Page 1 of Rent a Mob Boss

1

QUINN

There aren’t many things in my apartment that work the way they’re supposed to, but my phone is one of them.

It buzzes across the counter like it’s trying to escape. Honestly, same. I’m standing in front of the world’s saddest toaster, waiting on a bagel that’s been in there long enough to file for citizenship. The word Mom lights up the screen.

This can’t be good. If she wanted to tell me something normal, she would’ve texted. One of those messages with the weird capitalization and a random emoji at the end that has nothing to do with the message itself. Sometimes when she texts, it’s like she’s picking up halfway through a conversation we’re not actually having, and I’ve been turned into Indiana Jones or something. Like I’m trying to translate ancient hieroglyphics.

But a phone call? That’s an event. Either somebody died, somebody got engaged… or I’m about to hear something I’m not going to like.

I already know which one it is. My sister got engaged three months ago, and ever since, my entire family has been treating it like a second moon landing. I answer because I’m weak, and I know this will only escalate if I let the call go to voicemail. “Hi, Mom.”

“Quinn! Sweetheart. Were you sleeping?”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“You’re in college. That’s practically dawn.”

I put her on speaker and set the phone on the counter so I can rescue the bagel. It looks like it spent too long in a tanning bed. “I have class starting at eight on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I work every other day. So… not too much sleeping in around here.”

“I know, I know.” She says it the way she always does. Like my job is a phase I’ll grow out of. “Listen. I’m calling you about the party.”

And there it is. My stomach does a slow, ugly roll. “Party?”

“Quinn!”

Like I insulted her or something. “You know I’m kidding.”

“Alyssa and Grant’s engagement party is next Saturday at the Whitmore.” She pauses, and I swear I can hear the disapproval in that pause. “It’s six o’clock, cocktail attire. Which means you cannot wear the black dress you wore to Nana’s birthday.”

“That’s a nice dress,” I remind her.

“It’s a funeral dress.”

“So, it’s versatile.”

“Six o’clock,” she repeats. “Your dad wants everyone there by five-thirty for pictures, so let’s say five-fifteen. We both know you’ll be late otherwise.”

Gotta love the faith she has in me.

I lower my head against the counter and close my eyes, barely holding back a sigh. Next Saturday. Eight days until I have to stand under the chandelier in a room full of my parents’ friends and pretend I’m a fully realized adult person. Meanwhile, my sister will glow in the middle of it like she was assembled in a lab just for this moment.

That part, I could survive. It’s annoying, but I can deal with annoying.

“Is Dad inviting the Whitakers?” I ask, because that part? That part wouldn’t be so easy to handle.

There’s the tiniest pause on the other end. She’s a terrible liar—and worse, she knows it. That’s why she doesn’t bother trying. “Well, Ted is his business partner, sweetheart. Not to mention his best friend. Of course they’ll be there.”

“All of them?”

“Quinn.”

“I’m only asking who’s on the list. It’s a normal question. People ask questions like that all the time.”

“Aaron will be there,” she says. “With his parents and his brother. I want you to know that if you’d like me to seat you on the other side of the room, I will absolutely do that, and it will look like an accident.”

The horrible thing is she means it. My mom would commit low-grade seating fraud for me. “It’s fine,” I decide.