Modern Girl's Guide to Friends With Benefits (14 page)

Meg was hunched over her desk, her long, dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun secured with a pen, scribbling away in a notebook. Finally, he'd found his Meg. Peter had an urge to shut the door and lock out the rest of the world, but he also wanted answers about the guy in the kitchen.

"What was that downstairs?" he asked.

Meg spun around in the large leather office chair and smiled. "I'm sorry about breakfast. I know I promised no awkward morning after, but I did want to feed you. Don't worry about sticking around. I know you have a lot of work this week and I've got tons to do before school starts in January." She smiled and gestured between them. "See? This is exactly why this friends with benefits thing is going to be good for both of us."

It was almost like she was purposely being obtuse. Peter clenched his jaw, trying not to raise his voice. "You know what I mean. What's going on with Connor?"

"He didn't give you a hard time for staying the night, did he? Connor's a sweetheart and he tries to look out for me." She laughed and shook her head. "I'm sure you can appreciate his protective nature. Between you, Matt, and Simon, you'd think I would have had my fill of overprotective men."

"No, he didn't say anything to me, but you two seemed pretty cozy."

"We've been working together for months on this house. We've become good friends," she said easily.

"Friends? I've known you for years. You usually don't let other people get that close. Particularly men. Do you have an arrangement with him? Friendship with the extra benefits? Is that where you got the idea from?"

"Connor's in a relationship." Meg frowned and crossed her arms. "Besides, I'm not exactly his type."

"That's what you thought about me, and look where I spent last night. I don't like this at all."

"This what?" Meg tossed her hands into the air and got out of the chair.

"You spending time with Connor."

"I'm not your girlfriend, Peter," she said, stepping closer but still out of reach. "We agreed to keep it casual. You don't have any right to tell me who I can and can't see."

"I understand the rules. I just don't appreciate running into the next guy who's going to hop into your bed as I'm head out the door."

"I'm not sleeping with Connor, and I don't appreciate you calling me a whore. Now get the fuck out before you say something you can't take back."

Meg pushed past him to her bedroom. He followed, not ready for the conversation to end, but she went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

"Meg. Fuck. I didn't mean it that way." He tried the doorknob and found it locked. A few seconds later the shower came on and he knew there was no talking to her now.
How did the perfect night devolve into this shitshow?
He should have just kept his mouth shut.

Peter grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head, and left via the front stairs to avoid running into Connor. When he got in his car, Peter headed home for a shower and clean clothes instead of going straight to the office. He needed the extra time to cool down.

Their conversation played over and over in his head. The farther away he drove from Meg, the more he was convinced he'd overreacted, and for the life of him, he didn't know why. But Meg always seemed to do that to him. He used to think it was his protective brotherly instincts kicking in, but what he felt right now was nowhere near brotherly. After seeing her touch Connor with such familiarity, Peter wanted to toss her over his shoulder and fuck her until she screamed his name so that prick handyman would know exactly who she belonged to. He wanted to brand her his for everyone to see.

But she didn't belong to him, and that was the point. She was his friend, and what they did in the bedroom ended once they left. Only now he wasn't convinced that was what he wanted from her. He just hoped she was open to something more, because the next time he saw her, things were going to change.

Chapter Nine

Modern Girl Tip #15 Be Open To Love:
A friends with benefits relationship is great, but it's not a relationship. Don't close yourself off to other possibilities. You should be willing to date. Every Modern Girl wants to find their happily ever after. Don't ruin your chance by not being open to a new relationship.

"That was another delivery," Connor said from the doorway of Megan's office.

Another goddamn bouquet. Great
. This was the fourth flower arrangement Peter had sent since he left yesterday morning and it just pissed her off more with each delivery. It was childish, but she'd refused his calls yesterday. She had every right to be pissed at him. And since she wasn't talking to him, once he pulled his head out of his ass he'd gone for a grand apology. But this was all wrong. Megan hated flowers, and Peter knew it. So she could only assume he had his assistant send the flowers instead of doing something himself. The ass.

"Toss it out like the rest," Megan said without turning around. If it was another bunch of roses, she might drive down to his office and smack him upside the head with it.

"You need to see this one," Connor said. "I think your guy may have lost his mind."

"First of all, he's not my guy," Megan said and spun around in her chair to tell Connor where he could shove those flowers. But once she got a good look at what he was holding, she burst out laughing. Instead of another bundle of cut flowers, Connor was holding a beer stein with a dozen packages of jerky sticking out of the top like an explosion of salted beef.

"Do you mind explaining this to me? Because I think you're both gone in the head. You've been pissing about the flowers all morning, but this?" Connor gave the arrangement a sideways look and shook his head. "This you're happy about?"

Megan bit her lip, trying to hold in a giggle. "I never understood why people send flowers to symbolize love. Flowers are the worst thing you can give someone when you're trying to show how much you care. They wilt and die. It's like saying your love, or in this case, Peter's apology for being a jackass, is fleeting." Megan broke out in a big smile and shook her head. "You're basically sending something that's dead."

Connor grabbed one of the beef jerkys out of the mug and waved it in the air. "Like dried beef?"

"Exactly."

Megan went over and grabbed the mug out of his hands and set it on her desk. Maybe Peter wasn't being a jackass after all. She snapped a picture with her phone and sent a quick text.

Megan: Thanks for the dead things on a stick.

Peter: Are you finally talking to me?

Megan: Maybe. I'm still thinking about it.

Peter: So should I cancel the dead hamsters?

Megan: Gross. You're such a weirdo.

Connor coughed loudly. "It's almost noon. Don't you have a lunch?"

Megan looked up from her phone and frowned. She really didn't want to go to this stupid luncheon. The phone buzzed in her hand again.

Peter: You love me because I'm weird. Are you free tonight?

Megan stared at the screen.
Love?
It was just a word. They both used it all the time, but now the sight of it made Megan feel all warm and gushy. That couldn't be a good sign.

Megan: I've got a thing. I promise to call you later.

Megan slipped the phone into her pocket and glanced back over at Connor. With a hand placed on her forehead, she feigned weakness and collapsed back in the chair. "Can you call and say I'm sick?"

"This isn't primary school. I'm not going to write you an excuse. If you don't want to go, just don't go."

"You've obviously never met my father."

"Well then, you'd better get ready if I'm going to drive you to your car. You don't want to make that fellow wait too long."

Megan rolled her eyes. "I've got plenty of time."

And she did, but Megan dragged her feet and was late. The charity luncheon at the museum was in full swing. At least she'd missed all the pompous preening for the paparazzi and the empty chit-chat that usually preceded these events.

Megan was led to a back table by a bored-looking host. The older man, who looked as if he'd been sucking on a lemon all night, gestured to a table tucked into a private corner of the busy room.

"Ms. Shelton has arrived," he said to the man waiting at the table.

"Ah, Megan. I was starting to get worried."

The impeccably dressed man waiting for her rose and smiled down at her. Ethan towered over her, and he really should consider cutting back on the teeth whitening. Megan had the urge to pull out her sunglasses. "Sorry I'm late," she said, taking a seat as he started to move in for a kiss. "I had to pick up my car, and I didn't expect the traffic to be that heavy."

"That's right, you don't live in the city. Your father was telling me about the little house you bought. Very smart of you to invest while the market is still depressed," Ethan said as if he were praising a puppy for not messing on the floor.

"I thought so," she said with a frown. Maybe she was too quick to judge. Just because Michelle had set up this date, it didn't mean that Ethan was a bad guy. It wouldn't kill her to give him a chance. Megan put on a smile and tried to make polite conversation. "It's a fabulous house. It needed a lot of love, but once I get all the renovations finished it will be perfect."

"Who's doing your work? There are a lot of unscrupulous contractors out there who are just waiting to take advantage of a nice girl like you. I'd be happy to look over your bids. I dabbled in real estate law, before deciding on corporate. If you're not careful, you can get stuck with a bad contract."

Again, Megan bit back a snarky response. The house, along with her teaching job at the liberal arts college, was a sore subject between her and her father. It was possible that Ethan was just trying to be helpful, and not that he assumed, like Dear Old Dad, that she couldn't handle the responsibility of owning a house all by herself.

Megan gritted her teeth—it was the best simulation of a smile she could manage—and tried to make direct eye contact with the waiter, desperately willing him to come to the table. Why couldn't this be one of those events that had a buffet? She needed to make her lunch selection and order a drink, so she could leave as soon as possible. A photographer came around and took their picture, but still no waiter. All the while, Ethan kept talking about all the things she needed to watch out for, and Megan started to get desperate for an interruption.

"You know, I'm famished." She spotted the waiter. This time, she waved to get his attention, but he turned around and headed to the back of the restaurant. "And I could use a drink."

Ethan held up his hand discreetly and the waiter appeared like some magic. Was she fucking invisible?

"Is there something I can get for you, Mr. Widmer?"

"Iced tea?" Ethan asked her.

"I'd like a glass of Shiraz. The house vintage is fine unless you want to get a bottle?"

"I don't drink."

"Seriously?" The word popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Yes," he said, straight-faced. "I don't like to take anything that dulls my senses."

There was no way she could make it through this entire event without a few glasses of wine or maybe a fifth of bourbon. Megan glanced at the door and back to the waiter. She didn't want to be there, let alone spend the entire lunch with Ethan. At least not sober. But this was for her father and the cameras were always watching. So she had a choice to make. Was she going to be the senator's daughter this afternoon or herself? Was she going to do what was expected or what she wanted? Did she really have a choice? "You know what? I'll just stick with the water."

"Very good." The waiter said and disappeared without leaving a menu.

Fuck.
Now she either had to wait for him to come back or flag down someone else. Megan searched the sea of black suits and ruffled gowns in a desperate attempt to spot the waiter. The asshole was better camouflaged than a Navy SEAL.

That's an idea: a series involving a hot Navy SEAL undercover as a waiter. He could be protecting a whistleblower from money-grubbing corporate assassins. She could have been forced to come to this stuffy party, wearing a wire, to get damning evidence. The handsome, polished CEO—with the over-bright smile—spilled all the secrets. But he found out she was recording the conversation, and man-candy Navy SEAL came to save the day. Maybe the museum had a coat check closet where the hero could hide the woman and in the close quarters things would get hot and—