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Daisy and Rena beam, and Wes shakes hishead.
“So, a lot of carats,” Jake saysdryly.
We all catch up, but as we order coffees and mimosas and pancakes and French toast, my mind drifts back to the bigger problem athand.
I need agirlfriend.
Not a real one, of course. Just someone to make Xavier comfortable in my solidity as a potential successor long enough to put the groundwork in place—the first step of which is me winning thisaward.
I’m not about to drop this on the table in front of my friends, but as I drink my coffee and listen to the comfortable buzz, I’m mentally running through myoptions.
I’ve had dates for various social events, any one of whom I’m sure would be happy to play house with me for a month. However, none of them know me well enough to carry it off, and I wouldn’t trust themanyway.
Then there’s the decorator I dated last year for three months. When she started insisting I let her sleep over, pressuring me to cancel work trips and spend time with her and introduce her to my mom, I told her we had different ideas of where we were going. She’d responded as if we hadn’t agreed from the get-go that we weren’t looking for somethingserious.
Not callingher.
“How’s the fugue state working out?” Daisy murmurs so only I can hear. “You’ve been staring out the window for fiveminutes.”
“Not great.” I pick up the other half of her English muffin and bite into it, forcing my attention back to the table, which is engaged in a lively discussion about vacationspots.
Daisy has a sip of her mimosa before setting it down and adjusting the bracelet she’s worn on her wrist for as long as I’ve knownher.
Daisy wouldn’t have gotten herself into this problem. She has her shit sorted out, and everyone else’stoo.
We talk about Tris’s birthday this week as Hunter shares Kendall’s kid Rory’s new project with pride, and Serena's boyfriend Wes talks to me about a new science idea to follow up on the investment I made in his online datingplatform.
Daisy jumps in from time to time with pointed questions or appreciative laughter before cutting everyone off with a political question or prod for one of our friends to get more involved in one of the charities she’s stumbled acrossrecently.
That’s when it hits me.Daisy would be the perfect fakegirlfriend.
She’s smart, articulate, attractive, single, and she knows me better thananyone.
I shove my sweater up to my elbows and bend toward her ear. “We need totalk.”
She jumps, startled, and knocks coffee onto her shirt. “Dammit.”
"How many cups have youhad?"
"I swear this is myfirst."
She pushes back her chair, and I'm right on herheels.
“Daisy, for my birthday, I want you,” Tristan calls as D leads the way toward thehall.
“Jumping out of a cake?” she asks over her shoulder,amused.
“He’s rich, but rich can’t keep you up allnight.”
“You wouldn’t know,” I retort, flipping my brother off. “You’re following in my footsteps but you’re slow to catchup.”
Laughter follows us toward the hallway. The first single-person bathroom is full, so she ducks into the second. I follow her, squeezing in behind her so the door willclose.
“Did you reach your mom?” she asks as she tugs the hem of her T-shirt, running it under thewater.
“Not yet.” I’m working on tracking her down, the sinking feeling in my stomach growing by the hour. But I force it away as I take a paper towel and hold it out to her. “I need a date to my awardsgala.”
“I’m sure a million women would go withyou.”
