Page 53 of Total Jane Wreck

“Just be honest.” She purses her lips. “You two are together, aren’t you?”

I feel my cheeks burn. “If we are, is that so wrong?”

Axel Rose’s head cocks to the side. I brace myself for judgment—for the “you stupid slut” speech. Instead, she catches me off guard by looping her arm over my shoulders and giving me a sideways hug.

“Look, it’s not wrong.” Her voice is soft. “But there’s such a gap in money and position . . . and he’s what, ten years older than you?”

“Ten years isn’t that big a difference.”

“My husband’s twelve years older,” she admits, letting her arm drop. “When we met, I was flat broke and he’d already made his fortune. We’re good now, but God—figuring out that power dynamic nearly broke us. And I wasn’t ever his employee, like you are for Chet.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” My tone’s sharper than intended.

She sighs. “I just—you’re so young, Jane. How many billionaires have you dated? Be careful, okay? All that glitters isn’t gold, and I’m afraid you’ll figure that out the hard way.”

“Why?” My questions are like bullets. “Am I so hideous? So flawed and unlovable that it’s impossible he’d actually want me?”

“Oh, honey, no.” Axel Rose’s face softens. “He’s absolutely charmed by you. I hope it works out, I really do. But, please—keep your guard up, with him and with yourself. Men like Chet Edwards get what they want without ever having to compromise.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I need not sell my soul to buy bliss.

That evening, I’m drinking wine at The Pretty Pinecone, trying my best to discuss Torrid Confessions—this month’s Spicy Book Club pick. But I’m having trouble getting into the spirit of things, especially since Axel Rose’s warnings still ring in my ears.

Men like Chet Edwards get what they want without ever having to compromise.

“Well,” Emma says, waving her book, “I thought the writing was good. But what did everyone think about Dax? For a romantic hero, was he too flawed?”

Eleanor, an eightyish woman who seems like the straight-talking type, pipes up. “He was quite brooding. Which can be sexy, but also makes me wonder if he’s capable of washing a dish or running a vacuum cleaner.” She adjusts the sparkly shawl draped around her shoulders, then winks at the group. “I like fictional boyfriends who do chores.”

Emma’s friend Miren and local real estate queen Loretta both nod like they’ve just been served gospel. Emma takes the reins, referring to her discussion guide. “But can’t we admit that Dax is a trauma survivor who deserves grace?”

Marigold, who showed up several minutes late carrying a bottle of rosé in each hand, doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, hon, men like Dax get nothing but grace. Honestly, if I met Dax in real life, I’d probably throw my purse at him.”

“I found him relatable,” Miren states, crossing her legs so decisively that the whole table shakes. “He’s just this guy who’s never been told no. That’s not his fault, and he’s done his best to be well-adjusted.”

“True,” Marigold concedes.

“Jane, you’re awfully quiet.” Emma peers at me. “What do you think of Chet?”

“Wha-What did you say?”

Emma furrows her brow. “I said, what do you think of Dax?”

Funny, I could have sworn she said, “What did you think of Chet?”

“Oh! Sorry, I thought—” I cut myself off. Each woman’s face is turned toward me, like they’re all waiting for my profound revelation about Dax’s shot at redemption. But my mind’s gone woolly with wine and worry. “I liked that Dax was pretty up-front about his damage,” I say, spinning my copy of the book on the table. “He doesn’t pretend to have it all together. And the heroine, Avery—she wants truth, even if the truth’s gonna hurt.”

Marigold’s stack of bangles taps against her glass. “Good point, Jane,” she says. “I just wish that the ending hadn’t been so neat. Real life is never so tidy.”

“Yeah.” My breath catches.

“Are you alright?” Emma asks.

“Not sure,” I reply. Truth is, I have a sudden, weird feeling that my life is way messier than I’ve wanted to admit. That I’ve been avoiding some painful truths.

“You look pale,” Eleanor states. “Maybe have some more wine?”