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“Hello, Mrs. Moorland?” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “And Mr. Moorland. Are you there?”

“Hey, Eastie,” Dad says. “I’m sorry to hear that this weekend’s party was a bit of a mess.”

“But you know, when we make messes, we have to clean them up.” Mom has never once said anything like that to me before. In fact, I’ve spent the better part of my life cleaning uphermesses.

“If we have to force you to dump her, we will,” Mr. Jimenez says. “But we’d rather this not get nasty.” He’s smiling, but I’ve never hated him more.

“I think this meeting’s over.” I walk out, heading for my office. The second I close the door, I call my parents. Dad ducks my call, but Mom picks up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom says. “I’m sorry that got ugly in there. It was really unnecessary.”

“You can’t be serious about telling me to dump her, right?”

“Of course not,” Mom says. “But you have to admit that it’s complicated.”

“I gave you those shares so you could use them as collateral on the home loan you needed. How is any ofthis complicated? They’remyshares.” My hands are balled into fists at my side, the phone pressed against my ear by the force of my shoulder.

“The thing is, we needed that loan because your dad had an unparalleled opportunity to go in on an investment, and well.”

The investment failed.

It’s literally the only constant in my life. If there’s a bad idea, Dad’s the first to sign up. Mom persistently refuses to stop him. She’s usually standing beside him waving pom poms.

“What are you planning to do if he lost the loan money?”

“The only way we can pay off the house note is to sell the shares,” Mom says. “It’s really our only remaining asset. Unless you happen to have some money you could lend us.”

I grit my teeth.

Those shares are worth millions and millions of dollars. I don’t have that much money just lying around, not without selling shares myself. I do have a few investments I could possibly sell off, but even that takes time. “You told them you’d vote with them, though, when Igaveyou those shares for a companyI made. . .why?”

“They told us that this girl—she could devalue the entire company. If that’s true, we can’taffordto support you in dating someone like that. We need those shares to hold their value now more than ever, and so do you. You just can’t see it, but we’re trying to help you make smart decisions.”

I’m not even disappointed. I should’ve expected something like this, honestly. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”

“But darling, surely you understand that the kind ofwoman you date reflects on all of us, and your sister married a Richmond, so now more than ever?—”

I hang up.

And then I call Bea.

She doesn’t answer, so I call again. And again. And again. Finally I stop being a stalker and send her a text. HAVE YOU SEEN THE VIDEO?

I’M SO SORRY.

I close my eyes. She has seen it, and clearly she feels bad. There’s no way that she would have said anything like that to anyone she thought might—it hits me then that the video was likely doctored to make it look even worse than it was.

This is my fault, of course, for having such a stupid business model that someone speaking the truth could devalue my entire brand. Sacrifice Nothingisa pretty vapid brand name. Anyone who has lived for more than a dozen years knows that important things—most things worth having, in fact—require some kind of sacrifice.

But rich people are my target demographic, and the idea of never compromising and never giving up anything appeals to them. Never mind that most of them have sacrificed time with their families, their ethics, and likely also their souls for the money they spend on my products. That’s the reason this whole thing is such a big deal. Rich people are the only ones who can afford my products, so we can’t afford to have them feel criticized by the face of the brand.

I NEED TO SEE YOU.

THAT’S A BAD IDEA, she texts back. LESS BEATRICE IS YOUR ONLY PLAY RIGHT NOW.

I’M NOT SUGGESTING WE POSE FOR A BILLBOARD AD, THOUGH IT WOULD BE A BEAUTIFUL SPREAD WITH BOTH OUR FACESON IT, AND I’VE GOT JUST THE SLOGAN. “HOLE IN YOUR SOUL? TRYSACRIFICE NOTHING. IT’LL PATCH IT FOR A HOT MINUTE.”

She doesn’t reply.

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