hapter 20
Chapter 20
Few hours later.
Because of course–hell loves drama.
🙂))
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And just as I was enjoying my mimosa, basking like a sassy queen in her Dior armor, my hips singing praises to the gods of swimwear, there she came.
Luciana. The British Bitch Barbie.
Sashaying down the beach path in six–inch wedges (who the hell wears wedges on sand?), with her oversized floppy hat, red micro bikini that screamed “starvation,” and matching lipstick that probably cost more than my kidney.
“Stevie!”
Oh no.
No no no no.
She called him Stevie.
I swear I felt Regina’s eye twitch from across the brunch table.
Steven, to his credit, looked like someone just tried to serve him lukewarm tea at a royal banquet. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Darling,” she purred, gliding across the sand like she was allergic to it. “I heard from our mutual friend that you were celebrating. I thought… perhaps it’s time we reconnected. You’ve been healing, haven’t you?”
Healing.
HEALING?!
Girl, this man was about to do cartwheels in the sand if we let him. With me. With my mangoes. With my
sass.
She looked at me then. A full up–and–down scan like she was checking for fleas.
“And you must be… the assistant still playing live–in nursemaid?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head.
I blinked. Sipped my mimosa. Looked down at my bikini. Looked at her bikini made of floss and tears.
Oh, baby.
Came. On.
“I must be,” I said with a smile. “Though he prefers therapist–slash–dietary goddess–slash–sanity preserver. And you must be the one who returned the engagement ring faster than it took to fake that orgasm.”
11:31 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 20
Regina spit out her champagne.
:
Luciana gasped so hard I thought she might inhale her personality.
Steven, meanwhile, looked between us like he wasn’t sure if he was terrified, turned on, or both.
“You–how dare-”
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“Oh no,” I said, taking off my sunglasses slowly like the main character I was. “You don’t come into someone else’s beach party, uninvited, dressed like a rejected Bond girl, and try to insult the woman who’s been with Steven through actual healing. You walked away when things got hard-”
“That’s not true!”
“Really? Because the tabloids say otherwise. And they’re usually wrong, but in your case? Girl, even Google Maps wouldn’t find your loyalty.”
Luciana’s nostrils flared. “You think he’ll actually choose you?”
I smiled wider. “I don’t think. I know.” I leaned in with the quiet venom of a cobra in a crown. “Because I’m not a phase, sweetheart. I’m the plot twist.”
Steven was speechless.
Regina had tears of joy in her eyes. Probably already texting the baby name registry again.
Luciana stared between us, furious, seething, and for once–silent.
And then she turned, huffed dramatically, and stormed back toward whatever Uber–for–evil bitches she crawled in from.
Regina raised her glass. “To the plot twist.”
Steven wheeled over, jaw still slightly slack. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
I sipped my mimosa again. “Too late, McLeon. You’re stuck with me. Sassy, savage, bikini–clad, and flawless.”
And that, darlings, was the day Luciana left the beach defeated, and I claimed my throne under the sun–with my billionaire, his abs, and the world’s sassiest comeback.
You’re welcome.
Regina, glorious goddess in chiffon and gold bangles, clapped her perfectly manicured hands together like a judge at a fashion show that just witnessed the finale walk–off of the century.
“Bravo,” she beamed, still sipping champagne like it was gossip fuel. “That was Oscar–worthy. I’ve seen less drama in Cannes. Luciana who? That woman left like she’d just been slapped with a reality check and a tax
bill.”
She turned her head, looked between Steven and me with the knowing eyes of a mother who knew too much.
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“I’ll leave you two good friends alone,” she purred, with a wink and a smug little smirk that said babies are coming whether you like it or not, before floating away to her beach lounger like a victorious CEO of Chaos.
I turned, still riding the adrenaline high of verbally annihilating a British rom–com villain, when I heard him say it.
Casually. Like he was commenting on the weather.
“You handled that well. And… I mean, we’re not just PT and client anymore. We’re good friends, right?”
Good. Friends.
Good.
Freaking.
FRIENDS.
WHAT IN THE SOGGY CHICKEN SALAD WAS THAT?!
My brain did an emergency shutdown. My soul rolled its eyes and applied for early retirement. My body stayed calm, but my inner sassy woman was screaming into a pillow.
I didn’t let it show.
Nope. I lifted my sunglasses, gave him a look that could kill and revive a man in one breath, and said:
“Wow. Friends? Is that what we are now? Did I just dream about nearly mouth–to–mouth resuscitating you with a banana smoothie for nothing?”
Steven blinked. “What?”
I leaned forward, putting all my sarcasm on the table. “So glad we’re friends, McLeon. I love platonically oiling your shoulder blades at 6 a.m. while you complain about your protein shake. That’s definitely what my guidance counselor meant by ‘meaningful career path.“”
He had the audacity to smirk.
“I’m serious,” he said. “You’re important to me. More than you know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But still a friend, right? Just a little ol‘ buddy who wipes your sweat and gets death threats from your ex while you compliment my cooking and ogle me in a bikini?”
He had the nerve to look amused. “I mean, you do look good in a bikini.”
“Good?” I echoed. “Sir, I look like a Dior–wearing storm sent by the gods.”
He laughed.
And that was the problem.
11:31 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 20
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Because it was the kind of laugh that curled around my heart and made me wish he said anything but good friend.
о
But whatever.
I flipped my hair, grabbed my mimosa, and strutted back to the brunch table with a sass that said “Good friends? I’ll show you good friends when I win a husband Olympics wearing heels on sand.”
This war wasn’t over.
Steven McLeon had no idea who he was friend–zoning with.
And oh, sweetheart, he’d regret that title soon.
