She coughs up a laugh. “All of that and you want to know about your passcode?” She shrugs. “Your old apartment number was my sixth guess. Speaking of apartments, Sierra called dibs on being the first friend you talk to.”
“Noted.” I take another swig of coffee and can feel the light board of my brain start to slowly come to life. “Go back a sec. Did you say something about job offers?”
“Yeah, there are a handful. The media interview folder is bursting at the seams, honestly, and I think we should really be strategic about who we give access to.”
My thumb begins to scroll through the endless emails. There are so many my hand starts to cramp, and Anna must see the horror on my face, because she softly pats my thigh. “Turns out Drew’s calling is publicity. When I got home, everyone wanted to interview me about leaving the show. I guess I caused some waves in theBefore Midnightuniverse. Drew was basically my own personal and really well-dressed bouncer but politer and with an email address.”
“I feel like I’ve found my calling,” Drew says as she leans back against the headboard and crosses her legs.
“Well,” I tell her, “I officially dub you my publicist and agent and manager and whatever else you want.”
“Oh, good,” Drew says. “Honestly, I wasn’t really waiting for you to offer.”
“What are you gonna do before the last ball?” Drew asks as she bounces up from the bed. “Go shopping? Get your hair done? Go to the beach? Get a spray tan?”
“I’m not getting an invitation.” I look up from my phone to find them both awaiting further explanation. “Beck said so on the way to the airport. I guess Henry knows what he wants, and it’s not me. And all I really want to do is just veg out and watch old movies.”
“He’s dead to me,” Drew says, like a switch has flipped in her brain. “Scorched earth. Dead to me.”
Anna nods. “His pulse is nonexistent. The doctor is pronouncing the time of death as now o’clock. They’re calling the morgue. He’s dead.” She sighs lightly. “You get dressed…not really dressed. Just, like, daytime-pajamas dressed. And Drew and I are on snack duty. Meet you in the main house in five?”
“Deal,” I say.
Drew presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, and they both meander to the door as I down the rest of my latte and slither out of bed.
“Oh,” I say, stopping them just before they walk out into the backyard. “Thank you both. For being here first thing this morning.” I hold my phone up. “And for dealing with this.”
“Of course,” Drew says, like there’s no other place they could possibly be.
Anna knows the way to my heart is through peel-and-eat cherry Twizzlers andTheLizzie McGuire Movie. (Closely followed by the High School Musical franchise.)
My in-box is…daunting. And I can’t imagine how much worse it was before Drew got ahold of it. The interview requests range from podcasts with twenty listeners toEntertainment Tonightand even a few late-night shows. The messages from old friends and acquaintances are interesting, to say the least. There’s even an ex or two and a few elementary school teachers, all of whom I cringe to think have now seen me make out on network television.
Some people I haven’t heard from since Dad died. Most are nice and encouraging, but a few are a little passive-aggressive and some are just…aggressive. A handful want to know how they can get on the show, and my most recent ex, Jared, emailed just to let me know he’s now engaged and that he unfriended me on Facebook because his fiancée was less than pleased to know he had watched a few episodes without telling her.
My thumb hovers over the folder titled Job Prospects (6). This is why I chose to come on the show, isn’t it? I wanted to jump-start my career. To get some visibility. Maybe even get that spark back. I’ve got no boyfriend and no cash prize, but maybe this could be my silver lining. But why do I feel so awful at the thought of landing a job because of the show? I never expected to fall in love.
And there it is. I fell in love. I’m in love with Henry Mackenzie. I always assumed I would have a difficult time knowing if I was in love. What if I didn’t recognize the signs? Or what if it wasn’t as intoxicating as the whole world has built it up to be? But, for me, it feels very simple. It’s the kind of thing I know with just as much assurance as my birthday. It’s not something I feel lost in or confused by. It’s a truth, and some truths hurt more than others.
I read the email at least twenty-eight times before taking a breath.
Dear Cindy,
My name is Reneé Johnson, and my firm scouts out creatives and helps place them in positions that perfectly match their skill set.
Since I’m sure you’re being inundated with offers and requests, I’ll be brief and concise.
My client, Crowley Vincent, president of Gossamer, is looking to expand his brand and move into women’s footwear. To make that happen, he is in search of a team of fresh, new talent. I’ll be honest, you first caught my eye when I was watching over my daughter’s shoulder as she was catching up onBefore Midnight, but after speaking with your advisers and faculty at Parsons, I’m nearly positive that my instincts are spot-on. We would like to bring you to New York for a meeting with Mr. Vincent. This is a time-sensitive offer, so please reach out to me immediately if you are interested. We would need you in New York by Friday, July 16.
Your fan, Renée
Gossamer. GOSSAMER. Holy…Gossamer has been around longer than Chanel. They’re a men’s footwear dynasty, and their designs range from sensible and everyday to extravagant and avant-garde. And with Crowley Vincent at the helm, they’ve been breaking rules left and right. Last season they included two pairs of heels in their men’s line and moved into outerwear.
“What day is it?” I ask over the sound of Hilary Duff absolutely belting it out to a concert of thousands as she pretends to be an Italian popstar.
“Sunday funday,” Gus calls from the floor, where he lies on his tummy with his iPad pressed to his face.
“No, like the date,” I say.
