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They slowly set their cups down and their lips turn up into ornery smiles. “I think we know the perfect man for the job,” Layla says, her voice ringing with excitement.

“And Todd already hates him,” Hope adds.

Realizing exactly where they’re going with this, I firmly say, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! He’s perfect!” Layla whines, scooting closer to me like proximity will win me over somehow.

“He’s wealthy, handsome. You already know you can trust him. Did I mention Todd hates him?” Hope pleads, scooting toward me on the opposite side.

I’m sandwiched between them. Both of their eyes look big and shiny like puppies begging for a treat.

“Isn’t there anyone you can think of besides Brooks? Our friendship is so important to me; I don’t want him to feel like I’m taking advantage of him.”

Layla huffs out a sigh. “Who else are you going to find in two weeks?”

Looking down at my now empty mug, I answer, “I don’t know … Maybe I can find an escort service? Like in The Wedding Date.”

“But Brooks would do it for free!” Layla says with a grin.

“Just talk to him. It would all be fake, and he’d be the perfect person to keep Todd from bothering you. It never hurts to ask … He can always say no,” Hope says, trying one last time to convince me.

“That’s true. He could just say no.” Layla nods in agreement.

Admitting defeat, my shoulders slump and I blow out a deep breath. “I guess you’re right. I’ll ask … but I’m not pressuring him if he’s hesitant.”

Blindingly large grins emerge on their faces, and I wonder what I’m getting myself into.

That evening, as I’m kneading dough for French bread, my phone starts ringing. My hands are covered in bread dough, and I spin in a circle to see what I can use to clean them off. My butcher block countertops are a mess of ingredients from making bread and homemade Alfredo sauce for dinner. Spotting a tea towel, I grab it and clean my hands off enough to answer my phone.

Mildred is FaceTiming me. I sigh, not wanting to answer. But I’ve put her off for two days already.

I swipe to answer, and my sister’s flawless face and silky blonde hair pops up on my screen. She’d be even prettier if her face wasn’t pinched into an annoyed expression. Somewhere between a glare and a sob.

“Hey, sis!” I answer cheerfully, slapping my best smile on my face. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?!” She demands. “You can’t be serious! How could you do this to me?” A tear streams down her face and she dabs at it carefully so as not to mess up her makeup.

Closing my eyes, I count to three before responding. “Mildred, I’m the one who got cheated on. I didn’t time this breakup just to ruin your special day.”

“Cheated on? Todd said you overreacted about a little get-together he had with some friends. He said you completely flew off the handle,” she states, crossing her arms over her white cashmere sweater.

I withhold an eye roll. “Let me ask you this: If you found a note from another woman on Preston’s car, and found out he hosted an entire party without so much as inviting you, what would you have done?”

She scoffs and waves her hand in the air like the scenario isn’t a big deal. “Molly … Preston and Todd are the heirs to a multi-billion-dollar media conglomerate. Marrying men like them is everything women dream of! So, of course, I’d turn a blind eye.” She pauses. “But I am sorry that happened to you. That sucks.”

I blink rapidly, trying to understand what she just said. I knew money was important to Mildred, but not to that extent. “Why would you do that? You have your trust fund to support yourself. You don’t even need Preston’s money.”

“Well, first, Preston would never do that.”

I nod. My sister’s fiancé is obsessed with her. So she’s probably right.

“And second, I’m used to this lifestyle and I’m not about to work and be all independent like you.” She huffs out a laugh like the thought is utterly ridiculous.

“I find fulfillment in my work, Mildred,” I grit out through clenched teeth, which I’m hoping looks like a smile.

“And thank goodness you do, because it’s important work!” She pauses and turns around, as if making sure no one is behind her. “You should see Crystal’s botched boob job,” she whispers, cupping a hand around her mouth. “Her surgeon definitely didn’t use the implants you designed.”

I forgot how frustrating it is talking to my sister. As if Brooks and I started our medical engineering company just for the sake of rich women getting good boob jobs. But it goes way beyond that. It’s pointless to tell Mildred this, though. I’ve tried before.