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“Yeah, I remember Sammy. And Don,” Anna says. “How long were you in that holding cell again because Sammy’s car was stuffed with stolen car parts and drugs?”
“Six hours and I met a lovely collection of eclectic hookers, thank you very much,” I say. “Listen, I know Sammy and Don—”
“—or Jack or Caleb—”
“—aren’t great examples,” I power through. “But they were real people. Who… I don’t know… Worked at McDonald’s in high school and didn’t need to match their dress shoes to their belt before they went to a bar.”
Anna smiles patiently. “Yes, yes. I know your type prefers Carhartt and work boots. But think you can find a happy medium that doesn’t also get off on robbing liquor stores?”
“Okay, Caleb robbed pawn shops.”
“Does that make it better?”
“It makes it more dangerous. There are a lot more guns in pawn shops.”
“So it was cooler ‘cause he might have gotten gunned down?” Anna tries.
“No! I mean—” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I mean. And may I remind you that I broke up with him after I found out about it. Same with Sammy and the car fiasco. This is exactly why I don’t date anymore. That and work, of course.”
“Work’s becoming your boyfriend,” Anna says.
“Well at least the bank only robs people legally,” I crack. I can’t keep the jokes up though. My face falls, and Anna’s does too when she sees the weight this weekend in Chicago is hanging over me.
“Liz,” she says, “you’re going to be fine. Trust me. And trust yourself. Your instincts have gotten you this far. They won’t let you down.”
“I hope not,” I say miserably. “I just want Sunday to be here now.”
At my words an icon blinks, indicating I have new mail. I quickly switch windows and then sigh when I see that it’s not Rhett. It’s close though. An e-mail directly from the Boss herself.
“What happened?” Anna asks, noticing my change.
“Sloane just e-mailed me,” I say. I skim it quickly. “My flight and hotel information mostly.” My eyes land on the brief message at the bottom. In character, it’s quick and to the point:
Elizabeth,
The Alencars will not be arriving until Thursday, but I want you there Wednesday to settle in. There’s a welcome dinner to kick off the convention on Thursday night. I’ve gotten you and Rhett a seat at their table. Don’t skip this. It may be your only opening.
Also, to make things easier for you, here is Rhett’s personal phone number: 917-555-9345.
Sloane Westing
“She gave me his cell phone number,” I say.
“Are you going to call him?” Anna asks, wide-eyed.
“Of course! Right now actually,” I say. I look guiltily at her. “Sorry to spill and dash, but…”
Anna waves a hand. “I need to get ready for dinner with Cole anyway. Go ahead. And good luck, babe. Oh!” she adds quickly before we hang up. “We’re relaxing in Cusco for the next week so seriously feel free to call any time.”
We say our goodbyes and she leaves me alone to call Rhett on his private number. I wish she could stay as I talk to him; the moment her encouraging face disappears nerves hit me like a shovel to the back of the head.
Is it weird to call him on his personal line? Invasive? What would I interrupt him doing? A very clear and equally unnerving picture of Rhett in a gorgeous penthouse fucking some random on a balcony materializes. I look at it a second longer than I should, and then shake it away. Odds are he’s just sitting on his couch watching the game in sweatpants.
Weirdly, that image is just as enticing, which is not the word I should be using to describe Rhett. He’s a jerk, remember? And he’s not even your type!
If I’m being honest with myself, jerks do tend to be my type, though usually of the blue collar variety. I’m old enough to know this about myself and to take the appropriate measures to combat my awful tastes. Usually that just means cutting off contact and then working overtime until I’ve forgotten how lonely I am. It’s a source of great confusion for myself, my friends, and several therapists. I’m highly educated, very successful, and have self-worth implanted deep in my soul. Yet there’s just something about a red flag that makes me want to wrap myself up in it.
Thankfully Rhett is a rich boy who’s even more of an asshole than my exes, so once I put blinders on to his idiotically flawless face I should be in the clear.
