Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“And that’s it?” she asked.

He didn’t know how he could be clearer.

“That’s it.”

“You think you’re everything, Remy Gastineau, but you’re nothing but a piece of shit.”

Good she found that out before she forced a kid on him.

He didn’t answer.

She ran into the closet, and he shifted to watch what she did in there, but she only grabbed one of her million tote bags, shoved some clothes in it, then she stormed out.

She flipped him the bird as she passed him.

He sighed.

But he followed her.

And he only got close when she opened the door to her truck. But he did this to reach beyond her and nab the garage door opener.

He then moved to stand in the door to the house to watch her pull out.

When she cleared the garage, he hit the button for the door to go down.

He then pulled out his phone and found a twenty-four-hour locksmith.

He called.

And he didn’t go to bed until all the locks in the house and the code for the security alarm were changed.

And when Remy went to bed, he didn’t think of his son being gay (mostly because he didn’t care about that, at least not that way).

He didn’t think of Myrna.

He thought of that toxic, negative, man-hating woman, Bea, upsetting Wyn.

And he was thrilled beyond belief Wyn might finally be opening her eyes to that poison.

And he was pissed as all fuck she’d upset Wyn enough to make her cry.





CHAPTER 5





Over





Wyn





Oh my God! If it was me, I would have left that alphahole years ago. Honest to God, Wyn, I do not know how you put up with his shit!

“Earth to fashion queen, come in fashion queen.”

I jerked in my chair, Bea’s remembered words fading from my mind, and blinked up at Noel, who was not only standing beside my desk, holding a coffee I knew was for me, he was snapping his fingers in my face.

“My gawd, gurl, you were so far away, I was worried I’d have to call Chris Pine and request he board his spaceship to go get you. And by the way, shame on you for coming back into the room. Now I can’t call Chris.”

“I have a lot on my mind,” I mumbled.

“Mm-hmm,” he said, putting my coffee down, leaning a hip against my desk, putting his index finger to the skin under his soul patch, and watching me. “I know. Cock and Snacktails, sister. On Saturday night. That is before that hunka hunka burnin’ looooove shows at your house on Sunday with your three love children in attendance for Lucie’s crab cakes and lobster rolls.”

“Please tell me you didn’t order the lobster rolls.”

“Wyn, you’re rolling in money. Stawp with the poor girl syndrome already. You can afford lobster.”

“It isn’t about the money, Noel. It’s the way they’re cooked.” I gave a shiver.

“How do you think they cook crab?” he asked.

“Yes, well, my son asked for crab cakes,” I reminded him.

He did an exaggerated eyeroll that had me squinting at him. “Oh, how you spoil those children.”

“They’re grown, and what’s with the I’m-gayer-than-gay act?”

His vibe took on an aura of excitement.

“I’m honing it because I’m pitching our YouTube show again, and I have to flame for ratings, guuuurrrrrl.” He lifted both hands and spread them out while saying. “Wyn Gastineau, Stylist to the Stars, and Her Plucky PA Noel has a nice ring to it.”

He dropped his hands and I stated (again), “We’re not doing a YouTube channel.”

“You give good style, hunnee, and the fact Fiona Remington’s assistant called yours truly not five minutes ago to share Fiona’s in town next week and your two asses better be at the bar at Durant’s or she’s firing you, isn’t the only thing that proves it. And bee tee dub, you’re having drinks with Fiona next Tuesday. But you’re Insta numbers are not oh…tee…dee…see only because of you.”

“OTDC?”

“Off the damn charts, hun.”

I drew in breath and released it.

Noel spoke through this.

“I flame all over your Insta.” He did a fall back snap to punctuate that, something I’d seen him do exactly two times before in our acquaintance when he wasn’t doing it for social media. “I’m like a one-man Queer Eye inserting my gems of wisdom in between your fabuloso fashion suggestions, and so I claim at least a quarter of your millions of followers.”

He was not wrong about this.

“Now, tell mother what has your mind so far away,” he urged.

“Yves is gay.”

Noel snapped straight (or at least his body did, away from my desk).

“What?” he whispered.

“He came out to us yesterday.”

“The family meet wasn’t about Sabre becoming a baby daddy?”

Although (after I got through Sunday) I decided I’d give Remy a wide berth (it was September and I was thinking the next time I saw him should be Sabre’s graduation in May), I was rethinking that, since all thoughts went to baby daddy when they considered Sah calling a family meeting. And perhaps Remy and I should discuss it.

(Sah was his nickname because his full name was pronounced the French way, “sah-bru,” soft u, rather than the English way, “say-brr,” and because Manon couldn’t say it when she was little, she called him Sah-Sah, and a version of that stuck).