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“Sams! Holy shit, it’s early there!” Percy yells into the video chat. “Look who I found here at the airport, babe!”
Percy throws her arm around Mysti May, who’s looking every bit the part of a former beauty queen…but with a black cloud over her head the size of Texas.
“Hey, Sammi,” Mysti May says mournfully. “Congratulations on the wedding, darlin’. I’m sure it’ll be…great or whatever.”
“Oh, fucking stop it,” Percy says, punching her in the arm. “Myst is just still bummed that she hasn’t foundThe Oneyet, babe. Don’t listen to her.”
“Two marriages, two annulments.” Mysti sighs. “You’d think at some point I’d get better at choosing men. Or women.”
I give her a sympathetic look. In the last year alone, Mysti married a man who turned out to secretly be a Colombian drug lord and a woman who turned out to be already married to a butch lesbian truck driver.
Not the best track record when it comes to love, I have to admit.
“And how’s your love life, Perce?” I smirk as I say it. With sugar daddies in every major city in the US and otherwise, if there’s anyone with a more complex love life than Mysti May, it’s definitely Percy.
“Ughhhh,” Percy groans. “So annoying. They’re all like, ‘Marry me, Percy! Have my babies, Percy! Let me buy you a private jet, Percy!’ It’s just so laaaaame.”
Mysti May side-eyes Percy like she wants to commit murder, so I decide to change the subject.
“What about that one guy you’ve been seeing. Silver Fox, right?”
Percy rolls her eyes even harder. “He’s the worst one of all. Thinks he’s in love with me or something! I swear to God, if I ever get married, he’s the last on my list.”
The taxi pulls over, and the driver helps me juggle my suitcase as I head for check-in. Right on schedule—when it comes to flying internationally, I’m kind of a pro.
“Babes, I gotta go through security,” I tell them, blowing a kiss. “I’ll see you in Bangkok after the award ceremony?”
“Whatever,” says Mysti May.
“Definitely,” says Percy.
I’m barely through security and still putting my laptop back in my bag when my phone rings yet again—but this isn’t a call I can hardly afford not to take.
“Hey, babe,” I say as my fiancé, boss, and husband-to-be’s handsome face shows up on the screen.
“Hey, Sammi-poo,” he says, and I suppress a groan. “How’s it going?”
“You know I hate when you call me that. Going good, though. Prepping to hop on the plane. How’s the research trip?”
“Wrapping up nicely,” he says with a chuckle. I can see the rest of our team popping bottles in the background as the boat they’re on sways back and forth. “It’s been no fun without you though, Sammi-poo. Can’t wait to see the award you’ve won for us before the wedding tomorrow night.”
“Me either,” I say. And I mean it. Mostly. I think.
Until Eggs smiles and adds his final little zinger. “You’re going to make a fantastic Mrs. Eggbert Humphrey, Sammi-poo.”
Because I love the man. I really, probably, mostly do.
But goddamn does he have an awful fucking name.
I think that’s going to be the last of it. Everyone is checked in and accounted for—so I can finally slip into the first class lounge and enjoy a little peace and quiet while I catch up on some much-needed work.
But then another video call shows up on my phone.
An Australian number, but not one that I recognize. No picture, either.
“Hello?” I say, taking the call.
And then the last face I want to see in the entire universe shows up on my fucking phone screen.
