“Being professional.” He tugged once at her scarf.
She scooted closer.
And before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her, her whole body melting into his, the snow and cold and reality as distant as the moon.
When Augie had requested the Fourth off, Aida had given her a whole week, citing a slow schedule, small wedding, and the fact the newbies were finally getting the hang of things. Augie hadn’t realized then how relieved she’d be to avoid everyone at the Club .
She had barely slept the night after the cabin. The whole drive back, she’d replayed Mrs. Crawley’s words, the moment she’d overheard between her and Chat. None of it made sense. Why did Mrs. Crawley hate her so deeply? It’s not like she knew Augie and Chat had slept together. There was no way he had told her. At least, she hoped not.
Even if Mrs. Crawleydidknow, why would she care? Chat and Augie weren’t dating. She wasn’t around the boys, breaking the “rules.” Was Mrs. Crawley just—jealous?
It was impossible the two didn’t find each other attractive. It was equally impossible they weren’t growing closer, given how much time they spent together. Augie hated to recognize that she felt jealous of Mrs. Crawley. She wanted to be theoppositeof her: to be kind and humble and hardworking. She didn’t want to sink to her shallow level, to feel envious of some bored, mean housewife. In thinking that, Augie knew she’d already faltered.
When Augie had finally fallen asleep, she’d dreamed of Chat. They were in the middle of her New York apartment. He’d been on top of her, kissing her, when the whole room began to sway like a boat. His face had morphed into Micah’s then—that sharp, sly smile. And finally, as she pushed him away, Danika had appeared in the doorway, screaming toGet the hell out.
Augie had woken sweating. It had felt like a warning. She needed to be careful. There was no denying she was involved now, though: She liked Chat too much. She hated Danika too much. She was too eager to know what was going on. Could they really be hooking up? The thought made her feel crazy.
Augie had told Leah everything that had happened at the cabin, of course. She’d also asked for help looking them all up online—she knew Leah was always game for stalking—but Leah had said she was sorry to report she’d already tried.
“When this whole thing kicked off, I creeped on Danika and couldn’t find anything,” she’d explained. “It’s kind of weird, actually. Usually people that hot like to show off. But Danika is wiped clean. All I could find online was a mention of her from some designschool in California, a link to their cabin, a quote from her about a PTA fundraiser.”
“What about Chat?” Augie had said.
“He won’t accept my friend request! Rude, if you ask me. I saw he only has twelve posts, though, so maybe he just hasn’t seen the request. That’s kind of hot, honestly. Danny, on the other hand, won’t stop posting screenshots of NHL scores. It’s giving me the ick.”
Augie told Leah not to worry about it, trying to downplay her disappointment and the way her curiosity was killing her. It just felt like there was more to the story, that there was something she was missing—something to explain Mrs. Crawley and Chat’s closeness, why she despised Augie, why Chat seemed indebted to her. The Crawleys had always been sketchy and closed off, but this was next level. It didn’t add up. Augie asked Leah to keep her ears open, to see if anything else popped up. Augie herself refused to get back on social media. It would be too hard to face all her old messages and photos, all her New York musings—all her failure.
Augie used her time off to start on her “Get Your Life Together” checklist—the three-pronged agenda she’d come up with after New York. She knew only progress would make her feel better.
The agenda was straightforward: First, she would complete a wealth of personality tests to illuminate her true self; second, she’d research cities all over the country and determine where she was meant to live; and third, she’d make a list of entry-level, in-house marketing positions. Even though all the contacts she’d built through professors and informational interviews in college were linked to traditional agencies, she knew the ad world was small; given all that had happened, she had to avoid them. She didn’t want to risk talkingto someone who would reach out to her old agency, ask for a referral. It would be too mortifying. No one would want her.
Augie sat at her old high school desk, staring into her three glowing, empty spreadsheets. It was hard for her to focus in her room. When they’d moved in, Augie had spent months decorating. As an insecure thirteen-year-old, she had wanted all her new friends to step inside and know exactly who she was—to love her. She’d painted her walls her favorite aqua blue, pinned up paper crane mobiles across her ceiling, covered her walls in posters ofSex and the CityandMonsters, Inc. and the Killers. Now, it was distracting; it all felt so earnest and immature.
Still, Augie was proud that, by the following Monday, a full week after the Fourth, she was about to start on her fifth personality test—the Enneagram. Leah swore by it, and as soon as Augie scrolled to the first question, Leah burst into her room, as if the test alone had conjured her. Augie had shut her phone in her closet—no distractions!—and was shocked to see her.
“Do you have me on mute or what?” Leah kicked off her sandals, dropped her purse, and climbed onto Augie’s bed with her iced Caribou Coffee. She crossed her legs and shimmied out of her blazer, her hair wild around her shoulders. She must have come right from work.
“You and the rest of the world.” Augie danced her hands over her keyboard and read from the screen. “Do I usually welcome or avoid confrontations?”
Leah leaned back, fluffing a pillow behind her, sipping her drink. “Enneagrams! You’re gonna be a five. And I think we both know the answer to that.”
Augie reached for a hair clip on her desk and threw it at her. Despite the distraction, it was nice to see Leah. She had been working atthe hotel nonstop, and while they’d texted and chatted on the phone, they hadn’t caught up properly. All their latest conversations had also revolved around Chat and Mrs. Crawley—though they hadn’t discovered anything new.
“Okay, well, I will get out of your hair”—Leah opened and closed the clip like a mouth—“but I wanted to see if you could come to El Verde tonight. My mom’s friend is in town, and we’re going to the tasting menu. It’ll be fun. My dad is coming, too.”
Augie slumped down, resting her arm and chin along the back of her chair. She didn’t have it in her to face Robin or Wyatt tonight—to lie about New York while they treated her to an expensive meal. She felt guilty—relieved to have an excuse.
“I wish I could, but I have the men’s golf tourney tomorrow. I have to be up at five.”
Leah groaned. She set her coffee on Augie’s nightstand. “We really need to get you on a nine-to-five so we can make the most of this summer. At least have some fun.”
Augie turned back to her screen. “I feel like it’d be worse to have two short-lived jobs on my résumé.”
“I’m only saying, it’s not like you have to work all these random Club shifts. I could ask Mallory about a job for you. They need a lot of help with the new restaurant. Marketing and everything. I bet they’d hire you. And...” She grinned. “Well, there’s one more reason we’re going out tonight.”
Augie twisted around.
“The big news is... Mallory finally hired me!” Leah raised her arms in a mock-cheerleader pose, but the moment felt so forced, a second later, she let them fall to her sides. “From unpaid intern to director of operations. Vague AF because let’s be real, I do everything.”
