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His expression morphs from concern to fear as he steps toward me. Weird.
“Please, Larinda. I totally understand your position, but please don’t break it off yet. No one expects you to marry him, just… don’t break up with him. I’m begging you.”
Wow. Is he seriously that afraid of losing his job? I squint at him, rare anger bubbling inside me. Well, I thought I knew him, but I guess not. How dare he ask this of me? Is he really that selfish? His career is more important than my heart and soul?
“Got it. Well, no need to worry. You’re a great producer. If you’re that concerned about a paycheck, I’m sure we can find you a new artist to keep you employed,” I snap. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll be an even bigger career boost for you than I am.”
He flinches but doesn’t retaliate as he looks away. “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”
“Yeah? Well, you did. I thought you loved me, and now I find out you only love my name. You can freaking have it, then!”
I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awesome and like a total mic-drop dig as I march away.
The moment would have been perfect too if I hadn’t seen him rub the center of his chest before I slammed the door behind me. I know everything about him—including the fact that that gesture means he just did something he didn’t want to do.
14—LITTLE ROCK (M&G OR MEET & GREET)
VAL
Well, that went well.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when I decided to lie to Larinda and break both of our hearts, but it wasn’t that. In the moment it seemed like the right choice. Now, not a single thing feels right. Worst part, I may have inadvertently made her even more intent on breaking up with Jarvis and playing into his devious, manicured hands. I have no choice anymore. I’ll have to tell her about the plot—once she’s willing to talk to me again.
As if losing Larinda (and probably everything else) isn’t bad enough, my parents just sent a follow-up message looking for a response to their previous email. Since I haven’t fully processed the first one, I have no idea what to do with this:
Dearest Perceval,
You keep us in agony with your silence. We beg of you to partake from the fountain of forgiveness and bestow upon us the mercy of your RSVP.
Lovingly yours,
Mummy and Papa
What nineteenth-century ghost is writing this shit for them? Guess this is what happens when you attempt your first ever apology in your fifties.
The day got worse when Chad recruited me for “an initiative” minutes after I returned to the bus to hide and regroup. While I had no interest in any “initiatives” orchestrated by the genius behind ten-dollar fish-themed pubic coverings, I was very interested in learning more about the plot against Larinda, even if she hates me now.
I guarantee it’s not more than I hate myself, though. Leave it to me to screw up an entire trope by letting my “grumpy” snuff out the sunshine in our fairy tale.
“You know how famous people do the M and Gs,” Chad whispers.
Why is he whispering?
“Meet and greets? Yeah, what about them?”
He shakes his head while referencing something in his zip portfolio. “No, it says M and G. ‘Jarvis M and G Initiative.’ See?”
Yep, “Jarvis M&G Initiative” is typed in nearly unreadable font at the top of a blank page. Also, the way he keeps pronouncing “initiative” has me regretting everything about this.
“Ninety-nine percent sure that’s referring to a meet and greet,” I say.
“Fine. Whatever. Whether or not it means that?—”
“It does.”
“—is irrelevant. The point is, we need to find an octopus. A real one, if possible.”
Oh.
