Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
She’s afraid of getting too close to Jake. She’s basically admitting it.
I feel a surge of validation. I am doing the right thing for her. So what if it’s a little manipulative and happens to be the right thing for the app, too?
“Because I need a man who satisfies and, well, I can’t risk finding out he doesn’t right before we get fake engaged, can I?”
“No one is asking you to get fake engaged.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t,” Lexi counters.
True. And her point about Jake is actually pretty logical. “Wait a few weeks and then broach the topic.”
She laughs. “Oh, Dee, you’d get it if you got it. I just need some D. That’s the truth of things. I need it and I can’t wait, and I won’t cheat, so—” She shrugs as if saying this is what makes the most sense.
And that’s the weird thing.
It does. In a Lexi sort of way.
“How about we go out tomorrow?” she asks. “Well, I already invited River out. Fern and North are coming in. We’ll go dancing. Meet some guys. I mean, with four women, how could we not? I’ll even play your wing woman.”
“Guys are never interested in me when you’re around.” No. She’s distracting me. I won’t be distracted. I will keep her and River apart, and I guess I have to go to do that.
“Please,” she says. “Tons of guys are hot for you. They love mean brunettes.”
“Hey.”
“Smart brunettes.”
I guess I’ll take it. “Okay. Tomorrow.” After I figure out all of this. Or some of it. I’m starting to lose track of her logic.
She crosses the space to hug me good night. “Sweet dreams, Dee. Dreams of D more like it. Or maybe that’s me.” She squeezes me one more time and releases me.
Once she leaves, I check my cell for texts from River. Nothing about the night, my sister, whether or not he’s still in love with her.
But then why would he talk to me?
We’re barely friends.
And we’re at odds.
He wants her. I want him away from her.
Until he sees the light and realizes it’s never going to happen, we’re playing this game.
And he’s going to lose.
Even if it kills me.
…
I wake with a mild headache and a moderate sense of concern. There are too many potential problems. I need to keep Lexi away from River and figure out a million technical issues with the app.
Plus, the actual dinner with investors.
A large glass of water and a six-mile run help. The shower and the enormous mug of English Breakfast seal the deal.
It’s Saturday, the perfect day to disappear into the one place that makes sense: work.
I can only spare a few hours—Lexi and River are keeping me on my toes—but I need them. There’s nothing better than a long, uninterrupted day of work. And the weekend is the best time for it.
There’s no one at the office to interrupt.
Only me and the code and the endless supply of tea.
I slip into my pre-begging for money coding attire of combat boots and a stretchy black dress; pack my laptop bag with my computer, Kindle, water bottle, lipstick, sandwich lunch, and noise-canceling headphones; and head out.
The record playing in my head (Cheap Trick, “Surrender”) scratches the second I step into the backyard.
Lexi is sitting on the patio table in shorts and a crop top, sipping coffee and talking to River.
Okay, it’s not just River. It’s Fern and North, too. And they’re doing most of the talking.
But still.
She’s smiling, and he’s staring.
My stomach plummets.
It’s not even eleven on a Saturday! She’s usually asleep at this time. And she usually goes straight from bed to her noon Pilates class.
“Hey.” Lexi waves me over with a smile. “Working hard, as always.”
“Uh-huh.” I approach.
“How’s the hangover?” Lexi laughs. “Wow. That feels good to say. Amazing actually.”
Fern, the second oldest Beau grandchild, laughs. She has the same hearty laugh Ida does. And the same effortless elegance. She’s wearing a linen dress and wedge sandals, her dark hair cut short, her square face framed by her square sunglasses. “Hey, Deanna. It’s been forever.”
“I saw you running earlier—you looked hot in your jogging outfit,” North says. She’s a few years younger than Fern, in her late twenties, and she’s every bit as elegant as her sister. Only in that casual, I barely try to be this cool way. She’s in high-waisted shorts, a loose white tee, and seafoam Converse. “Do you really run every day?”
“Most days,” I say.
“She swims at the gym the other days,” Lexi says. “She makes me look like a slacker.”
“I throw myself a parade if I walk up the hill,” North says.
“Please. You go dancing for three hours straight, three times a week,” Fern says. “Did she tell you she’s competing now?”
“Only for fun,” North says.
“Fun makes it sound like she’s not talented, but she’s as good as one of the dancers on that show with the celebrities,” Fern says.