Chapter 3

56.9K 1K 107
                                    

Josh P.O.V.

My plan was put to action right away, I would find a wife. Although, I did not want just anyone. Someone like me couldn't be seen with anyone ordinary. I grabbed the latest magazine and flipped through, seeing which single ladies were out there for me. Reading through it was mainly about actresses, yet they were to busy for me. I wanted someone more simple, a model perhaps. After flipping a few more pages I noticed a snapshot of Hollyn Emerson walking down a New York City Street. Perfect. She was young, probably around twenty-one and her career was taking off. She was beautiful and would make the perfect wife. Flipping the page their was a shot of her at a few favorite stores and at the popular club Tango. That was where I would find her.

Logging on to the computer I quickly went onto the airlines page and booked myself a first class ticket to the large city. The plane left in an hour. I never packed for vacation, I just bought a new wardrobe. Signaling the car to come get me, I seated myself in the back. "Where to?" John, my driver, turned and asked.

"The airport," I stated. "And make it quick."

Charlotte's POV:

There are only two words I hate. Shopping and mall. There are only two words Penelope loves. Shopping and mall. You would think that our differences would make us less likely to be friends. But, here we are today....shopping at a mall. The crowds and large amount of stores and noise went right through me. Malls were just for little thirteen year old girls who traveled in packs, those typical mall rats, and people who have nothing to do rather than blow some more money.

We were currently in a clothes store looking for an outfit for tonight's party. Just the mere mention of it, makes my palms sweat. This was a bad idea. I had a bad feeling about it. This was not going to end too well. I saw the movies and TV shows. Party's always ruined things.....relationships, virginity's, and more. But, I did learn something from those movies and TV. Shows.

NEVER. DRINK.

I mean seriously, you would either end up naked in bed....without any memory of what happened before. Or, you would find yourself in some other town, across the city....deserted in a motel room.....well, I don't know about that last one but you should never drink.

I held up, a pair of tight skinny jeans to Penelope. She faked gagged, and shook her head no, "It's September....the sun still shine's, what you need are shorts." She said, walking over to the short's rack. I mentally groaned, as I followed her. The rack of short fabric that barely covered your butt. Sure it was a popular trend but I didn't feel comfortable when mostly skin was showing.

She started to look through the rack, and I impatiently waited. I started to tap my foot, and she raised her eyebrow at me. "Just calm down, it will only take a second...geesh. Why are you so impatient? The party doesn't start till late." She said, and I rolled my eyes. She then held up a pair of white shorts. I raised my eyebrow. White was not my color, I preferred darker colors. White just didn't go to well with my skin color.

"I thought people weren't supposed to wear white after Labor Day?" It came out as a sarcastic question. Penelope shrugged. "I guess. You know what, you don't need shorts...you need something clingy-"

"What?" I interrupted, clingy?

"So, all we need to get is a black, thigh-length shirt. Oh, and a pair of black skinny jeans." I glared at her, and she smirked back. We spent hours of me holding up skinny jeans and her denying everyone I held up. Now she wants skinny jeans? What happened to the sun shining and all that crap?

She noticed the look on my face and shrugged, "We live in New York...it could snow or rain in September. And besides...I'm sure Alex wouldn't complain about you wearing skinny jeans." She said, smirking at me. "At least there're tight." She then shuffled through a series of clothing. Shirts that were rather low cut and shirts that revealed your stomach, or a combination of both. I quickly shook my head,

Married To The Douchebag of the CenturyWhere stories live. Discover now