It is eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, and I am a wreck.
Looking at my phone makes me dizzy, and I collapse back onto the pillow, the phone on my chest.
Jesus Christ. What did we do last night?
I remember drinks. I remember dancing. So much dancing….
And I remember my lips pressed against a man’s. Not Ace’s. Someone else’s.
I remember laughing hard because they were nothing, the kiss meant nothing, it felt like nothing compared to the electric connection I feel with Ace.
Like I’ll never feel again.
My stomach flips over, but I’m not convinced that it’s all from the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed last night.
Nothing makes you sicker than guilt.
Another wave of nausea washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, willing it to go away.
There’s no way in hell I can sell anything at the boutique today. A woman who looks vaguely green and is unsteady on her feet will not a good saleswoman make. Especially not next to all the lovely clothes we’ve managed to restock since the theft.
I write out a text to Natalie—she’s the one who’s on this morning, I’m sure of it—telling her I won’t be in today or tomorrow. Then I follow it up with another text.
If you just want to close down the store and take a couple days off, that’s fine too.
I just don’t care.
I just don’t care about the store right now.
I care about Natalie, and Sara, and making sure they get a paycheck, but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it right now.
Maybe by Monday I’ll feel better.
With my phone on my chest, I drift back into a restless sleep. At one point, I think I hear a knock on the bedroom door and my heart leaps—Ace?—but when I jerk upright and listen, there’s nothing but ringing silence.
Shit.
It’s awful.
My phone vibrates in my lap, making me jump. It’s a text message.
I turn the screen to face up with shaking hands.
It’s from Jess.
Make yourself decent, woman. I’m coming over in forty minutes.
No….
Yes.
Really, I’m too hungover
No excuses. See you in 38!
Damn it.
I drop my face into my hands. If I get out of bed right now, I might be sick. If I wait any longer, I’ll never get up.
I put my legs over the side of the bed gingerly, taking several minutes to ease my toes to the carpet.
So far, so good.
It takes twenty minutes just to get into the shower and wash my hair, so I’m scrambling—albeit in slow motion—when there’s an actual knock on the door.
“Coming!” I shout and pull a Nike hoodie over my head. Yoga pants are all I’m going to be able to handle today.
I shuffle to the door and pull it open.
Jess stands in the hallway, looking like a queen, as usual. She must have cut herself off way earlier last night, or else she’s better at holding her liquor. Either way, she looks pristine whereas I look like a troll.
“Come on.” She jerks her head down the hall toward the elevator.
“No way. Look at me.”
“You look fine.”
“I look like shit.”
“We’re going out.”
I sigh. I don’t have the energy to fight her. “Fine.”
I grab my purse and follow her into the hall, locking the door on the first try, which is a damn miracle.
Ten minutes later, I’m seated at a deli down the block. Jess goes to the counter and returns with a tray, which she plops down on the table, then takes the seat opposite me.
“Eat.” She gestures toward the two breakfast sandwiches on my side of the tray. I have no interest in ingesting anything until I unwrap one of them and press my finger against the biscuits. They’re full of grease and bacon.
Nothing could be better in the entire world.
She lets me eat one of them while she eats the first one of hers, and then she folds both her hands on the table. “What happened with Ace?”
The question hits me like a sucker punch, and I struggle to swallow the last bite, staring down at the table.
She gives me three seconds, then follows it up. “Tell me the truth, Care.”
I take in a deep breath. “He—he found out what I do for a living.”
She shakes her head. “The boutique? That’s not a state secret.”
It takes everything I have to meet her eyes. “No.” How do I even admit this without sounding like a terrible person? “I run…I run a gossip website for the wealthiest people in New York. And I make a lot of money from it.”
Jess cocks her head, considering. “Like…a blog?”
“Like a forum. People post on it, and when the rumors seem…when they seem like they could really affect people’s lives, I either confirm or deny them.”
Jess’s eyes light up. “You’re a private investigator?”
I laugh bitterly. “No, but I hire them on occasion. I hired one to find out what Ace’s deal was.”
“Oh, shit.” Jess leans toward me. “And he found out?”