Page 52 of My Best Friend's Sister

“I do actually. Because I’m not a quitter, and I owe it to myself to see if I can hack it in the fashion biz.”

“You already know you can hack it,” he said. “Doesn’t your blog get thousands of hits a day?”

“It was getting that many for a while, yeah.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean was?”

“Well, I haven’t been updating it since I took this internship ’cause I’ve been so exhausted and—”

“You have to keep it up,” he said. “You built that thing with your own blood, sweat, and bikinis.”

I furrowed my brow. “Were you looking at my blog?”

“I may have skimmed a few posts.”

I smiled. My own friends and family didn’t even look at my blog. They were encouraging and everything, but they didn’t actually visit the site. “And?”

“I don’t know anything about your competition, but I think you have talent.”

My squinting eyes searched his. “You think I have talent or you think I look good in my bikini?”

“Both.”

Damn. He couldn’t have cheered me up any more if he’d sprouted a halo and pulled a full-sized harp from his back pocket.

“And your welcome newsletter was really friendly and fresh. I can see why so many people want to hear from you.”

“You signed up for my newsletter?”

He shrugged. “I wanted the freebie you were offering.”

I tried to scowl at him, but I was too amused. “You wanted tips on dressing for your body type? I highly doubt that.”

“You have to keep it up, Maddy. Your loyalty should lie with the people who do know your name.”

When his words sank in, I realized he had a point. Plus, building my blog made me happy, and I needed more happy in my life if I was going to survive Crecia and her coffee habit. “I don’t have time to take new pictures, though, and even if I did, it’s dark when I get home.”

“Why don’t you just share what you’re up to then?” Quinn suggested, leaning back in his chair. “Make it like a…special behind the scenes at a major fashion magazine segment. I’m sure lots of people would want to hear about what you’re doing.”

My lips twisted as I considered his idea. “I don’t know. I spent most of today rolling industrial fans around, picking up bobby pins, and interrogating bakeries on the Gold Coast about their gluten policies.”

“You know it’s not what you did that matters,” he said. “It’s how you write about it.”

I could tell by his face that he believed in me, and that made me want to believe in myself. Besides, I knew he was right. Crecia didn’t deserve all of my hustle muscle when she couldn’t even get my name right. I owed it to myself to keep building the thing that got me this opportunity in the first place. “I’ll think about it,” I said finally.

“What I’m hearing you say is, that’s a brilliant idea, Quinn. You’re the most handsome genius I ever met.”

“Are you ready to order?” A slender woman in a black jumpsuit appeared beside our table, and when I realized the suit was her server’s uniform, it suddenly made sense why they seemed so abundant.

“I’m afraid we haven’t even looked at the menu yet,” Quinn said. “So we’ll need a few more minutes.”

“Of course.” She slipped her slim notepad in an invisible side pocket. “Can I get some drinks in the meantime?”

Quinn raised his brows at me. “You want to stick with the cocktails?”

“Yes, please,” I said. “I’d love another LBD.”

“I’ll have a Top Hat,” he said. “And two Boardshorts.”

---