Page 3 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

Rhys called, “He says he likes you!”

Linda flipped them both off over her shoulder. “I’ll send you the dry cleaning bill, Corgi Ken.”

Twelve hours, one ruined interview, and a questionable gas station sandwich later, she sprawled dramatically on her bed while her best friend Sara plunked down beside her with a pint of ice cream and zero judgment.

“I swear, Sara,” Linda huffed, stabbing her spoon into the pint, “if I hadn’t paid so much for that clock, I’d yeet it out the window. But my parents raised me not to waste money, so now I’m stuck with it. Like a toxic roommate who doesn’t pay rent andeats your time.”

Sara cackled. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Ithreatenedit earlier. Out loud.”

“Linda—”

“I told it if it misbehaved again, I’d melt it down and turn it into a spoon rest.”

Sara actually wheezed.

Linda threw an arm over her eyes. “I’ve lost it. It’s official. Time to call the men in white coats.”

“Only if they bring better snacks.”

They lay there in companionable silence for a moment.

Then Linda sighed. “Maybe the day wasn’tallbad. If I’m lucky, Mr. Arrogant will wake up tomorrow with a bruise the size of a Buick on his—”

“Linda!” Sara gasped, mock-scandalized.

“Arm,” Linda finished sweetly. “Obviously. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Sara snorted. “Don’t try that look on me. I’ve known you since you bit your third-grade teacher.”

“She deserved it. She said ovens weren’t plotting world domination.”

“Still. You always were the dramatic one.”

Linda grinned. “See? I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

From the nightstand, the alarm clock blinked innocently. Too innocently.

Linda narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t over,” she muttered.

And somewhere in the shadows, fate laughed.

Because the alarm clock may have started it. But the chaos? Oh, the chaos wasjust getting started.

Chapter Two: Nap Crimes, Frisbee Gods, and Emotional Damage in a Tank Top

Linda

THE SECOND TIME the alarm clock betrayed her, it was Saturday.

Linda had taken a nap. Apparently a crime.

It was supposed to be a 20-minute power snooze. A tiny reboot. A mental reset before she met Sara at some edgy new nightclub they were going to “ironically,” which really just meant they were wearing black lipstick and pretending to be too cool for $14 cocktails served in plant pots.

The clock, however, had different plans.

When she blinked awake, her room was bathed in golden panic.

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