affection is downstairs, in case you’re asking.”
“I know.” She slinks into the room. “But it’s you I wanted to see.”
Brian’s antenna pricks.
“Oh? Because you think you’ll miss my spectacular dancing?”
“You got it.” She’s standing very close to him. She puts her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about you last night. All night.”
Brian stills. Her strong perfume wafts into his nostrils – dangerous and predatory. “Why? Lance Buchner doesn’t get it up for you anymore?”
Lori slides her hands down his chest. “Let’s just say he wouldn’t be averse to me getting a little on the side.”
“You sure about that? Or he wouldn’t be averse to not knowing?”
“So what do you see in her anyway? She’s clumsy, less pretty and interesting than I am . . . and she’s certainly not the type of material who snares a billionaire boyfriend overnight.”
“I’m not a billionaire, sorry to disappoint you. My uncle is. I’m just a wage worker on the factory grindstone. I grew up eating baked potatoes and living in a hovel.”
“Nonsense. You’re a Morton and Mortons take care of their own. You own a hundred percent share of Vanguard Advertising, and like the rest of the family, you have shares in every single company in Morton Enterprises Ltd.”
“Someone’s been doing their homework. Did you Google Lance Buchner before you dated him too? Or did you hire a P.I?”
“Let’s just say I’d make you a better partner than my sister will.” Her hand dips down to his crotch. “I’m ambitious enough for the two of us. I’m fantastic in bed and I’ll make a great hostess, the kind who will do anything to advance her significant other in any world.”
“I don’t want a hostess.” His hand goes down to her groping one and seizes it. “I want someone who doesn’t have a reptilian quotient of a backstabbing snake.”
He can see her wince. Poor Sam. If this is the type of sister she has, no wonder she’s insecure and angsty.
He says pityingly, “Go back to your fiancé, Lori Fox, and learn how to love him. For Sammie’s sake, I won’t tell her about this. She deserves to think you’re a better person than you really are.”
With that, he strides out of the room without a second look, leaving Lori open-mouthed.
12
Cassie, Caleb and Sam spend most of the time sleeping in the car on the journey back home. Figures. He’s the only one who can hold his booze, f**k all night and still appear bright and coffee perky in the morning. That’s only what he has been doing for the last ten years.
They drop Cassie and Caleb home with the usual goodbyes and love declarations of “We’ll catch up this very night when we work off our hangovers”. Then it’s time to take Sam home.
Sam is pensive beside him.
“Benjamin Franklin for your thoughts.”
She sighs. “They aren’t worth a twenty.”
“Let me guess. You’re thinking that I’m a bigger ass**le than I really am.”
“I’m just thinking about my family and why I am the way I am.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing too.”
“About my family?” she says in surprise.
“About why you are the way you are.”
“And why am I the way I am, according to the Gospel of St. Brian?” she demands.
“If I give you the extended version, promise not to claw my eyes out?”
She turns away with a flinch. “Who am I kidding? No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re just going to say something that will lower my self-esteem and make me feel all rotten inside.”
That remark strikes him. No, it more than strikes him. It’s like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his kneecaps.
Ow.
“Do I really lower your self-esteem?” He crinkles his brow. That would make him no better than Lori Fox where Sam is concerned.
“Well . . . you don’t mean to, I’m sure, but the world is just one big farce to you. You don’t care about anyone or anything, or at least . . . you give the impression that you don’t through some misguided notion that everyone would think you’re the weaker for it. But behind the scenes . . . ” She shakes her head.
“What?” Woah. This conversation is getting dangerous. Did Lori say something? “What exactly do you mean by ‘behind the scenes’? You make me sound like some sinister puppet master.”
“Maybe you are.” Her big blue eyes turn to regard him. “I’ve been talking to Caleb, and he told me what you did for him in a bizarre, roundabout way that led to this weekend.”