Shopping for a Billionaire's Fiancee (Page 32)

She waits me out and crosses her arms over her boobs. Boo. I hold fast, though, and it’s Shannon who speaks first.

“They should definitely hook up,” she says.

“Yeah, Andrew’s always been a boob man.”

Silence. Oh, shit.

“You stare at Amanda’s breasts, too? It’s bad enough Andrew does, but—” Shannon interrupts herself, her face contorted into a mask of agony. She’s looking at me like I decapitated a baby panda on live television and had Gordon Ramsey turn it into sashimi.

A muffled scream from one of the other women in the bedroom tells me I’ve crossed a line, but my flailing Man Mind can’t figure out quite what that line was. Amanda will be part of the wedding party assuming I didn’t just destroy the proposal and our entire future together by commenting on Shannon’s best friend’s breasts. I need to fix this. Now.

In business meetings I am the calm one under pressure. Surrounded by a horde of hormonal women I am nothing but a pile of masculine fail.

Which means I have to pretend to be all dominant and confident. It’s my only hope. Cocky and arrogant work when you need them most, as long as you’re okay with looking like an asshole.

I’m comfortable with that.

Selective lying helps, too.

“I stare at everyone’s breasts,” I announce in a loud voice. “I’m a man. We’re programmed to do so. It’s an evolutionary trait.”

“Because of breastfeeding?”

“Because….breasts.” I look at her like she’s crazy, because she is. I mean…breasts. That’s all you need to know, right? Breasts are the female body equivalent of those little curved muscles at the hip on cut men’s bodies (and I have those, you know). You can’t explain why they’re hypnotic because….

Breasts.

No cry of outrage accompanies my statement, so I think I’m safe. I grab Shannon’s arm and pull her gently, but firmly, to the front door.

“Look, I don’t want Amanda to hear any of what I said, not because it’s wrong to say it, but because I don’t need a group of hysterical women about to pump themselves up on a rewatching of Return to Me—”

She gasps. “How did you know that’s the movie we’re planning to watch?”

So much for Rock Band. I knew this was a trap.

“—to berate me for saying the obvious. Andrew likes Amanda’s rack,” I finish.

“He is also driving her nuts with mixed signals,” Shannon hisses furiously.

“They’re grownups. Let them work it out between the two of them.”

She looks at me with utter confusion, like I’m…

Breasts.

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“Stay out of it,” I suggest, my voice slow with intent. “Whatever attraction they have for each other will work its way out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t get involved.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “It’s like you’re speaking another language. What do you mean?”

A cold gong rings through my body.

Shannon is half Marie, right? This is the Marie part coming out.

I grab her shoulders and try a different tack, locking my eyes on hers. “What, exactly, did Andrew do?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh?”

“He did nothing.”

“He’s in trouble for doing nothing?”

“Exactly.”

My tiny little raisin balls ache with confusion. “I do not understand.”

She makes a derisive sound in the back of her throat. “Men.”

“‘Men’? What the hell does my being a man have to do with the fact that you’re skewering my brother for doing nothing with Amanda?”

“That’s the whole point!”

“Who’s on first?” I joke.

Her jaw drops as if I’ve slapped her. Shannon’s lower lip quivers and she looks away, her head bowed down.

“I think you should go, Declan. Now’s not a good time.”

That gong chimes louder inside me.

“I—” I really don’t know what to say. No, seriously. This entire hour is like something out of a Tommy Wiseau movie.

The only thing that would make this any weirder is if her mother appeared and—

“Hello!” calls out a familiar voice, the front door behind me opening.

In walks Marie.

“You on your period, too?” Shannon snaps at her mom.

“My period? No. Honey, that ship sailed a long time ago. Your poor father rode the red tide for three decades, and he can retire the crimson pirate mustache now.” Marie stands on tip toe and gives me a kiss on the cheek after leaving that statement hanging in the air like a silent-but-deadly bit of flatulence.

She really knows how to make an entrance.

The tension between me and Shannon must be palpable, because as she reaches to give Shannon a hug, Marie says to no one in particular, “Lover’s spat?” She finishes embracing Shannon and turns to look at me, her arm around her daughter.

“We’re fine, Mom,” Shannon says through clenched teeth.

Marie cranes her neck around Shannon and looks back where Amy and Amanda are whispering. She sniffs the air. “Ooo, Thai!”

“And ice cream,” I add. Shannon just looks at me, the neutrality in her stare unnerving.

“Marry a man who brings you period food and who….oh.” Marie’s voice drops off and she leans closer to me, waving Shannon in. We huddle.

“Are you two fighting because Declan doesn’t like to—”