Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Me: Check in the pool, too. She lost a few things there today.
Before she responds, I exit the text app and answer Jonah’s call.
Chapter Seven
Georgia
Ripley: Check in the pool, too. She lost a few things there today.
My face burns as I stare at his text. The audacity.
I start and erase ten responses before I throw my phone on the couch. There are a thousand versions of You’re an asshole that I want to put into words, but none of them feel sufficient. Besides, ignoring him will get under his skin worse than me repeating something he already knows.
Do Jeremiah and Sutton know what happened? Are they aware that Ripley saw me topless? Has he been making jokes to them all afternoon, and now I’ll be teased about it until the end of time?
I fake cry as I get up and head into the kitchen.
Only one sliver of satisfaction came from my mishap this afternoon, and that’s Ripley’s face as I surfaced. It’s seared into my mind.
Wide eyes, the color of the pool water.
Brows arched to the sky.
A smile ghosted his lips, as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
For the briefest moment, Ripley Brewer was speechless. I hope I made enough of an impression that he can’t stop thinking about it while simultaneously realizing he’ll never get the opportunity to see me topless again.
I make an iced coffee and settle back on the sofa with my computer. My inbox is empty. Aside from newsletters announcing sales that I can’t afford, every avenue of contact is void of communications. No job offers hang in the interwebs waiting for a reply. No alerts demand my attention with the promise of a new beginning. There are no open doors to lead me out of my current state of unemployment.
The emptiness of my inbox transmits into my soul.
I sigh.
I’m unsure how much longer I can go without finding work. My savings are sparse. There’s enough in my account to last a few more weeks, and then it’ll be as dry as my sex life. I can’t ask Mom for help, as she can barely keep herself financially solvent. And there’s no way in the world that I’ll ask Dad for a hand. I’d rather eat dirt.
“The way things are going, I might resort to that soon,” I mutter, closing the computer.
My phone rings, and I dig it out from under me. Sutton’s name and a silly picture of her from a trip we took last summer light up the screen.
“Hey,” I say. “Did you find my sunglasses?”
“Sunglasses? What? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says in a rush.
I set my coffee on the side table and sit up, an uneasiness sweeping through me. “Hey, Sutton. Are you okay?”
“I’m trying very hard not to panic here, Georgia, but I’m panicking.”
“Whoa. Okay. Slow down. Where’s Jeremiah?”
“Downstairs. He’s fine,” she says dismissively. “This is not about him.”
“Then what is it about?” My words are careful—measured. Sutton doesn’t get panicked often, and when she does, it’s warranted.
“I just got a call from Myla—she’s directing The Invitation,” she says. “A huge issue popped up, and everything is temporarily on hold.”
“What? Why?” I hop to my feet as panic rises in me, too. I know how much this means to her, and if this show is held indefinitely, it would derail her. “How did this happen?”
“Apparently, Callum Worthington, the football player who signed on to the project, decided to get arrested last night. He can’t leave Illinois for the foreseeable future. In the meantime, he started dating the beauty influencer we hired, and now she won’t do it without him.” She moans sadly. “We already have letters from both of their camps pulling out of the contract, and now we don’t have anyone attached to the project, and we’re scheduled to start shooting on Monday … and I’m going to lose everything.”
The last six words are barely a whisper.
Soft sobs ricochet through the phone, breaking my heart for my best friend. Tears well in the corners of my eyes. I put her on speakerphone and set the device on the kitchen counter.
“Hey,” I say, my voice clouded with emotion. “You haven’t lost everything. And even if this doesn’t go through, you still won’t have lost everything.”
“I know.” She clears her throat. “I know this is me being dramatic, but this project was everything to me. It was my big break. It would give me credibility—prove that I belong in this world. These opportunities are like lightning strikes, and it may never happen again for me.”
“Yeah, well, a better one might strike now. Maybe that project would’ve held you back. You don’t know. Aren’t you the one who says to trust the universe?”
“Fuck the universe.” She laughs through a new set of tears.
I giggle. “That’s my girl.”
She takes a moment to get herself together. It gives me a minute to gather myself and step back into the Best Friend Role. I have to be strong and rational because she can’t be either right now.