Great.
I stand a good five feet away, but their conversation is loud enough for me to hear.
“—I’m sure it won’t be that bad, as there are two large rooms, separated by a living area and kitchenette. So, don’t worry. Hey, remember the time we went to San Francisco with Mom?” Lottie asks. “She took us to that dim sum restaurant and we ate so much that the owners took a picture of us because they’d never seen two girls consume as much food as we did.”
Kelsey asks, “What was it called again? Dim Sum Star?”
Jesus, how long does it take for an elevator to get here? And clearly, Kelsey’s not happy with the plan to share the penthouse with me either. Don’t worry, Kelsey, I know how you feel about me.
Lottie nods. “Yup. It was so good. And, of course, the Ghirardelli store. You have to go. Oh, and hey, kind of convenient that Derek will be up there, right?”
Derek?
Now my ears are turned in their direction. Who the hell is Derek?
“Oh yeah, you’re right. This trip already sounds better.”
“Want me to text Ellie and see if he’ll meet you for dinner? I mean, it’s kind of perfect that the timing’s matched up.”
Ellie . . . there’s only one Ellie I know and that’s Dave Toney’s Ellie. Dave Toney is one of our business partners. Ellie and Lottie have grown close. Which means . . . Derek must be Derek Toney, Dave’s younger brother.
Is Lottie trying to fix Kelsey up with Derek?
“Might be nice to have something to do at night,” Kelsey says.
Well, Jesus fuck, I’ll be there. It’s not like you’re going to be banished to an island all alone.
Then again, why would she consider me a decent companion? The obnoxious asshole.
“I’ll set it up,” Lottie says. “Ellie was telling me that Derek is a total foodie. I’ll bet he takes you somewhere that will blow your mind.”
“Which means I need to pack some dresses for a date or two,” Kelsey says with excitement.
Fucking . . . great.
Just what I need, to stay in the penthouse for two weeks while Kelsey goes out on dates with Derek.
This is going to be a fucking fantastic trip.
Chapter Nine
KELSEY
Meant to Be Podcast
Rowan and Bonnie
Kelsey: Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Rowan and Bonnie, thank you so much for joining me today. Please, tell us how you met.
Bonnie: I was in a towel, and he was a voyeur in my kitchen, waiting to catch a glimpse.
Rowan: Jesus. That’s not what happened.
Bonnie: Were you or were you not in my kitchen uninvited?
Rowan: I was in me maw’s house. She neglected to tell me two lasses were renting the cottage.
Bonnie: Still, you were there and I was in a towel. I tried to shoo him away with a broom, but he wouldn’t leave.
Kelsey: A broom, always a good weapon.
Bonnie: Not for a stubborn Scot.
Rowan: Want to talk about stubborn? Shall we talk about your laundry list of stubbornness?
Bonnie: Not necessary, dear. Back to the story—of course I thought he was attractive, I mean, look at him, how could you not? But, man, was he grumpy.
Kelsey: What were you doing in Scotland?
Bonnie: Oh, my friend and I took a job with Rowan’s mom. They needed someone to watch over their coffee shop, and housing was included. We both needed a change of scenery, so we jumped on the idea. We were hired. But I wasn’t prepared for the kind of repairs the coffee shop needed, nor the challenging glare from Rowan with every step I took.
Kelsey: So, you two were enemies to lovers, then.
Rowan: Aye. Very much enemies.
Bonnie: Until I wore him down with my American accent. He won me over with his cake.
Rowan: That I did.
Lottie has always talked about flying in Huxley’s private plane. She’s told me the wonders of not having to go through the same routine as flying commercial and dealing with crowds of people. She’s talked about the service . . . the bedroom in the back, but nothing she told me would have prepared me for this flight.
Because this, my friends, is bougie.
This is easily the fanciest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Cane is printed on everything. The seats, the stationery . . . the napkins, even the apron the flight attendant is wearing.
And these seats—my God, I could get lost in one forever. I’d buy this seat alone, sell everything else in my tiny studio apartment, and live in this seat. I’d do everything in this seat. I’d sleep, eat, I’d even sponge-bathe myself.