“What about you?” I ask. “Are you filling one of these out?”
The ice in her empty cup rattles as she sets it on the table and closes her laptop. In one efficient motion, she swipes all of her things into a massive purse and hikes it over her shoulder.
“I think I have what I need,” she says, ignoring my questions while rising from the table. “I should get going so I can work on the itinerary. See you on Monday.”
“Oh, I—Um.”
I didn’t expect her to leave so soon. In my head, we would chat a little, catch up on what’s happened the last few months. I also hadn’t anticipated the crisp professionalism.
Or her blazer. The official prison of shoulders.
I refrain from frowning at the offending clothing in case she takes it as judgment against her.
“Let me know if you need anything from me before then,” she calls out. Sofía is halfway to the door when she spins back to me, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Catch you later, Ulysses.”
My heart slams against my rib cage as the bell of the door rings and she disappears from sight.
Chapter 3
sofía
“I’ve decided I’m going to marry him,” Charlie declares, her smile bordering on scary through the computer screen. On her left, the top of Amy’s bright-pink hair pops in and out of the frame, nothing but a bubblegum blur. Below Amy, Vivian sits in the dark, empty command center of the research vessel she works on, somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
“Who? Mateo?” I ask.
Charlie and Mateo are madly in love, but isn’t it early to contemplate marriage? There are timelines to follow, and eight months isn’t sufficient time to decide you’re ready to marry someone. I’ve dated a few men now—one for years, and others for short stints—and not once did I think “yes, this is the one” at the eight-month mark.
I convinced myself I was happy to marry Tommy after a few years, but even that had taken a lot of mental gymnastics on my part.
Charlie cackles. “No. I mean, yes, maybe one day, but I mean Jett.”
“Ah, so you read my email?”
This morning, after I completed my wake-up routine, I sent out an email to everyone Jett wants to travel to Australia, either for the duration or for a short stint on the Great Barrier Reef. It came from his email address, but I wrote and sent it.
So, by proxy, she wants to marryme. I’m flattered.
“I knew he didn’t use the wordcomprehensiveto describe an itinerary. That’s not Jett Pack’s style,” Amy says, the light catching on the fuchsia stone of her eyebrow piercing. “I’ve heard you use it once or twice, though.”
I huff, digging through my bag of nail polish for the right color. “White or champagne?” I ask, lifting the bottles for them to see.
“Champagne,” a chorus of voices responds.
Setting the bottle to the side, I slide the strap of my red-light mask over my head and click it on to a symphony of giggles.
They laugh, but my skin is incredible.
“Is he really covering all expenses?” Amy asks. “I don’t know if I can afford—”
“All of it,” I confirm.
When I mentioned they might not be able to afford the trip, I was told to “yell at them if they even try to offer to pay.” Thevoice note relaying the message was far funnier than it should have been, and I found myself relistening to it.
Jett gave me unfettered access to his bank accounts and credit cards. The sheer number of zeros sent stars along my vision. When the initial surprise settled—I had no idea he wasthatpopular online—the questions rolled in, one after another, until I was elbow deep in Google searches about him and down the rabbit hole of watching every video he’s ever made.
The man has his own fan club. A well-designed blog and chat group full of women wholovehim. And it’s massive. Thousands of women around the world who would kill for a chance with Jett.
User @Mrs.JettParksruns the fan page, but I would argue it borders on stalking. If he’s been somewhere, she’s documented it with photo and video evidence. They speculate about his love life and favorite beach, and whether he’s a boxers or briefs kind of guy. I don’t think he knows it exists, and I’m not sure I want to be the one to tell him.
