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Me: Actually NO—it was worse. He looked stunned and now I feel terribly guilty.
Ari: We knew it wasn’t going to be easy telling him but I’m proud of you for marching in there and getting that out of the way.
Ari: Are you relieved?
Me: Yes. It’s been stressing me out.
Ari: I know it has. And I’m glad it done. This thing with Decker will work itself out, I’m confident of that.
Me: I agree. I just have to give it time.
Ari: Should we get a drink later to talk about it in person, or do you want to wait until our date tomorrow?
Our date tomorrow, our date tomorrow.
I stare at that sentence, biting down on my bottom lip happily.
I have a date tomorrow with a gorgeous, fun, smart woman and I don’t want to wait to see her.
Me: Let’s get a drink.
Ari: I was hoping you would say that.
Ari: I don’t think I can wait to see you.
Same.
THE END
This may be the end of this novella, but it’s just the beginning for Miriam and Ari….
About the Author
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud sports and contemporary romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: traveling, historical architecture and nerding out on all things Victorian. She's a "cool mom" living in the Midwest who loves antique malls, resale clothing shops, and once carried a vintage copper sink through the airport as her carry-on because it didn't fit in her suitcase.
For more information, a list of cities/venues where Sara will be signing, or to purchase signed books, please visit her website at www.authorsaraney.com.
Johnson Jones’s Diary
ROBYN PETERMAN
Chapter One
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow is the big day. Life is thrilling! All my dreams are coming true except the one where I ride off into the sunset with Prince Charming on a snowy white steed and inherit an adorable brownstone on the Upper East Side with a doorman named Jeeves. Well, one can’t have everything, can they?
Fingers are crossed—all of them—that my first big show goes off without a hitch. Never in my wildest wizard dreams did I imagine that my designs would be headlining New York Fashion Week. My caftans are a huge success. Who knew shapeless bodywear would be in?
Anyhoo, wish me luck, Dear Diary, and thanks as always for lending an ear… or a page to be more accurate.
xoxo Johnson Jones
A SCANT TWELVE HOURS LATER…
Oh my God!” I screamed, sprinting through the backstage area like I was on fire. Wildly relieved I’d worn serviceable sequined flats as opposed to heels, I shoved models, stylists and dressers out of my way to get to the disaster. I was also grateful I’d worn tighty-whities instead of going commando—my usual modus operandi. Free willying it while running around putting out creative fires would have been simply dreadful. My sanity and my testicles were thanking me. I gasped in horror as I arrived on the scene.
My cute-as-a-button but very emotional business partner, Helen, stood in a pool of blood, sobbing like she was dying. Everyone gave her a wide berth. The poor darling looked like she’d been bludgeoned. I was fairly sure she hadn’t been stabbed or maimed. All of her appendages were in the correct place and her head was attached to her body.
