Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée

“You’re an alcoholic,” Amanda says, her voice dripping with contemptuous pity. “Explains so much, doesn’t it?” she says loudly to Terry.

He makes a fake compassionate face. “She’s really lost her touch.”

“And quit trying to steal my man!” Amanda shouts.

I do a double take.

Wait a minute.

This does not add up.

Without touching me, Amanda passes by, glaring the entire time, and walks to the other side of the table, across from me.

Where she grabs Jessica and kisses her.

That’s right.

She.Kisses.Jessica.

Terry’s mouth drops.

I stare, uncertain whether to be angry or aroused. My body decides both.

Angry boners suck.

A camera flashes.

Pandemonium ensues.

First, Jessica flees.

Second, the people in the corner clap. And snap. And flash.

Third, Amanda wipes her mouth and drinks the rest of Terry’s wine.

Fourth, Terry and Amanda fist-bump each other.

Fifth, a police car appears.

Sixth, Amanda sprints out to retrieve her abandoned car.

“What the hell, Terry?” My fingers are two seconds away from grabbing his shirt and giving my big brother a right hook.

He holds up his phone and shakes it. “Not just an expensive clock. I know how to use it.”

I pause. “You texted Amanda?”

“I knew there was a reason Dad picked you for CEO. You’re quick.”

“Screw you. My wife just kissed Jessica!”

“Your what?”

“My, uh, girlfriend.”

“It was entirely for show. She wasn’t sure who to kiss.”

“Who to kiss? You texted my girlfriend back and forth and considered kissing her?”

He shrugs. “It was for show.”

“You ever ‘show’ my girlfriend, I punch you.”

Terry holds up his palms. “Fine. I’ll stick to kissing Mr. Wiffles.”

He just told me too much about his love life.

Horns blare outside. Cop lights flash in the window. Amanda’s screaming my name and—is that cop putting handcuffs on her?

I’m the only one who’s supposed to do that.

I run, dodging moms with babies in carriages and gawkers watching the scene, coming up on the cop’s left while another cop stands across from me, glaring.

“Officer, I can explain,” I say, mind scrambling to figure out what exactly to say. “This is all a big misunderstanding.”

“Always is, bud.” I get a good look at the cop. Balding. Paunch. Mustache. His specialty is glaring.

Great. This will be easy. As James McCormick’s son, I’m not just fluent in glare. I could teach a class on it.

“This is my girlfriend.” I measure my breathing, pull up to full height. Time to show the cop who’s in charge here. “She saw me in the restaurant in a moment of distress. Came to help.”

“Help? You needed help so bad from her she had to abandon her car in a busy intersection?”

Amanda’s biting her lips and looking down. My heart starts racing, but my face tightens. The only way out of this is through sheer dominance.

“I’m sure you can find a way to let her go. We’re making a bigger mess right now than—”

“SHE ASSAULTED ME!” Jessica screams, coming around the corner in all her wine tie-dye glory.

“I’m gonna need backup,” the cop mutters to his partner.

“Sir,” I say, changing tactics. I shrug and give him a look that I hope engenders some sympathy. “I’ve got two women fighting over me.”

“Lucky you.”

“She just kissed me without my permission!” Jessica wails, pointing to Amanda, who slips her free hand into the crook of my elbow and gives the police officer a smile so sweet you’d think she’d just been crowned Miss Cornhole in a tournament in Lima, Ohio.

“This is my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. She’s stalking him all over town. Her name is Jessica Coffin and—”

“The Jessica Coffin? From Twitter?” the cop asks, eyebrows up as if impressed.

Great.

“Yes,” Jessica crows, flashing mad eyes at me.

“The one who made fun of the Arlington cops when we held our Brony dance for local kids?”

“Uh…” Jessica’s face freezes in a mask of uncertainty. Or a bubble in her Botox treatment hit a vein.

He gives her an up-and-down look only a cop can give, eyes turning from careful guardedness to a knowing cynicism I’ve only seen one other place.

Dad.

“Have a little too much to drink?”

“He poured wine on me!” she says, pointing at me.

Amanda shakes her head slowly and says, “She keeps stalking him. Ask the people inside the Turkish restaurant. They have pictures and film and everything. She’s obsessed with Andrew’s sister-in-law.”

“Hold on. Andrew. You’re Andrew McCormick?” The cop looks impressed. He should be.

“Yes.”

“And your sister-in-law is #poopwatch, which makes your brother #hotsanta.”

“Something like that,” I mumble.

“You’re the one who kissed me!” Jessica screeches. “Wait—someone was filming in there?” She starts to turn, as if to go back into the restaurant, when the cop’s partner clears his throat.

“I’ll need to take you in for questioning, ma’am,” he says.

“As well you should!” Jessica huffs, giving Amanda a victorious grin.

“I meant you.”

“Me!” Jessica cries out. “Why?”