Page 37 of Scandal
“That’s it?” Her brow rises.
She somehow always seems to know when I’m lying or hiding something. Either I’m just as bad at lying as Hendrix, or it’s one of her superpowers as my big sister.
“We’re going shopping too,” I say quietly.
My sister squeals.
“Shhh!” I practically shove the phone into my armpit to keep the people in the salon from turning around.
“Sorry,” she whispers between soft giggles, holding her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I’ll behave.”
Doubtful. There’s only one of us who ever behaves, and it’s not her.
“Is he with you?”
I shake my head. “No. He wanted to be, but?—”
“Right.” Pres nods, clearly catching on to my uneasiness. There is only so much I can say in the salon. “I understand. Easier said than done.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s he doing, by the way? This can’t be easy for him, after everything else that has happened.”
“He’s…managing.” I wish I could say more, but how do you tell your sister that you’re a little worried about your fake boyfriend taking over his father’s earldom in the middle of a noisy salon?
“So, Dad mentioned something about an event?”
Our conversation with my parents went better than I expected. They were surprised, to say the least, but also understanding, especially when I reminded them this is what I came here to do, even if it’s not exactly what they had in mind.
My dad assured me he’d handle everything at work, and I could do as much or as little remote work as I wanted in the meantime.
Asher was super nervous about breaking the news that he wouldn’t be returning. My dad was obviously disappointed, but he understood, especially when Asher revealed his father’s health news. There are a multitude of reasons I love my father, but seeing him set aside his professional side to focus on Asher’s well-being is something I’ll never forget. He always puts his clients’ mental and physical well-being above all else, and that’s why he’ll always be the most sought-after manager in the industry.
Presley obviously knows what kind of event, but I appreciate her being vague about the particulars. If Scottish salons are anything like American salons, the women here are likely to be nosy as hell.
“Yeah, tonight.”
“And are you ready?”
“I will be,” I say. Once I get a dress, have my hair done, and have my nails painted.
And my nerves are under control.
After another embarrassing morning of waking up curled up next to a man I definitely wasn’t supposed to be spooning, we spent several hours reviewing etiquette and protocols.
Asher said it was good for him to review, too, since he was a bit rusty. I doubted it. He seemed pretty perfect at everything he did, but I appreciated him saying so.
“Well, I’d love to say I’m here for whatever you need—fashion advice, dinner conversation, wine recommendations—but this might be a little out of my depth.”
I snort. “This is out of most people’s depth, Pres.” I had to keep my mouth from dropping to the floor last night when Asher’s father casually mentioned that their cellar had winedating back to Napoleon’s time. And here I am thinking the Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s is pretty good.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not here for you, though,” she continues, giving me a meaningful smile. “If you need to talk or vent, I’m here, okay?”
I nod, feeling suddenly emotional. Pres and I haven’t been as close lately as we used to be. In college, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend. When things got overwhelming, and I needed a break from schoolwork or people, her door was always open, with junk food and bad TV. When I graduated and started working at the studio, I guess I developed a bit of tunnel vision, and my time with my sister suffered as a result.
“Thanks, Pres.”
“Of course.” She beams. “Now, don’t forget to send me pics, or I’ll be sad. ’Kay?”
