“No warning?” I say, scolding Truman, who is happily wagging his tail at McCarthy’s feet.
Irritated, I pick up the papers.
“And now she’s on her knees.”
I stand up quickly, my head almost knocking against his chin.
McCarthy’s hand briefly grabs my face before I can hit him.
“Is she not ready to submit to my superiority? You can’t keep going back and forth to your mom’s, Cupcake. You’re tired. You’re making bad decisions.”
He nods to my phone, which is lighting up with notifications from my dating app… and from my various “stalkers.” And I suppose I now need to officially add Nathan to the list.
I stuff the phone into my bag and shove the papers at McCarthy.
“The Evergreen Trust charity ball is in three days. You need to pick a girlfriend. I’ve vetted these ladies for you. They are all good-looking and care about health, their community, animals, and giving back. Not to mention, they volunteer with charities that are close to their personal story.”
“That’s what we’re doing? We’re just going to pretend like the only reason you’re here right now is because of me? Fine.” He picks up the top sheet.
“I’m trying to do my job.”
“‘Maxine Cavendish, works with the Evergreen Trust,’” McCarthy reads. “You know that organization is a huge scam, right? The woman who runs it uses the donations to throw lavish parties under the guise of bringing in more donations, and the dolphins don’t see so much as a fish McBite.”
“Everyone loves that charity. The model FiFi Lemieux promoted it at her wedding.” I hold up my wrist. “I have the dolphin charm.”
“I’m investigating them.”
“Do not show up at the charity ball and conduct a repeat of that press conference,” I warn.
“Tell me who you’re seeing tonight and I won’t,” he snarls.
I don’t look at him, not sure why I feel guilty when I say, “I’m not seeing anyone.”
Sitting in the coffee shop,I stare at my date’s photos—the dirty-blond hair, the piercing green eyes—I’m half in love already.
“Wait…” I zoom in on the photos. “Why does he have six fingers?”
“Found you.”
I clap a hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. My heart races, and my mouth is dry as Andreas slides into the booth beside me.
I’m trapped.
I force myself to calm down.
I know Andreas. Sure, he can get a little angry, but he’s not violent.
He reaches for my coffee, picks up the cup, then spits in it.
I flinch.
My ex smashes the cup down on the table, hot coffee sloshing everywhere, all over the paper menu.
“I am actually meeting someone, Andreas. Can we schedule this conversation for another time?”
My ex scoots farther into the booth. I huddle against the window.
His thinning red hair is longer than the last time I saw him, probably because I’m not around to make him get a haircut—or to wash his clothes, judging by the sour smell of him.
