Page 17 of The Accidental Honeymoon

“No?” He blocks my key in the lock. “We need to talk about the elephant hiding in your Instagram comment section.”

“Ah. So the news is out, huh?” I slump against the gray Victorian’s siding. “Blake ran off and left yours truly standing at the altar.”

He whips out his phone like a deranged magician. “#BachelorJay has three hundred thousand tweets.”

The morning mist settles in my lungs. “Great. Can’t wait to sell protein bars with ‘abandonment issues flavor.’”

Grady steps into my personal space. “Your honeymoon tour starts in three days. Twenty sponsored stops. Five hundred grand tied to couple’s content.” His index finger jabs my sternum. “I talked to your accountant Darius. He says every cent of that money is already allocated. Crew paid. Insurance benefit checks scheduled. You cancel? We’re talking layoffs. Restructuring. Possibly selling this very charming house you’re not inviting me into.”

I grit my teeth. “Come in, then. Let’s discuss our options.”

We head inside. I walk straight into the kitchen and grab two bottles of coconut water. It’s supposed to be magic for hangovers. When I go back in the living room, I offer one to Grady. He looks at the perspiring bottle like I’m offering him a ticking bomb.

“No thanks.” Grady flops onto the distressed leather sofa that took six weeks to source from Marrakech. “So. Contracts. Want me to start drafting cancellation notices for Mount Gem? Tell Claxon’s Fruitcake Committee that you have a tummy ache?”

“No. I was thinking that we could renegotiate. Turn couple’s retreat content into… solo empowerment quests. Or maybe a lonely hearts anti-honeymoon trip.”

“No way is that going to work.” He squints, eyeing me. “Unless you want to pivot full alpha male. Grow the full beard back. Film yourself chopping wood shirtless while ranting about gold diggers. Sponsor testosterone supplements.”

I ponder that for a full three seconds before shaking my head. That’s not who I am. I don’t want to push away women that like my platform.

“I can’t do that.”

The silence in the room is so perfect you could hear a feather floating to the ground. “You need Blake. Period.”

“Blake doesn’t want me, if that wasn’t already perfectly clear.” The fridge hums louder than my eighth grade clarinet recital. “Not calling her.”

“Cool. Should I text Wren her severance package now? Or should we wait until after her six month anniversary with Alto & Ash next week?”

I glare at him. Grady isn’t my favorite person, mostlybecause I don’t like his constant cynicism and complete distrust of everyone he meets. But he’s magic at signing contracts with clients. This interaction is exactly the type of thing that makes me itch to fire him.

“We are not firing my sister,” I say. Opening my coconut water, I suck a quarter of it down, not taking my eyes off my agent.

Grady spreads his hands wide.

“I’m just trying to make sure that you understand. Her salary pays for Anna’s health plan.” He ticks off fingers. “James’ 401k match. Your Whole Foods addiction. Without the honeymoon sponsorships...” His shrug could level cities.

“I thought you were here to help. Telling me to fire my staff is not what I would consider as helping.”

“Who said I was here to help? I’m here to make you see that you need Blake.”

“Am I going crazy? I thought I just said no to that idea. No to Blake.”

“Since your runaway bride turned our revenue stream into Niagara freaking Falls.” He pulls a crumpled spreadsheet from his back pocket. Red ink bleeds through the folds. “Let’s just see here. Your first stop on the honeymoon road trip is supposed to be Mount Gem. Mount Gem’s liability clause? You miss opening day, you owe them double the sponsorship fee. Extreme Ropes Course will want their deposit back plus twenty percent. Even the damn Waffle House Museum has language in their contract that penalizes you for skipping them.”

“Enough!” I grab the paper from him, balling it up. The paper crumples easier than my dignity. “I’ll handle it.”

Grady catches my wrist before I can massacre another column. “Handle it how? Unless you’ve got a backup wife hiding in the panic room...”

The laugh leaves me like the breath leaves my lungs after a punch. “Oh sure, let me check Hinge really quick. ‘Recently ghosted, need stand-in spouse for monetized road trip! Must look good in athleisure!’”

His grip tightens. “Blake answers on the first ring. Ask me how I know.”

Cold spreads through my veins. I pin him with my gaze. “You called her?”

“She called me. Ten times since the altar dash.” His thumb hovers over his call log. “She says she’s sorry. Says she’ll explain.”

My mouth twists as a bitter taste spreads across my tongue.

---