She picked it up, expecting another message from Kara—maybe a close-up of the rings, or one of those giddy just-married selfies.
Hey Kara! It’s me. Attaching the contract for your records. Also found this great promo from Friday—perfect for the launch announcement! Can't wait for Monday.
There was the PDF of the contract. And a video file.
Her stomach dropped.
"What is it?" Jonah leaned closer.
She couldn't speak. Just turned the phone toward him and hit play.
Rob's smiling face filled the screen, his arm around her in Kara's designer dress. In his other hand, clearly visible between them: a ChaiCycle packet, logo facing the camera. "Say Chai!" he prompted cheerfully.
And she had. Smiling like she meant it. "Chai!"
The video ended. Five seconds, maybe six.
"Oh fuck," Jonah breathed.
The memory came back to her, sharp and clear. "He asked for a selfie. In the green room. He fumbled with his phone, said he had it on the wrong setting. Then he retook it." Her voice was hollow. "He got me on video first. The photo was the cover."
Jonah took the phone, opening the PDF. His eyes scanned the page of legalese, and she watched his expression darken. "Standard endorsement agreement. Six-figure payout over eighteen months." He scrolled down. "And there, on the signature line..."
Kara Koff
Written in Tzipi's perfect scrawling forgery of her sister's handwriting.
"Jonah?" Her voice cracked. "Tell me this isn't as bad as I think it is."
He was quiet for a long moment. She could see him wanting to lie, wanting to tell her it was fine, they'd figure it out, no big deal.
But he didn't.
"It's pretty bad," he said quietly. "The signature alone—maybe we could argue you had no authority to bind Kara. But the video?" He gestured to her phone. "He's got you on camera, as Kara, saying the brand name. With his product in the picture. Even if we void the contract, he can post that publicly and claim verbal endorsement."
She caught her reflection in the dark screen of his television. Kara-like extensions even more of a mess now. Traces of her makeup. Kara's life, borrowed for a night that had somehow stretched into a full-blown PR crisis.
Life crisis.
"I need to get this stuff out of my head," she said quietly.
The words meant more than just the extensions. The contract. The video. Rob's smiling face. All of it, tangled up in her skull like those stupid hair beads.
He studied her silently for a moment. Was it his math brain working? Or his glue guy persona…the fixer. She wasn’t sure this could be fixed.
“You don’t have to – ” she started.
“I know.” He was already climbing out of bed, pulling on sweatpants. “But I have an idea.”
He rummaged in the closet, emerging with a red metal toolbox.
“My hero.”
“That is me: Slayer of IKEA instructions. Devourer of HUVUDROLL. Conqueror of hair hardware.”
“Devourer of…what-now?”
“They’re Swedish, they’re in my freezer, and they’re delicious. I’ll make you some later. But first?”
