Page 35 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“Would you like me to bring you some ginger ale?”
“Just keep the mimosas coming.”
He offers pointedly, “I can ask the bartender to make you a ginger ale mocktail. He can even put it in a champagne glass if that’s more amenable.”
Great. I’ve been cut off from the bar, and it’s like nine forty-five in the morning.
“Sounds amazing. Thanks.”
I duck into the bathroom and splash water on my face. Try to get my bearings. I don’t even have my phone to dissociate, because the kidnapper,Graham, took it.
One of these waiters has to be a starving actor for hire. Maybe I can bribe him to be my new fake boyfriend. Except I don’t have my purse. Would they take an IOU? Maybe. That one with the mohawk looks desperate.
“Who am I kidding?” I groan, rubbing my face. I’m screwed. My life is over. Everyone is going to make fun of me, and my mom is going to be so appalled.
I could fake a mental breakdown. I could move to the West Coast. Or one of those farms that lets you grow potatoes for room and board.
You don’t like being outside.
I also am sick and tired of being a disappointment to my family—well, really just my mom. Gran and Dad think I’m cool. Jeremy has no thoughts, which is why he’s marrying Colette. So who cares what my brother thinks.
I think about it—really think about it. All the press, the insanity, the police, the FBI, when I go and tell people I’ve been kidnapped. I know from my time as an analyst that thereissuch a thing as bad publicity. A few well-placed social media videos can kill a company. Or someone’s social status. Mine is precarious; I can’t be making waves.
Or maybe I’m just doing my part to prop up toxic masculinity.
Or maybe I’d rather be kidnapped and locked in a penthouse than have to admit to everyone that I’m a pathetic loser who lies about being in a relationship.
Graham is visibly shocked when I walk back to the table. He stands up abruptly—like we’re in some Jane Austen novel—so he can pull my chair out. His siblings rib him, but he doesn’t seem to hear them.
I wave to Mrs. Prescott’s elderly mother and aunt. They’re craning their necks to get a good look at Graham.
Yeah. Graham Richmond. Tech billionaire. Single. Catch of the freaking century—and who lands him?
Moi.
Sort of.
Lands him for now.
I stare at him. He brought me out to brunch. He says he wants a girlfriend—no,needsa girlfriend. Sounds about as desperate as me needing a boyfriend.
A boyfriend, huh… I stare at him.
He side-eyes me and leans away.
If I stay kidnapped, would he take me to the Tuesday engagement party?
Graham’s eyes narrow.
“Sorry I took so long.” I smile at him as I cut into my salmon. “I ordered another drink.”
“See, Dad, she got another drink,” one of Graham’s sisters complains to Frank.
“We’re supposed to be paying,” Claire says, exasperated.
“Oh, don’t even worry,” I assure her. “Graham always pays. I don’t even bother to bring my purse when I’m with him.”
“We stan your energy so hard.” Bridget makes a heart with her hands at me.
