Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Her lips part in an O, followed by a long, “Oops.”
This is an oops situation? Like oops, she just accidentally sat on his dick for three months while commiserating with me over the most insulting breakup ever?
I can’t even speak, but I don’t need to. Simone grabs her phone. Her fingers scroll-fly over the screen, then she winces. “Shoot. I’m so bad with social, Ivy, and you’re so good with it. I meant to post that engagement shot tomorrow morning at six a.m., not at six tonight.”
“AM and PM can be hard,” I say with fake sympathy.
“Right?” She pops up from her chair, smoothing a hand over her rockabilly dress patterned with red roses that match the tattoos snaking down her bare arms. “And listen, I planned to tell you at breakfast tomorrow. I figured I’d soften the blow with avocado toast.” She grins sheepishly. “Your fave, right?”
Oh god, that’s a pity smile. A worse realization hits me right in the gut. Tomorrow was a sympathy breakfast. She wasn’t going to promote me. She was going to tell me about her upcoming wedding, letting me down gently with the avocado-and-chia-seed special.
“Yeah. It’s, um, great,” I say, trying to figure out what the hell my next move is.
“I’m sure it must be hard for you,” Simone says with a too-kind smile. “So I totally get why you’d need to move on and do your own thing. And you know I’ve always supported you.” Oh, there’s the sisters in solidarity bullshit that was missing when she was on her knees giving my ex a faux blow job.
Then, her eyes widen, her lashes blink and her lips round in an exaggerated O. I know that look—it’s her light bulb moment face. “I just need one tiny thing from you before you go,” she says.
“What is it?” I ask, armor on.
She gives a helpless grin. “Can you cover my wedding? You’re the best fashion writer I’ve ever worked with, and I need someone good to cover it for my socials. And you can cover it for your own little channel too. Obviously, I can’t do it, and it’s a great opportunity for you. You could bring a plus-one, of course.”
She truly thinks I’d want to go to my cheating ex’s wedding? Where he marries my backstabbing boss? That I’m up for pretending her forest wedding is some sort of fairy tale instead of two trend-chasers dappering it up with choices that will be dated by next week?
It’s going to be a train wreck.
Wait.
Holy shit.
It’s absolutely going to be a fantastic freaking train wreck, and she just offered me a front row seat. I can use this to launch my own fashion channel at last. I’ve been writing about the business for others for the last few years. Now it’s my turn.
I smile and take the invitation for what it is—a pre-ward.
“I’d love to,” I say.
Jackson and Aubrey are waiting for me when I leave the office. I slide into the back seat of Jackson’s ride, equally livid and delighted. “You’re so not going to believe this,” I say.
“Try us,” Aubrey instructs.
I spill all the tasty tea, finishing with, “And somehow, I have an invitation to cover their wedding. Everyone who loves fashion will want to see them tie the knot. And, bonus, I won’t even have to try to make her look like an asshole; she’ll do it all by herself.”
Jackson hoots as he navigates his matte black electric sports car through Sunday evening traffic in the city. “So when is the wedding? What are you wearing and who are you bringing? There are rules, obviously. First, you never show up at an ex’s wedding solo.”
In the passenger seat, Aubrey nods vigorously. “Second, you must bring someone hotter, richer, and more fabulous than said ex.”
I give them the upcoming date then smile, patting Jackson’s shoulder. “I know just the guy.”
Jackson and I have been friends forever. Our older brothers—both of them star hockey players in this city, Ryker Samuels and Chase Weston—were best buds growing up. Our moms are best friends, so Jackson and I became besties too. “You have to come with me and be my emotional support hottie,” I say.
Over the years, he’s been my perma-plus-one, and I’m his. It doesn’t occur to me this time would be different.
At the light, Jackson glances back with an apologetic smile. “You know I love being your fill-in man, but I can’t go, sweets. I have an animation job in Los Angeles then.”
All the air leaks out of me. I slump in the back seat. “Where am I going to find a decent plus-one?”
“We have time,” Aubrey assures me. “We’ll get on the apps, Ivy. We’ll talk to Trina.” Trina’s her longtime bestie, and after she started seeing my brother over a year ago, she’s become my friend too. “We’ll get the book club gals involved. We are women, hear us roar.” Aubrey adds a bestial sound effect. “We’ll find someone so much better.”