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“It says it’s registered for two drivers. Roman Benton and . . .” She turns the screen in my direction and points at a name. “Evette Benton.”

“Evette. Benton?” At seeing his last name next to her first name, a violent rage surges through my body.

Roman married someone else days after our wedding disaster and then stole my rental car to take his new wife on my un-honeymoon!

My chest tightens, and I heave. I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I pick up a brochure and fan my overheated cheeks, but everything in the room is turning bright red.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Breathe!

“You okay?” Jazmine asks, her eyes widening. She takes a step back, and her free hand inches toward a metal water bottle, something she no doubt plans to use as a weapon in my unhinged state. This close, she’d easily knock me out.

If I’m lucky.

No, if I’m lucky, she’d smack me hard enough that I black out and forget this disastrous month.

Do it, Jazmine. Take me out. End my misery!

Even though I’m trying to tell myself this is fine, I’ll get through this, my shoulders aren’t listening. They remain tense and near my ears. I attempt another fake smile with an uneasy chuckle, but it’s wobbling, like I’m trying too hard or I’m about to gnaw off a body part.

Yum, fingers!

“Can you just . . . find me another car?” I bite my nail.

Jazmine returns to the computer where she assesses my options. Still, her gaze shifts between the computer screen and me. She’s on guard.

“Looks like we’re low on cars,” she finally says with a tight smile.

“How low?” I clench my teeth.

“Like . . .” Jazmine’s gaze flicks past me for a millisecond, probably checking to see if the man behind me could help pin me down if things turn messy. With where this seems to be heading, things might.

She audibly swallows, then says, “Zero cars.”

“Zero cars?” I moan, my head dropping to the counter, where I proceed to bang my forehead.

I desperately need that car. I know my plan is insane, but I’m on the hunt for my old flame Adam, even though I haven’t seen or talked to him in a decade.

“Hold on. It’s all good. I got you,” Jazmine says.

I lift my head in a moment of wild hope.

Jazmine ransacks her desk, searching through stacks of papers like she’s desperate to appease the wild thing clutching her counter.

“My aunty has a taxi service. She can drive you to your hotel,” she mutters.

At the bottom of a junk drawer, she finds a piece of paper. She grins proudly, like she just saved the day, as she hands over a bright blue home-printed business card.

I accept it and stare at the font. It’s Comic Sans. Are those hand-painted, puffy stars? And stickers? My thumb brushes the surface. Yes, yes, I think they are. It’s cute in a granny-gone-wild at the craft store kind of way.

I blow a wayward strand of blond hair from my face. Because I seem to be out of options, and Jazmine seems happy to have solved my problem, I begrudgingly thank her and lug my belongings to the front door.

Even though I’m brimming with anger, I do my best to keep myself in check. It’s not Jazmine’s fault Roman is a selfish prick with a penchant for stealing un-honeymoons . . . and happiness . . . and futures . . . and my favorite electric toothbrush.

Lifting my phone toward the front windows, I search for service. As I do, I can’t help but overhear Jazmine’s conversation with the man waiting in line. It sort of starts with the same greeting as mine, but that’s where our similarities end.

“We have a hard-top Jeep ready for you,” Jazmine tells him.

“Thanks, Jaz,” he says.