Wildest Dreams: Chapter 7

On the other side of the door was an Amazon delivery man holding a box—probably full of the new toys and books I’d ordered for Grav. Rhyland stood beside him, messing with his phone and looking like corruption in a sage-green suit.

“Sorry, I didn’t order this.” I pasted on an apologetic smile.

“Didn’t order what?” The delivery guy tilted his head sideways.

“A package of red flags.” I gestured toward my upstairs neighbor.

Rhyland barked out a laugh, clearly delighted to be the bane of my existence. He tucked his phone into his pocket and strolled inside—not before plucking the package from the clearly bemused delivery man and slamming the door shut with his foot. I followed him, narrowing my eyes at the nape of his neck in the hope he’d catch fire.

“Actually, I have something to give you too,” Rhyland announced, placing the Amazon box on the island.

“Not interested in your chlamydia, but thanks.”

“Lies.” His nonchalant grin stretched wider, revealing perfect white teeth. “You can’t wait for me to give you chlamydia and any other STIs I picked up along the way.” He shoved his hand into his front pocket, producing the key to Jimmy and tossing it into my hands. “In other news, your car’s driving like it’s brand-new.”

“Was it the spark plug?” I didn’t even know what a spark plug was, to be honest. I just wanted to participate in a grown-up conversation about something that wasn’t unicorns, fluffy animals, or Cocomelon.

“Among other things.” The bastard took a sip of my drink without asking, scowling at the mug. “That’s some weak-ass coffee. Anyway, I also changed the brakes, the oil filter, the alternator, the battery, and the water pumps.”

I blinked in shock. “Did you keep anything at all? The Little Trees air freshener on my rearview mirror?”

“Changed that one too.” He glided like a swan over water toward the fridge, flinging it open and peering inside. “No offense, but it smelled like the underside of toenails after you cut them.”

“You’re depraved,” I announced with a scowl.

He shrugged. “And you’re still interested.”

“Did you do this all by yourself?” I dangled the key in my hand.

“Yup.”

That seemed excessive for someone who wasn’t a mechanic. “And are you sure you knew what you were doing?”

He sucked in his teeth. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”

Regrettably, he looked like he belonged in a Ralph Lauren catalog. The only thing he was missing was a horse and the Hamptons as his backdrop. He wore a chunky gold watch, slim green chinos, and beige sneakers. His man bun was haphazardly tied, the silky strands of pale and dark blond locks begging to be smoothed back.

Grav chose that moment to careen from the hallway, fisting three Barbies by their hair. She football-tackled Rhyland’s legs, slamming into them in a hug. “Uncle Rhyrand!”

His spine snapped straight and he grimaced, physically repulsed. My hackles went up.

“Now, now.” He patted Gravity’s head as if she were a Yorkshire terrier, untying her from his legs. “Ever heard of the term ‘personal space,’ kiddo?”

Oh God. What a jackass.

My sweet bundle of joy peered up at him innocently, her chubby arms still encircling his knees. “No. What’s that?”

“It’s when someone is a soulless ghoul, so they act like a donkey in front of literal toddlers.” I hurried toward them, scooping Grav up and hugging her close to my chest before she got her first rejection. What kind of animal was this rude to a child?

Rhyland appeared undaunted by the daggers of hate I threw his way with my eyes, flipping his brown leather briefcase open. I didn’t even know why he had the damn thing. He was a boyfriend for hire, not a lawyer.

“Hey, kid, I got you something.”

“Oh, I love somethings!” She clapped excitedly. “What is it?”

He produced a stuffie of a white sheep with a pink tutu, face, and ears. Grav wiggled out of my hands, rushing toward the stuffie and hugging it to her chest.

“Aw, I love it!”

“Does that mean you’re going to get rid of Mr. Mushroom?” he enquired.

“No!” she said cheerfully. “I love Mr. Mushroom.”

“I’m sure Mommy does too.”

I swatted his shoulder, grateful for the chance to touch him. No doubt I needed to stock up on good vibrators and some Jade West books to spice up my life. I mean, I propositioned the man within my first twenty minutes in New York. After he humiliated me when I was eighteen.

“And there’s something else.” Rhyland reached for his briefcase again, producing a small puzzle. “It’s a twenty-piece puzzle of your face. Do you like it?”

“Yes!” Grav pumped the air with her fist.

“Good. Go do it somewhere else and give Mommy and Uncle Rhyland some privacy,” he said flatly, tossing the puzzle at her, again as if she were playing fetch.

I tried to tame my visceral reaction to how cold and offhanded he was with my daughter, despite buying her gifts. He had just fixed my car. Grav ran back to her room with the puzzle, and I forced myself to turn to him with a tight smile.

“Thank you for her gifts.”

He threw a dismissive hand between us. “I needed her out of our hair for the next few minutes.”

“Do you always keep photos of other people’s children lying around in case you need to make a puzzle out of them?”

“I got it off your Instagram.” Rhyland gave me an amused, unbothered look. “And if it makes you feel any better, my online assistant made it into a puzzle, not me.”

“Online because people can’t stand you in person?” I batted my eyelashes.

“Online because I tend to fuck any woman I spend more than a couple hours a week with.”

Gross. We were going to kill each other. It was only a matter of time.

“What do you want?” I snarled.

“We need to look legit. Marshall wants to spend time together, get to know me.” He made quotation marks with his fingers before splaying his hands on the breakfast nook between us, and I noticed, despite his impeccable suit, that his hands were rough and tanned, worn out from physical work. “We both know what happens once people start getting to know the real me.”

“You’re insufferable.” I nodded. Finally, something we could agree on.

“Yeah, but you aren’t. So I figured I’ll bring you along to make me look good. You’ll need to work hard at appearing unappalled by me. Friend me on social media. Like my shit. Post pictures of me. Maybe gush a little at my thirst traps.”

“You post thirst traps?” I scrunched my nose.

“What were you expecting?” He motioned toward his perfect body. “In-depth articles about post-Bronze Age colonialization in Greece?”

“And this needs to happen today?” Not that my schedule was packed with anything other than watching Grey’s Anatomy and pretending to look for a job.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “And make it convincing.”

I rolled my eyes. “I could strangle someone right now.”

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger.”

“Well, don’t stand so fucking close, then.”

His laugh, casual and careless, crawled beneath my skin. My stomach bottomed out. This must be how eagles felt when they dove sharply from the sky to snatch their prey. Kieran was right: on paper, he was probably more handsome than Rhyland. Still, I’d always had this irrational, unabashed attraction to the forbidden. To my brother’s best friend. Sylvia Plath had it right. We do desire the things that end up destroying us.

“Get ready to be smothered with eggplant and droplet emojis.” I snatched my coffee cup from the kitchen island, placing it in the sink. “I’ll play along, but I’ll be the most unhinged teammate you’ve ever had.”

“Remember, your paycheck depends on it,” he hedged me. “I’m the kind of man who’s fun to fuck and dangerous to fuck over. Remember that.”

“I agreed to this deal on the basis it was carte blanche. I ain’t changing my colors for you.”

“It’s just social media. Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” I countered, yelling.

He shook his head, amused. “You need to touch more grass.”

“And you need to stop smoking it.”

“I actually stopped three months ago, back when I retired,” he said brightly.

I wondered if the two were connected. If he used pot to numb whatever he felt about selling his time and his charm and his body to complete strangers. Then I pushed the thought to the periphery of my mind, reminding myself I wasn’t supposed to care, especially when he definitely didn’t.

“You need to start looking the part of an engaged woman.” Rhyland continued with his checklist.

“Oh?” I waltzed over to the wine room—because I had a wine room now, see—taking out a random merlot and pouring myself a glass without offering him any. It was five o’clock somewhere. Maybe even in New York. I hadn’t checked, since I was unemployed and living with a toddler. “What does an engaged woman look like? Should I start wearing modest dresses and a fancy hat and only touch people when I wear my velvet gloves? Be your little trophy wife?”

“You’re not a trophy wife, sweetheart. More like a punishment fiancée.” He smirked.

“I promise I’ll live up to the title.”

“Just a heads-up—this is not the best way to go about it if you want to ride my dick.”

“I said sex was on the table. I didn’t say I’d make any special effort to have it,” I clarified.

Rhyland paused, his eyes zeroing in on something behind me. I whipped my head around to find the oval dining table. Was he imagining… Of course he was. The horndog.

“My eyes are up here.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

“Yes, I know.” He rolled his tongue over his upper teeth. “They’ve been fucking me with greedy looks since I walked in here.”

Carnage. There was going to be carnage if he didn’t walk out of here in the next two minutes.

“Thanks for the task, the car, and the nausea-inducing conversation. Anything else keeping you here?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He reached for the third time into the briefcase, yanking out a small box and flinging it into my hands. “Open it.”

I did, feeling my nose creasing into a disapproving scowl. It was a navy-blue box, and I immediately knew what was nestled inside it. My heart rattled in my chest. The last time I was given an engagement ring, I ended up throwing it into the ocean. I’d considered pawning it for all of five seconds before deciding I didn’t want anyone’s love story to be tainted by the shitty piece of jewelry that represented the death of my own fairy tale.

The box opened with a crisp click, and in front of me was cushioned the most beautiful engagement ring I’d ever seen in my entire life—movies, pictures, and reality combined.

It wasn’t just any ring, though. It was the ring that had caught my eye and snatched my soul in a magazine when I was fourteen. I’d cut it out of the Vogue issue and hung it on my Big Fairy-Tale Wedding pinboard. I still had that pinboard somewhere in the attic, laden with clippings of the perfect wedding dress, the perfect bouquet, the perfect flower arrangement…

The only thing you forgot to envision was the perfect groom, and we all know how that turned out.

I clamped my mouth shut to prevent myself from gasping. Mom always said coincidences were a sign from the universe.

“W-what made you go for this one?” My voice was gauzy, bodiless in the space between us.

“I remembered the engagement ring Tucker gave you.” Rhyland’s voice skimmed over my skin like the briefest touch of rough knuckles. Goose bumps erupted everywhere. “Then I remembered Tucker was a first-class moron, so I figured the safest route was to go with the opposite of everything he chose for you. Instead of a cushion, I went for an oval shape. I got you a thin band instead of a thick one. A Harry Winston instead of Costco.”

I wagged my finger at him. “I take digs against Costco personally. It’s my favorite brand in everything. I’d happily be Mrs. Kirkland, given the choice.”

“You love it, don’t you?” His voice dropped seductively, fluttering in my stomach like a delicate bird, and every cell in my brain revolted, reminding me I didn’t do butterflies or crushes or men.

I drew in a deep breath, a reminder that this was a fluke. Rhyland didn’t know this was my dream ring. I cleared my throat. “I still need to see if it fits.”

“It fits,” Rhyland reassured me.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve spent half my fucking lifetime studying every curve and measurement of your body.”

Our stares struck like a match over red phosphorus. For a second, I had this crazy thought that maybe he harbored this great, agonizing love for me, the same way Row had been secretly in love with Cal. But Rhyland’s mouth twisted into a sour smile.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He shook his head as if I were a lost cause. “Nothing wholesome and sweet like that. I wanted to fuck you is all. I want to fuck most things that move. I’m no Prince Charming. The only scenario in which I’d have a redeeming bone in my body is if I got in a car accident and my body melted into someone else’s.”

A shock of heat slapped at my cheeks, making them burn from the inside. The urge to throw the ring in his face and release a chain of Italian swear words was strong.

But no. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

A teasing smile puckered my lips. “If that’s all, you can leave now.”

He slung his briefcase over his shoulder and made his way to the door. He stopped a couple feet from it. “Oh.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at me. “By the way, I’ll pass on the bumping uglies offer. Flattered but no longer interested.”

“I’ll try to move on from the disappointment,” I bit out sarcastically, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Also, the ring is a rental, so don’t get attached.”

“I pity the woman dumb enough to form an attachment to anything you gave her.”

The door closed on a soft final click.

I turned off Grey’s Anatomy and burst through the master-bedroom door, smothering my face in a pillow and yelling into it in frustration. Rhyland underestimated me. So did the rest of my family. Well, they had another thing coming.

I was going to make it in New York.

Not just for me. For Gravity too.