“Website, please.”
“www.TheRhettSullivan.com”
I hear her frantically typing.
“This is pro level,” Mani says.
“Right?”
“I know he’s yours, but the man is smoking hot. I mean, ridiculously good-looking.”
“It’s still so weird to consider him mine, I have to pinch myself most times.”
“Take it from me, you’re one lucky girl,” she says. “There isn’t enough money in the world to convince me to reconsider opening my online dating profiles. I’d rather burn my hair than submit myself to that kind of humiliation. So many guys nowadays waste precious time playing stupid games instead of coming right out and telling you they’re either not interested or they’re seeing twelve other women. Grow a pair, and put me out of my misery by letting me know in advance you’re a walking disaster.”
I chuckle.
“On the first night, Rhett wanted to make you his girl. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
No, it doesn’t.
Chapter 23
Rhett
Carina and I arrived in New York City yesterday afternoon. After a little sightseeing and dinner at one of the best Thai restaurants in the city our concierge recommended, we walked back to the hotel hand in hand.
My girl was right.
You can only see a handful of stars in the night sky. There are too many bright lights competing with Mother Nature, not to mention all the tall buildings.
New York is an experience.
‘Fuck you’is like the local hello.
New Yorkers honk their horns with revenge.
The jaw-dropping moves cabdrivers pull on the roads are fucking crazy.
Central Park is something to be seen, but in my opinion, it pales in comparison to any patch of greenery in Summerville.
There seems to be an official fashion code. How else can you explain why everyone wears black?
People up here talk as fast as a cattle auctioneer.
Everything’s bigger in Texas, but there’s only one Big Apple. And that’s New York City.
I’m unlikely to forget this incredible trip anytime soon.
Our hotel is impressive. Carina says the Michelangelo isn’t a five-star. With the swanky luxury marble bathrooms, I find it hard to believe, but I’ll take her word for it. What do I know?
I’m glad we were able to play tourist yesterday, because today is all business.
“People, we’re about to get started.” Basil Montague, the tall and elegant photographer brings me back to the moment. “Rhett, you ready?”
“This feels a little awkward, but I guess I am,” I say. “Am I not showing too much? I’m not used to so many people seeing me wearing so little unless I’m at the beach.”
After an interview with a bunch of senior editors at the New York Times office, Molly’s assistant and I jumped into a cab and headed to the photo shoot.
