Okay, so I haven’t started the wedding dieting I’d been planning on. My photos do not reflect reality.
“Doesn’t the RDC office have a rooftop garden?” Hannah reminds me. “A few new selfies wouldn’t hurt. You know, weed out the chaff.”
“I lostmy job because of you.”
I scream when a scruffy-looking man shoves me against a wall.
Nathan.
Truman growls from his bag, all his teeth showing.
“You owe me.”
Truman nips at Nathan. My ex raises his hand like he’s going to hit the dog.
I kick him in the shins.
“Ow! You stupid cow! That hurts.”
“So does being cheated on and thrown out of a car!”
“You jumped out of that car.” Nathan smells like stale beer. His eyes are bloodshot, his teeth are stained, and he hasn’t shaved in days. Guess we know why he didn’t wake up with the fire alarm.
“You humiliated me just so you and your friends could laugh at me. You think I’m going to let you get away with that?” He grabs the strap of my bag to keep me from running.
“I’m not scared of you. Get lost. Go harass the mother of your child.” I yank away from him.
“You’re going to him, aren’t you?” Nathan calls after me. “I know you’re cheating on me with him.”
“Brock? As if.”
“No. McCarthy Svensson.”
I am admittedly a little shaken when I slide into the RDC office lobby. Not because I’m scared of Nathan. Despite McCarthy’s overreaction, I know exactly how to handle my ex, okay?
No, what I don’t need is Nathan to start spreading rumors around town that I’m sleeping with my client. Bethany will find out, and then I will have to move in with my mom and Oona’s unemployed adult man-baby son.
I bypass McCarthy’s office and head to the roof deck. It’s empty, because of course McCarthy would spend all this money building an office complex for his company and then not have his employees here, like he’s just proving to the world that RDC is so flush with cash that they can do things like that.
The roof deck is pretty with native plants, wooden benches, and shady trees. Perfect backdrops for dating-app selfies.
My photos look good, even if I do look a little puffy.
“Already got a match!” I squeal to Truman, swiping “Yes” on the guy who chose me.
“Employed, check; uses grammatically correct English, check; handsome, check, check! He could give McCarthy a run for his money.”
I look through the next phase of the ten-step plan in between messaging the man I hope is my new fiancé.
“He could be the one. Don’t you want a new daddy?” I ask Truman as I flip through the pages of potential girlfriends for McCarthy.
They’re all pretty and sweet with big doe eyes. They love puppies and kittens and making the world a better place. They don’t binge drink mead or run out of clean underwear.
“What do I care if McCarthy doesn’t want a girl like me? I’m not dating him. I’m going on a date with Mr. Tall Green Flag here, who, as his latest message says, loves going to restaurants and wants to invite me to this new place he heard about but maybe coffee first so we can get to know each other.”
“You’re already dating? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”
I shriek, sending my papers flying.
