Gabby chuckled before tugging me back into the kitchen. “Let’s make a plan, my friend. We need to get you this girl. Let’s go.”
I pulled back as Gabby grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. “Gabs.” I tried to stall.
“Nope. Even if it means I lose this pool, we need to get you at least at the starting line.”
“I am at the starting line. Hell, I’m past it. We just don’t need to make it a sprint.” I sputtered as we passed through the nonfiction section and were only steps from Elle’s table.
Gabby gave me a look of derision. “Six weeks, Nate.Six.Weeks.”
At this point, we were right by Elle’s table. Elle looked up and saw Gabby and me, her cheeks flushing.
She tilted her head as she looked between the two of us, her brows drawing together. “Hey, guys. Do you need something?”
I had a strong desire to sweep her up in my arms and hold her. That was new. Thank God Gabby couldn’t read my mind. I hoped Grace and Emma didn’t come down from the offices above. That would make this even more of a circus than it already was.
“I was telling Nate how you helped me write the listing for Aslan’s unused toys and mentioned that you might be able to help him out,” Gabby said, giving me a nudge.
Elle straightened in her seat as she looked to me, her face clearing. “What do you need to sell? I can absolutely help.”
Gabby gave me a nod and moved away as I pulled out the chair across from Elle. Okay, maybe this hadn’t been Gabs’s worst idea yet.
“I’ve been holding on to my place up in Chicago, kind of as insurance to make sure everything worked out down here. But it’s going to be available at the start of the year, and I don’t want to deal with renting it out anymore.”
Elle nodded as she pulled up something on her computer. “Okay, what’s the address? We could look to see what the comps are. And do you have any pictures of your place? Then I can get an idea on what to write in the ad.”
Her brow furrowed as her phone and computer both pinged. She scanned something and her eyes widened as she took a quick intake of breath.
Her fingers were flying.
“Elle? Is everything okay?”
Her head shook briefly in the negative as she murmured, “Hold on a second.”
I watched as her fingers furiously tapped on her phone, opening an app, scanning, switching to another account, only to open another app.
“Shit,” she muttered.
“What is it?” My gut clenched in concern.
“Umm, I’m not sure.” She spun her computer to show me the screen.
It took a minute to take in. There was a photo of Elle and two other people. It looked like they were at some type of conference. Elle was wearing a dress I’d pay good money to see her in. It had a shit ton of cleavage and hugged every one of her curves.
Scanning the page, I saw that this was the social media account for the education publisher that Elle worked for. Scrolling, I landed on the comments below the image. The first one was something about one of the people besides Elle in the picture. The next one made me growl.
Love every PD book these two have written. And that’s a gorgeous dress on the other lady, but she needs a friend to dish on what’s best for those curves. Not a great choice for a bigger gal. Whoa!
What the literal fuck? I looked at Elle.
She gave me a look. “I’m guessing you’ve only read the first few comments. I could give a lesser shit about what people think about the clothing I choose to put on my body. Keep reading.”
I looked from her back to the screen. These comments hadn’t bothered her, so what was it?
Halfway down the page, I found out.
7
Social Media Dumpster Fire
