Sure, business has had a nice uptick since videos of the bachelor auction went viral, but there’s not a chance I’m going on that date with him. “Have a good night, Mr. Piersanti.”
“Wait, you’re dating Jack Murphy?” Claire appears, seemingly out of nowhere, her phone clutched in her hand. God, even her nails are manicured within a centimeter of perfection. “Like Jack Murphy of the Boston Breakers?”
“Thanks so much for coming in,” I say, sidestepping the question. What I would give for a coffee right now. A big one. Maybe two.
Claire’s assistant nudges her, and the pair exchange a look before snickering. I’m clearly missing the joke. For a second, I’m thirteen again, clutching my lunch tray and scanning the cafeteria for somewhere—anywhere—to sit.
But whatever. I’m not thirteen anymore. And I don’t need some wellness influencer to remind me I am not the kind of girl who would ever be connected with Jack. I’m already well aware that we move in very differentworlds.
They quickly say goodbye and head out, leaving me to close up.
Then it’s just me, these dumb roses, and the number I’ve scribbled on the back of an old receipt.
Eight thousand dollars by December 15.
I stare at my handwriting until it blurs.
It’s not impossible, but what happens when people stop caring that I’m the girl who won a date with Boston’s favorite playboy?
I pull up my accounts and do the math I already know the answer to. Half, maybe, if I”m careful. The rest belongs to other people before I’ve even spent it—my mom’s rent because Phil cleaned her out again, Peyton’s car payment I promised for next month.
It’s always like this. Everyone’s needs lined up before my own.
I rub my eyes and send out a text to the group thread:
Izzy: Emergency meeting at my house tonight at 5:30. Bring a bat.
Sloane: Bats? As in the rats with wings and rabies?
Zoe: Bats are vital to a healthy ecosystem. A terrible virus decimated the local population. Something to do with noses.
Kate: Can’t. Work thing.
Sophie: Don’t make me run, please. Prepping for the Tyrell wedding on Saturday, and I’m so tired. Zzzzz.
Sarah: Who are we fucking up?
Izzy: Sarah, I’m worried this was your first response.
Sloane: Words matter! Bats like the flying mammal, or bats as in baseball?
Izzy: Forget the bats. Just come over.
Kate: Bats? Wow, your hosting skills are turning niche, Iz.
Zoe: No more bat slander. They eat mosquitoes.
Sarah: Has no one ever seen The Town?
Sloane: Should I alert Fenway there’s a heist underway?
Sarah: HA. HA.
Sophie: I’ve been preparing for this moment my whole life after Goodbye Earl. I’ll buy out Summit Sports if I have to. Bats for everyone!
Sloane: You get a bat, and you get a bat…
Izzy: Never mind. I take it back. You can fend for yourselves tonight.
