Page 46 of Not That Into You

“You’re afraid.”

I sit straight up and scowl at him. “I’m not afraid.”

“You sure?” He glances at me. “Because you look afraid.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not afraid. I don’t look afraid.”

“You’re looking a little pale.”

“I’m not pale. I just value my life.”

He snorts. “As I said.”

I cross my arms and slouch back, refusing to let him goad me into doing something I don’t want to do.

“I get it, Monica. You hate fun, and learning how to surf would be fun, so it would upend your whole worldview.”

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head.

“I mean, if you want to spend another morning with my family while I’m out on the water, that’s cool.”

Dammit. “Fine. One lesson. But no promises. I might decide I don’t want to go in at the last minute.”

“Excellent.”

As he beams at me, my stomach dips. I have the distinct feeling I’m going to regret this.

We settle into silence—me to stare out the window and him to plot my watery demise. I should probably check my messages, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to know the size of the will-they-or-won’t-they betting pool, and I’m not in the mood to deal with clients. Especially since one client has an outstanding unpaid invoice and polite reminders to pay up have gone unheeded. I left a voicemail yesterday, but I doubt they responded.

I hate tracking down payments, and I hate it even more when I don’t get paid. Most clients eventually pay me, but every once in a while, a client will disappear once I submit the completed work.

The first time it happened, I panicked and asked Anna whether she thought I should sue. She gently explained it wasn’t worth my time or the expense to sue for such a small amount of money. It was no small amount to me—enough to pay a month’s rent and utility bills—but I took her point.

From then on, I followed Gina’s advice to ask for a deposit up front and an additional payment partway through for larger projects.

At least my delinquent client has already paid 75 percent of my fee, but it still stings to miss out on the full payment. My rates are competitive, and contrary to Grace’s insinuation, I do work full-time, but I’m not going to get rich any time soon. Or at all. Which is fine, but it would help me sleep better at night if I could build up more of a financial cushion, if I could help my parents when needed without going into debt.

I glance at Cameron.

Or without pretending to be someone’s girlfriend.

“You look like you’re thinking hard over there,” he says while keeping his eyes trained on the road.

“No, just hardly thinking.”

“Nah. You’ve got that pinched look.”

“Pinched look?”

“Yeah. Your face kind of scrunches up and a dent forms between your brows when you’re thinking of something you don’t like.”

“Huh. I guess you’re familiar with that look because that’s how I look at you?”

“Funny.” He glances at me. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Pass.”

“Monica.”

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