Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 35.

        I rub my temple as the receptionist on the other end of the phone babbles on about...well, I don't know. Nothing informative.

        "Yeah, okay," I cut in. "But can you give me prices? Packages? Or do I physically have to come to California to get this information?"

        She pauses. "I can email it to you."

        "That would be great."

        "Okay. Can you give me your preferred dates so I can check availability...for how many people?"

        "Uh...four or five." Despite the wedding, I know that Day doesn't want a huge friggin' bachelorette party.

        "For a bachelorette party?"

        "You know, there's another spa two blocks away from you that was very accommodating when I called earlier today."

        "Just a second, ma'am."

        I can't help it. I smirk.

        "We have availability for you, but not for our complete package."

        "No good," I say immediately. "All or nothing."

        "We don't have time slots for five of you that day, ma'am."

        "Okay. Thanks." I hang up and drop the phone.

        Three spas. Two no-gos. One possibility.

        Fan-fucking-tastic.

        I drop my phone on the coffee table and stand up. Immediately, Angus starts mewling at me and runs over to his food bowl. I check the time. Shit. I have to get ready for work.

        I dump a can of food into his bowl—much to his Lordship's delight—and dart into my room. I pull some skinny jeans and a black shirt from my drawers and quickly slink into them. As quickly as you can slink into skinny jeans, that is. And, let's be honest, there's no graceful way to do it.

        I hop into the bathroom, still tugging them up my thighs, and fall into the doorframe. Yup, definitely not graceful. That bitch will bruise in the morning. I shove toothpaste on my toothbrush then the brush into my mouth, holding it still with pursed lips as I button the jeans.

        Success!

        Brushing my teeth with one hand, I run my hairbrush through my hair with the other. And look in the mirror. Fuck a duck, have I been wandering around with panda eyes all day?

        So nice of Harry to tell me when he left a few hours ago.

        I spit out my toothpaste and wipe the makeup from my face simultaneously. I hope my best friend appreciates the late and frantic efforts I'm putting into this bachelorette party business. I was kind of hoping that I could forgo the planning shit and just turn up somewhere... Alas, no.

        I have a list in my messages. A real fucking list. A to-do list.

        Until this morning, there was only one thing on my to-do list: Harry Styles. Now, there are around fifty million things she wants me to do.

        Book the party. Invite Tessa. Email details to everyone. Find a hotel to stay at. Organize a restaurant and book a table for dinner and drinks. Find evening entertainment.

        Yeah. I'm not even going to think about the effing bridal shower.

        I grab my phone and keys from the side and run down the stairs. It's raining outside—of course it is—and I forgot my coat. Fantastic. This isn't how Wednesdays go. It's how Mondays go.