“About your rate,” I start. “It’s—”
“Non-negotiable.” Firm but not unkind. “But consider it an investment. If we’re going to sell this relationship, we need to sell it. That requires time, preparation, and commitment. The rate reflects that.”
Well, there goes my savings account. The sponsorship money I’ve been hoarding. Anything else I’ve scraped together. Gone.
The voice in my head that sounds like my mother is asking if this is really the best use of my resources.
Then I think about Preston’s face when I show up with Julian Blackthorne on my arm.
“Okay.” I exhale. “Okay. Thursday at seven. Try not to judge my apartment too harshly. Or me. Or my spreadsheets.”
“I would never judge someone for being thorough, Poppy.” That voice again. That honey-gravel voice. “It’s one of my favorite qualities.”
The line goes dead.
I sit there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to nothing. My heart is doing something irregular. Probably just anxiety. Definitely just anxiety.
My phone buzzes. A text from Sage.
SAGE: You’ve been radio silent for 14 hours. Either you’re dead or something happened. Please confirm which.
I stare at the screen. My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
ME: Not dead. Did something stupid.
SAGE: Scale of 1-10? 1 being “bought another plant you’ll kill,” and 10 being “got back together with Preston”
ME: Solid 7. Maybe 8.
SAGE: I’m coming over.
ME: No don’t
ME: It’s not that kind of stupid
ME: It’s more like... hired-a-fake-boyfriend-for-the-wedding kind of stupid
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
SAGE: I’m sorry WHAT
SAGE: You WHAT
SAGE: Poppy Rose Gable
SAGE: EXPLAIN IMMEDIATELY
I send her the screenshot of Julian’s profile. The one with the sharp jaw and the dark eyes and the suit that costs more than my car.
The dots appear for a very long time.
SAGE: Oh
SAGE: Oh no
SAGE: He’s HOT hot
SAGE: This is worse than I thought
