Page 37 of His Good Girl

“You are making haunted teakettle noises.”

His reply came through.

Callum Rowe:Good. Send me your address.

I stared at it.

Jules made a soft, strangled noise. “Goodgirl.” She squeaked the last word in a strangled whisper. I closed my eyes.

“Stop.”

“No. I will be buried with this phone.”

I sent him my address. Then, because it seems a job offer and dinner invitation had not fully satisfied my appetite for humiliation, I typed another message before I could stop myself.

Me:Should I bring anything? Resume? Paperwork? Emotional damage organized by category?

I hit send and immediately dropped the phone face down on the table.

“No,” I said.

Jules clapped both hands over her mouth.

“No, no, no.”

“That was adorable.”

“That was insane.”

“That was personality.”

“That was unemployment trauma with punctuation.”

The phone buzzed and I flipped it over with one eye closed.

Callum Rowe:Just yourself, Avery.

I did not speak.

Jules did not speak.

The words sat there on the screen, simple and devastating.

Finally, Jules said, very softly, “Well.”

I put the phone down as if it had burned me. “I need to change my entire face.”

“You do not.”

“I need to buy a dress.”

“You have dresses.”

“None of them are for dinner with Callum Rowe.”

“What does one wear to dinner withCallum Rowe? Steel beams? A tasteful girdle? The hopes of the city building commission tucked away in her purse?”

“I’m serious.”