Back Perfect on Paper
Chapters (32)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. CHAPTER TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. SIXTEEN
  19. SEVENTEEN
  20. EIGHTEEN
  21. NINETEEN
  22. TWENTY
  23. TWENTY-ONE
  24. TWENTY-TWO
  25. TWENTY-THREE
  26. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  27. Excerpt: Never Ever Getting Back Together
  28. ONE
  29. TWO
  30. Also by Sophie Gonzales
  31. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  32. Newsletter Sign-up

We were walking again now. Conveniently, we were at least heading in the direction of the girls’ bathroom, where I was supposed to be. I thought about his proposal for a moment, then shook my head. “No. Definitely not. Sorry.”

Brougham slowed his pace, crestfallen. “Is there anything I can do that’d make you change your mind?”

“No.”

He took a deep breath, then set his jaw and nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”

I waited, but he didn’t follow up with sly blackmail references or a reminder of the bonus waiting for me. Nothing. “That’s it?”

“Um, I guess?”

Okay, well, that was a bit better. “You’d pay for all our food and drinks?”

“Yeah, within reason.”

I didn’t press the issue. Brougham hadn’t historically shown himself to be particularly bothered about the cost of things, so I had a feeling his “within reason” was more generous than my “within reason.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll do it.”

Brougham rested a fist on the back of his neck and tipped his head back. “Fuck, you’re confusing.”

“I just wanted to know you were asking me to help out and not telling me I had to.”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously you don’t have to.”

“Then, once again, might I remind you favors are usually accompanied by a ‘would you please?’”

He barreled past the lecture. “So, Saturday’s okay? Any particular time?”

I sighed, resigned. “I’m free all day.”

“Okay. Good. You can go back to class now.”

“Thank you, sir.” I curtseyed.

“What’d I say this time?” he asked indignantly.

There was simply no point with him. “Message me,” I said with a grudging smile, before heading into the bathroom.

I checked myself in the mirror, fluffed then redid my messy bun, and rubbed some smudging eyeliner from under my eye. Then, given the stalls were empty, I called Ainsley, leaning against the sink. If I was going to stalk Brougham and his girlfriend for the day, I at least wanted some company. And Ainsley could almost certainly be persuaded by the offer of free food.

SEVEN