: Chapter 3

“Have a seat,” Hudson says as he sits on the couch in his office.

Instead of sitting at his desk like he always does when he addresses me, he’s in his sitting area that consists of a brown leather couch and two matching chairs with a wooden coffee table in between.

I’ve never sat in this lustrous area before, but I’ve seen him have meetings here. Guess it only takes him offering me up as a bridesmaid to a business contact for me to get a serious meeting with him.

My mind is still grappling with that, by the way. The entire drive back to the office, I was replaying the moment he said I could do it over and over in my head. Did he panic? Sure. That was obvious, but he hasn’t even looked in my direction. It’s kind of…shitty.

And it took everything in me to hold my tongue while we were sitting in the car.

I took deep breaths.

I stared out the window.

I even tried playing Toy Blast on my phone to relieve the anxiety building in my chest.

And lucky for me, it worked, but now that I’m in his office…I have questions.

First: How dare you?

Second: Have you lost your mind? I know I’m looking for a new career path, but this is not it.

Poised, I sit across from him and hold my pen and paper to take notes because I don’t know what else to do with my hands.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he clasps his hands in front of him. He stares down at the carpet for a few seconds before meeting my gaze, and I’m struck with just how handsome he is. It’s rare when I get his undivided attention like this, when I get direct eye contact. Maybe I need to be grateful for the rarity because I could get lost in this man’s eyes.

But then he reminds me why we’re here. “Listen, Sloane, I need to apologize about what happened back there. It was extremely unprofessional, and I never should have put you in this kind of position.”

Well, we must give the man credit for owning up to his mistakes. Well done.

“Thank you,” I say, letting my professionalism guide me.

“And I know this is asking a lot, so I want to give you the option to back out because I’ll never force something upon you. And don’t worry about giving me an answer right now. I really want you to think about it. This would entail going to London for a couple of weeks, learning how to ballroom dance, and parading around to impress, which is a lot of pressure on someone, especially when they didn’t ask for it.”

“Seems like it,” I say.

“It is,” he says as he leans into the couch and blows out a heavy breath. He stretches his arms across the ledge of the couch and tilts his head back. “This is not how I envisioned the day going.” He pinches his brow. “Your brother’s going to murder me.”

I mean, murder seems like a pretty extreme response. I’m not sure Jude would even get mad over this. And why bring up Jude? I’m a grown woman. I can handle my own life, thank you very much.

“Why would he murder you?” I ask.

“Because he told me to—” He stops, catching himself, and then shakes his head. “Nothing you need to worry about. Shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

Uhh…yeah, not getting off that easy.

“No, what did he say?” I ask, setting my pen on my notebook now. Consider my interest piqued.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He nods at me. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ve put you through enough today. I think I might hit up the gym, relieve some tension.”

The early dismissal, not going to work.

“You know, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. I don’t need you worrying about my brother and what he might think. This is my job, and what I do at my job is my business.” There, that should put an end to it. Doesn’t stop me from mildly shaking because it’s the first time I’ve ever stood up for myself in front of Hudson.

And from the quirk in his brow, I’m going to guess he wasn’t expecting me to say such a thing.

“You’re twenty,” he counters.

Twenty-two.

I’m freaking twenty-two.

“Twenty-two,” I say, irritation creeping up my neck.

I hate when people discuss my age.

Despise it.

“Twenty-two? No, you’re not the same age as Everly. She always said you were younger.”

That’s a problem I’ve had my whole life—I’ve always looked younger than what I actually am. Probably something I’ll appreciate when I’m older, but right now, when I’m trying to be taken seriously, it’s not ideal.

I’m about a year behind in my pursuit of finding a career. I took a year off between high school and college, when I worked odd jobs to help pay the bills while Stacey started taking community college classes. She was always the smarter one between the two of us, so I thought it would be best for her to get started while I attempted to find more grants to help me pay for college and started saving—and trying to figure out what I planned on doing with my life. Spoiler alert, still trying to figure that out.

“She was wrong,” I say, keeping my poise the best I can. “I’m twenty-two.”

“Either way, you’re still young,” he says.

Still young…

That stings.

Because that’s not how I feel.

I feel like I’ve seen life, I’ve experienced it.

I lost both parents at an early age and had to be raised by a crotchety old lady who barely took care of us. There were days when Stacey and I were helping our grandma get in and out of bed before we went to school, while Jude was out working, providing for all of us. Housing wasn’t stable all the time because there were moments when our grandma would make us fend for ourselves.

I’ve been forced to grow up much quicker than others.

I’ve seen more people exit my life than enter it.

I’ve worried about paying bills along with my siblings. I’ve known what it’s like to not have running water for a few days, or electricity.

I’ve spent the night in a car, huddled next to my sister.

I know what it’s like to make it to the soup kitchen just in time to get a warm meal for the night.

There is nothing young about my soul.

And the fact that all he can see is the number over my head, that’s…that’s insulting to me.

“I might be young in years, but I’m old in experience,” I say, even though this is my first real job out of college. Experience doesn’t always come professionally. Experience comes through the trials and tribulations of life, and a lot of the time, we have to grow up sooner than we expected. That was me and my siblings. We had no choice but to grow up quicker than we wanted. That’s what happens when you don’t have parents but rather a grandmother whose patience was lacking.

“Okay, Sloane,” he says on a scoff.

That’s all it takes.

That derisive look.

That huff in his voice.

That disbelief.

The professional veil has been lowered, and I can feel the real me crawl right out into the room, ready for a fight.

I set my notepad and pen on the coffee table, and I place my hands on my lap, staring him down. “I don’t appreciate you talking to me like I’m a child, Hudson.”

It’s the first time I haven’t called him Mr. Hopper in the office, and I think it throws him, because he blinks a few times, looking confused.

“I’m…I’m not trying to talk to you like a child.”

“Well, you are, and it’s insulting. If you want to make sure you don’t piss off my brother, then don’t piss me off. Don’t act like I’m some young dick-around who doesn’t know what they’re doing, who can’t stand up for themselves. Who can’t make a decision about my work life without worrying it might make my brother mad.”

He sits taller now. “Dick-around. I never called you a dick-around.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re implying it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I argue, holding my ground.

“I was just saying you’re young.”

“Yeah, well you’re old, but you don’t see me handing you aspirin and Icy Hot every time your bones crack.” The beast has been unleashed, and right now, all I see is red.

His eyes narrow. “I’m not that old.”

“You’re thirty-five,” I counter, throwing his ageism right back at him.

“Yeah, that’s not fucking old. Still in my prime.”

“Well, didn’t seem like it today,” I say, the words flying out before I can stop them.

“Excuse me?” he asks, leaning forward now. Oops, kind of forgot for a second that he’s my boss. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Look what you’ve done now, gotten yourself into some trouble with that mouth of yours. It was bound to come out at some point. I’ve always been mouthy, speaking my opinions without consideration. When I took this job, I told myself I was going to tamp down that side of me, that I was going to keep it together and act professional. But consider me triggered because the real Sloane has arrived.

Now, I can either turn back into the demure girl that said yes to everything, or I can move forward with my true self and show Hudson Hopper who I really am—a strong, opinionated individual with quick wit and sass that can bring anyone to their knees.

What do I really have to lose at this point? He needs me more in this situation than I need him. What’s he going to do? Fire me? Good luck finding a bridesmaid.

So chin tilted up, I say, “I’d hardly suggest you were a man in his prime today. You resembled a weaselly suck-up, looking to score a deal.”

His eyes narrow, and I realize that maybe I could have left out the name-calling. Perhaps such ability to hold back will come with age…how ironic.

Looking perturbed, he replies, “That’s not sucking up. That’s what it takes to build business relationships, something you clearly have no experience in.”

Oh, he went there.

“So what you’re saying is that in order to succeed in business, you have to go around kissing ass? Let me write that down, since I’m learning from a real professional.” I pick up my notebook and in giant letters, I write and say, “Suck ass. Got it.”

He quirks his head to the side. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

Carefully and calmly, I set the pen and notepad down. “I don’t appreciate you calling me young when you don’t know anything about me or my life,” I say. “I don’t appreciate people judging me because of my age and assuming I’m inexperienced. Age means nothing in this world. Trust me.”

“It means something, as no one in their right mind with experience would be talking to their boss the way you are right now.”

“Because they don’t know how to stick up for themselves,” I say. “Maybe they went to the same weasel school you went to.”

Oh boy, now the tongue is flying, and there’s no stopping it.

“Sloane,” he says with such arousing command in his voice, which would normally make me feel weak in the knees, but something in my brain has switched, and I can’t stop poking the bear. Yup. Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

I know I shouldn’t be talking to Hudson like this, and if Jude ever found out that I did, he’d be livid with me. I do know better. I understand the value of playing the part I’m meant to play. But…I don’t know, today has been a whirlwind. I’ve been thrown to the wolves, apologized to, and then insulted. And maybe this is further evidence that I’m not cut out for this kind of work. Holding my feelings in all day, getting walked on for the betterment of the company, just feels icky.

And if you know me, you know I don’t take kindly to insults. I never have, and I’ve always stuck up for myself in those situations. Sure, can I be the polite girl who does what she’s asked? Of course. But I also can be a rabid beast with gnarly fangs when I’m doubted.

“Yes, Mr. Hopper?” I ask, crossing one leg over the other.

His jaw ticks as he stares me down. I can see the wavering in his mind, wondering how to handle this situation. If I were any other person, he’d most likely fire me, but because I’m Jude’s sister, there’s no way⁠—

“I think you should pack up your desk.”

Wait…what?

I uncross my leg, pressing both feet into the ground. “Hold on, what did you say?”

Staring me down, he says, “I said, you should pack up your desk.”

A nervous chuckle falls past my lips. “Oh my God, it…it kind of sounds like you’re firing me?”

He works his jaw to the side. “Listen, Sloane, I can’t have you talking to me like that and getting away with it. It’s not professional, and if you don’t learn now, then you’re never going to learn.”

Hold up…hold up…

“Wait. You’re seriously firing me?” My eyes blink in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

Holy shit, he’s really firing me.

I can’t…I can’t believe this.

After what he put me through only half an hour ago? He has the nerve to fire me when I stick up for myself?

And yes, the name-calling was out of hand, but what happened to a slap on the wrist and a carry on with business?

He’s just going to up and fire me?

Okay, sir…

This is not going to go well for you.

Apologies in advance for what’s about to come out of my mouth.

“Wow, okay.” I stand from my chair and smooth down my skirt. “If that’s how you want to play this, I guess good luck with your bridesmaid stuff. Seems like you’re going to need it. Especially after you promised Archie I’d help out. Then again, you reek of desperation. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a wig and stuffing a bra in order for you to play the part.”

I move toward the door, and I can practically hear the regret in his voice when he says, “Sloane.”

I glance over my shoulder, waiting to hear an apology. Yup, go ahead, beg and plead, apologize until your mouth is frothing for forgiveness.

He adjusts the sleeves of his shirt as he says, “I’ll let Jude know.”

I blink a few times, because he’s serious. That’s all he’s going to say? No, I’m sorry? Please come back? You’re the apple of my eye and I need you?

He’s…

He’s really firing me.

Well…that’s…that’s just rude.

He really can’t handle the truth?

How eye-opening. Facts are facts. He was a bit of a weasel in that meeting, and that’s coming from me, the girl who worships the ground Hudson Hopper walks on with his fancy, expensive loafers.

I was just being honest, and if he can’t handle that, then good luck. That’s a him problem.

Yeah, that’s right—that’s a him problem.

Why should I feel bad about trying to help a guy out?

Why do I feel embarrassment creep up my back, slowly crawling to the nape of my neck?

Why are my cheeks heating?

Maybe because the man I’m infatuated with just fired me, and that’s slightly humiliating. Maybe because he made it quite clear in a matter of seconds that, despite the hard work that I’ve put into this job that I hate, despite working effortlessly at making sure Hudson is taken care of—days full of meetings, demands, and decisions—that I’m fully and freely disposable to him.

And that doesn’t settle well.

It hurts, actually, and there’s only one way I know how to react when I’m hurt…

“Don’t worry about telling Jude you fired his sister. I have no problem informing him of your terrible business practices. Maybe while I’m at it, I’ll inform him of other things. Like…like…” I try to think of something revealing, anything, and then something snaps in my brain. Oh yes, I got it. “Maybe I’ll inform him that your green drink you slurp up every morning actually has a ton of sugar in it, something you apparently never looked into. Might still taste like crap, but it’s full of empty carbs.”

His face falls flat. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, yeah…it is. So much sugar. The most sugar. All of the sugar, Hudson. The wrinkles in the corners of your eye will only grow deeper if you keep filling your body with such filth.”

He touches the side of his face, which nearly makes me laugh, but I hold it together as I continue with my rant.

“And just so you know, if you actually emptied your inbox, I wouldn’t have to repeatedly send you the same email over and over again because it keeps getting buried. It’s called organization, Hudson.”

He straightens, looking perplexed and outraged at the same time.

“Not to mention the healthy snacks you request for the kitchen, no one likes them. Not one single person. We constantly donate them to shelters while Freida stocks up on snacks from Costco and divvies them up around the office for people to keep in their desk drawers. It’s a waste of money and no one will say anything because they’re too scared to hurt your brittle ego.”

His brow pinches together. “The snacks are good.”

“No one wants dried cucumber, Hudson. What’s even the point?” I toss my arms up in frustration. “And since we’re on the train of honesty, that brown suit you wear on occasion is hideous and should be burned.”

“That’s from Italy.”

“Doesn’t make it any less ugly. Just atrocious. I throw up a little in my mouth every time you walk into the office wearing it.”

He folds his arms now. “Is that all?”

“No,” I say, letting it rip. “I use your bathroom when you’re gone because your toilet paper is softer. I once scraped ketchup on your back by accident before you went into a meeting and didn’t tell you but watched you give a presentation to a room of twenty people with a bloodlike condiment staining your suit jacket.” I take a deep breath and keep going. “You are negligent when it comes to compliments and my work ethic. You refuse to acknowledge the thought and care I put into looking professional every day. And I’ve spent countless hours sitting at my desk, staring into your office, wondering about all the ways I could help ease the tremendous amount of tension you carry on a daily basis. Sitting on your face is always the solution I come up with.”

The moment the words fall past my lips, I know I’ve gone too far.

Oh shit.

The truths were supposed to be about him.

Not me.

His face grows serious. “Sitting on my face?”

“Uh, did I say that?” I ask, a flitty laugh falling past my lips. “I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

I tap my chin. “Hmm, doesn’t sound like me.”

“Sloane,” he says in that dangerous tone all over again.

“Yes?”

I wait for him to say something, anything, but when he doesn’t, I take that as my sign to get the hell out of here.

With a quick 180 on my heels, I turn away from him and head for my desk, where I open my desk drawer, grab my purse, and then start shoving bags of fruit snacks inside. Freida just refreshed my supplies, and there’s no way I’m leaving without them.

When I catch Hudson leaning against the door to his office, arms crossed, watching me, I take that moment to toss a fruit snack packet at him. “See? We don’t like your snacks.”

He catches it with one hand, and I don’t allow myself to consider just how hot that was.

I straighten, grab the picture of me, Jude, and Stacey on the beach in Bora Bora from Jude’s wedding, and hold it close to my chest.

The pens can stay. I have no attachment.

The Post-it notes that I would cut into hearts on slow days, they must be left behind.

And my notebook with every detail I ever wrote about Hudson’s insufferable meetings can die in this office. Hopefully, he will flip through it and see just how boring he can be.

False pride trying to lead the way, I start my walk of unemployment toward the elevator when I think of one last thing.

I face Hudson again and say, “When you speak of this to Jude, please let him know that not one fruit snack was left behind in my retreat, but for the love of God, don’t mention the sitting-on-the-face thing, even though I don’t recall saying that⁠—”

“So you’re just going to lie like that?”

“Call it temporary amnesia. Either way. No thanks to that detail. Okay, well, great working with you, take care, ’kay, love you, bye.” I pause, my eyes widening. “No, I mean, not I love you. I don’t love you. I don’t know why I said that. It was a slip of the tongue. There is no love and no…no sitting on the face. Got it?” He just stares at me. “Okay, looks like you got it. And just in case you missed it the first time, you look like trash in the brown suit.”

With that, I turn away from him and head toward the elevator, a purse full of fruit snacks, a chest brimming with pride, and a stomach bubbling with embarrassment.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Stacey asks, walking into the living room where I’m perched on the corner of the back of the couch like an owl on a branch, leaning against the wall, empty fruit snack wrappers scattered below me. “Whoa, what’s going on in here?” Stacey sets the mail down on the coffee table and takes a seat on the couch. “You realize the couch is meant to be sat on like this, not like what you’re doing at the moment?”

“I know,” I say, opening up another pack of fruit snacks and eating one while I stare off toward the wall.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Stacey looking over at what I’m staring at and then back at me. “Care to explain to me why you’re acting like a parrot in the dark, eating fruit snacks?”

I pop another in my mouth and chew. “Just rethinking my life decisions today.”

“And what life decisions would those be?” she asks as she picks up the mail and starts sorting through it. Between the two of us, Stacey is the one who likes to take care of everything around the house and then dictate to me what needs to be done. It only works out because I don’t mind her bossing me around about chores, and she thoroughly enjoys being the leader of the household, especially now that Jude’s living with Haisley.

“Umm, decisions,” I answer.

She pauses sifting through the mail and gives me that look only a twin can give, where they can practically see into your soul. “Don’t make me pry it out of you. I’m exhausted from work today.”

She’s exhausted? Sheesh, wait until she hears about the roller coaster I was on.

Although I don’t want to discount her vicious days. Stacey works for Amazon. She’s in charge of coming up with the Dog of the Day shout-outs on Alexa. Sometimes she does the Dinosaur of the Day as well, but mainly she works on Dog of the Day. Riveting work. Shocked AI hasn’t taken her job yet.

“Couldn’t find a good picture of a cocker spaniel?” I ask.

“Don’t change the subject,” she replies. “And it was a dalmatian.”

“Those spots can be tricky.”

“Sloane, stop avoiding the question. What’s going on?”

She never puts up with my shit.

Ever.

“Um, well, you see…” I dump the rest of the fruit snacks in my mouth and then say in a garbled voice, “Something happened at work today⁠—”

“Oh my God.” She stares me down. “You nuzzled his crotch without his consent, didn’t you?”

As you can tell, Stacey is very much in the know about the crush I’ve been harboring—hard to keep such a secret away from your twin, especially on Friday nights when we dust off the blender and make homemade margaritas.

“No, I did not nuzzle his crotch.”

“Then you flashed him a boob? Your ass? Sat on his face and told him to feast?”

Well, face sitting was mentioned…

“No, Stacey,” I say in annoyance and then slide down the back of the couch where I take a seat. “I got fired.”

“Fired?” she screeches. “Hudson fired you? How the hell did you manage that?”

“Um, we don’t need to go into the details.” I wave her off.

“If our brother’s friend fired you, we most definitely need to go into the details. What happened?”

I start brushing my hair nervously with my fingers as I say, “Well, we had a meeting, and the meeting was going well. I was taking notes, and then out of the blue, Hudson said I could be a bridesmaid for a business contact and⁠—”

“What?”

“Please, Stacey, no interruptions. This is going to be long. I’ll address all questions after. So anyway, he signed me up to be a bridesmaid, and I was stunned because I didn’t know bosses could do that, and I mean, I would pretty much do anything that Hudson told me to do because, you know, I think he’s the most attractive man to ever walk the planet, and well, I kind of blacked out for a moment, and then the next thing I know, he’s apologizing to me in his office and telling me I can think about the whole bridesmaid thing and that it wasn’t fair for him to do that, and I thought, that’s so nice of him, and then this is where it gets tricky because I really don’t remember how it happened, but he called me young.”

Stacey winces. “Oh God.”

“Yup, I can tell from the look on your face that you know exactly where this is going.”

“You let loose.” She presses her lips together. “Did you tell him off?”

“I mean, in a nice way. It started slow, respectable, with a light jab here and there, but then it built up and I think I called him a weasel. I know I told him his snacks sucked and that he was eating too much sugar and that’s why he has wrinkles, and then one thing led to another and he fired me.”

“Oh my God, Sloane,” she groans.

“That’s not even the worst part.” The same embarrassment that I felt in his office takes root all over again.

“How on earth is that not the worst part?”

“In my ranting,” I say, humiliation nearly choking me alive, “after he fired me, I grew ashamed and angry, and it all swirled together to the point that I said a whole bunch of things that I never should have said, something along the lines of marking him with ketchup and letting him give a presentation with a ketchup jacket, and then after that, I told him that I wanted to sit on his face.”

Her eyes widen and she whispers, “Dear God.”

“I know.” I nod. “It’s…it’s bad. And then of course because I’m an idiot, when I was saying bye, I was on autopilot and said ‘’kay, love you, bye.’”

“You did not,” she says, her voice rising.

“Oh, I did. Then in the midst of covering that up, I told him I never said I wanted to sit on his face and that he must have misheard me. There was a lot of rambling. I took all these fruit snacks and then left with my chin held high, but now that I’ve been sitting here in the dark, thinking about it, I am kind of on the side of maybe Hudson was right, maybe I am young. I think a more mature human wouldn’t have brought up the sitting-on-the-face thing.”

“You think?” she says on a sigh. “Jesus, Sloane. What the hell is he going to say to Jude?”

“I have no idea. I’m kind of hoping that he tells him we went our separate ways, because I know for a fact that if Hudson tells Jude that I said I’d sit on his face, Jude would disown me.”

“Yes. Yes, he would. God, what a mess; where the hell did this all stem from?”

I lean my head back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. “Hudson was trying to impress this guy, Archie Wimbach. Hardy and Hudson are attempting to purchase his property to extend their affordable housing project globally. I don’t know much about the backstory. I caught some of his text messages though.”

“You what?”

“He was texting Hardy in the car, and I was reading them.”

“Invasion of privacy much?” Stacey says.

“Listen, the man signed me up to be a bridesmaid in the dude’s wedding because the person that was supposed to be in the wedding broke their leg or something and can’t perform the Regency dances.”

“Regency dances? Like…Bridgerton?”

“Yeah, I guess they’re knocking it back a century and putting on their petticoats. Anyway, I fit the look, and Hudson said I was available. Talk about shocked, pretty sure my chin hit the table.” I lift my chin for her to examine. “Is there a bruise?”

“There is no bruise,” Stacey deadpans.

“Lucky for him. I could have filed worker’s comp. Anywho, the texts—Hudson was going off about Archie and this club and how he needs to get close to the father of the bride.”

“What kind of club?” Stacey asks. “A sex club? Because I could be into that.”

I roll my eyes at my sister. “I know you could, but I think it’s one of those posh, rich clubs.”

“What was it called?”

“Uh…what did he type?” I scratch the side of my head. “I think the Mayfair Club.”

Stacey pulls out her phone and types it into her internet search.

“But do you know what I really found out today, Stacey? I’m not the kind of person who can put up with this kind of business. It’s not for me. I mean, without even a second of thought for my well-being, Hudson offered me up to his business partner, and sure, it could have been worse, but this is not what I want to do with my life.” I drag my hand over my face. “I want to do something that’s more fulfilling. Something that isn’t fetching drinks and answering phone calls. I want to make a difference.”

“I know that feeling so well,” Stacey says. “This, coming from the Dog of the Day girl. Maybe this is a good thing, maybe this is the wake-up call you needed to switch jobs. Perhaps you were so comfortable getting paid that you settled for something you didn’t like.”

“That’s great and all but getting paid is the key to what you and I both need right now. We can’t afford the luxury of pursuing a dream. Hell, I can’t even imagine dreaming. My brain is too focused on paying the bills; dreaming isn’t even an option.”

She sighs sadly. “Isn’t that the truth?” She taps on her phone a few more times and then says, “That club you were talking about looks like it has been around forever. Posh is the nice way to put it. This is for aristocrats. They even have debutante balls where young women come out to society.” Stacey smiles at me. “When I came out to society, no one threw me a ball.”

“Because we knew you were gay the minute you started talking. No need to celebrate.”

“Uh, coming out is a big deal. There’s always a need to celebrate,” she humorously counters.

“Hey, I got you a vibrator in solidarity.”

Stacey chuckles. “Yeah, wore that thing out.”

“Okay, none of that,” I say, flitting my hand at her.

“You can talk about sitting on your boss’s face, but I can’t talk about the adventures of pleasuring my partners with the vibrator you got me for coming out? How is that fair?”

“It’s not, and I admit it. Now, back to me.”

Stacey laughs and shakes her head while she plucks a piece of mail from the pile and opens it. “Either way, Hudson’s not getting into that club. It’s for the married folk only.”

“Yeah, he’s not married, or else what I said to him would have been exceedingly more inappropriate.” I groan in frustration. “This is such a mess. I can’t afford to not have a job. What the hell am I going to do?”

“Probably apologize.” She unfolds a letter and starts scanning it. “Apologies can go a long way.”

“Apologize? No way. I’m not about to apologize to him. That would be, for one, humiliating. Two, require maturity, which I think we found out today, I lack. And three, be humiliating.”

“You said humiliating twice.”

“Because it would be double the amount of humiliation, and I can’t take that.” I flick at her paper. “What the hell are you reading? Don’t you see I’m in a crisis?”

“I do, but…” She pauses and her nose scrunches up. “Oh shit.”

“What?” I ask, leaning over just enough so I can see what’s in the letter.

“I think the landlord is selling the house.”

“What house?”

She shoves the paper at me. “Our house, cement head.”

“Hey, I told you not to call me that,” I say, taking the paper in my hand and reading through it. “Thirty days?” I mumble. “What the hell, they can’t just sell the house.”

“They can. They own it.”

“Uh, yeah, but we live in it.”

“We rent it. The owners can do anything they want.”

“Well, they can’t,” I say, glancing around the living room of the quaint bungalow that we shared with Jude when he was still living with us. The house that he rented for us when our grandma passed and we needed a place to stay. The house that we formed a strong bond over when we had no family left but ourselves. This house…it was a light during a dark time.

A safe haven.

A place where we felt comfortable shedding tears and showing our emotions. A place that felt so incredibly safe that we started to come into our own. It’s where Stacey came out to us, right here in this living room. It’s where I slipped and fell in the kitchen and broke my wrist, only for Stacey to slide in and do the same exact thing. It’s where Jude first told us that he was in love…and where he told us he was going to ask Haisley to marry him.

This house has been a possession that we’ve never been able to own but that we’ve worked hard at maintaining because it felt like ours either way.

“This is our house,” I say.

“It’s not. We don’t own it, Sloane.”

“I know we don’t own it, but we’ve lived in it. We’ve made it a home. I mean…this is where…where we grew. Where we survived. We can’t just leave because the owner wants to sell it.”

“Well, we can buy it,” she says absentmindedly. “The offer is in the letter.”

“Really?” I ask and pick up the letter again. I scan to the bottom where it says we can rent to buy with a down payment of $40,000. Hope starts dwindling away. “Forty thousand dollars, fuck. Do you have that kind of money?”

Stacey gives me a get-real look. “I write about the dog of the day for a robot who informs pesky children. Do you really think I have forty thousand dollars?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you were stashing cash away.”

“Not so much.”

“Damn it. I have nothing in my bank account. I’m nearly living paycheck to paycheck over here, because of the school loans.”

“Says the girl who works for a billionaire.”

“Used to work,” I say on a groan. “Ugh, why did I have to tell him I wanted to sit on his face?”

“Because if you didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation?” Stacey shakes her head. “Face it, we have the worst luck. We’re never going to find another place like this house. It’s close to the park and walking distance from the restaurants we love. It’s quiet and peaceful and just…feels like home.” She pauses and then turns toward me. “Think we should ask Jude for some money?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, we swore we wouldn’t ask him for anything. He married into money and we’re not about to take advantage of that. It’s bad enough he got me a job with Hudson. When he left, we swore that we would make him proud. Not to mention asking for money negates the idea of us being adults and moving through life on our own without help.”

“And what a great job we’re doing at that. I write dog facts for a living, and you’re apparently now a world-renowned fruit snack muncher.” She shakes her head. “And here I thought I was the muncher in the family.”

“This is serious, Stacey,” I groan. “We need forty thousand dollars.”

“Right, should I just start looking for spare change in the streets? Create an OnlyFans account? I heard I have nice feet.”

“Think you can get forty thousand dollars off feet pics?” I say with hope and then take in her unmanicured toes and shiver. “Not with those talons.”

“They’re not freaking talons. They’re just unkempt at the moment.”

“Your pinky toe doesn’t have a nail.”

“Never grew one. I think it was a defect when I came out of the womb.”

“Well, no one’s going to spend big cash on your freaky, nail-less pinky toe.”

“Never know, could be a demand for a nail-less toe. It’s very niche.”

“No one wants that, Stacey. No one.”

“At least I’m coming up with ideas. You’re the one getting fired. If you weren’t so young and immature, maybe you could have said something along the lines of…I’ll be your bridesmaid for a forty-thousand-dollar bonus.”

“Gah,” I scoff. “That would have been such a good idea.”

“Yeah, I know, but you can’t do it now because you got fired, you idiot!”

“Think he would take the deal anyway?”

Stacey shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have fired you if he needed you that much. No way he’d take the deal.”

“Well, maybe I can offer him something else. Something he can’t refuse.”

“If you say your vagina on his face, I’m going to murder you.”

“No, what if it’s something he really needs? Maybe he’d be willing.”

“And what exactly does a billionaire really need that he can’t get himself?”

She’s right. Hudson could pretty much have anything. What could he possibly need?

What could he possibly want?

What could he…

And then it hits me.

Strikes me so hard in the brain that I actually feel a headache coming on.

“Stacey,” I whisper, a slow smile spreading across my face. “I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got what?” she asks, doubt searing off her lips.

“I’ve got an idea that’s about to make us forty thousand dollars.”