Page 7 of Rivals to Lovers
“I’d worry more about bringing some edibles,” Sloan said.
“What?”
“Oh, come on.” Sloan sat upright, stretching a long arm above her head. “You can be totally uptight when you first meet someone. A gummy could be a shortcut that doesn’t require a Valium or a bottle of rum, and it’d make you less sloppy.”
Maureen rarely got sloppy, but she knew what Sloan meant. “I haven’t really had edibles.”
Sloan rolled off the bed and left the room. When she returned, she held out a small plastic bag tied off with a green twist tie. Inside were ten gummy bears. “Have you ever gotten high? Ever? Do they do that in Oklahoma?”
Mo rolled her eyes. “Iowa, and yes, I have smoked weed.” Only once, she didn’t say. She felt like that old Bill Clinton quote “I didn’t inhale.” She had smoked it in someone’s bong in college, mixed with some herbs, but she thought she did it wrong because she felt nothing.
Mackenzie got an expression that Mo could only describe as worry eyes. “Only take one. Or half of one. They’re stronger than you think,” she said. “Don’t … don’t goallthe way loose.”
“What would that even look like?” Sloan asked, laughing. “She might wear mismatched socks. Oh nooooo.”
Mackenzie snorted at that, and Mo laughed too. “It’s a good backup plan. And thank you. I’m … I’m nervous.”
“It can be nerve-racking to be given an all-expense-paid trip to a rich person’s house for a weekend. I totally understand that,” Sloan said. “Consider the gummies a vacation from your vacation if you need it.”
Five minutes later, Maureen got the text that the estate’s representative was waiting to transport her to the house in Greenwich.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mo
The car wasn’t as fancy as Mo had imagined. It was a midsized Honda Civic. Newish, sure, but very much a dad car. The man driving the car didn’t look like a dad, though. He was Mo’s age, with wild brown hair twisting in an untidy nest above his broad forehead. He had a thick build, with shoulders like a breadboard, and wore a white ribbed sweater. Before they pulled off the curb, he raised his sunglasses to check his mirrors.
“Thanks for the ride,” Mo said as she buckled her seat belt.
“You’re welcome for the ride,” he said. “I’m Wes, by the way.”
“Mo,” she said. “Which you probably know. Sorry, I’m just nervous.”
She pulled out her phone and texted Mackenzie.Reminder to feed and adore Perkins while I’m gone.Perkins was her hedgehog, and he was extremely nocturnal and snuffly and generally all the good things to expect in a hedgehog. He’d been animpulse-adopt from a Facebook posting soon after she moved to the city. Someone’s kid had not understood how much work pet ownership was, and she had gotten him very cheap. All Mo wanted was a big, slobbery dog to cuddle with at night, but the lease agreement plus their work schedules could not handle that. Instead, Mo had taken on the opposite of cuddly with Perkins.
In response, Mackenzie texted a picture of him. He was, as expected, sleeping in an adorable ball.
“Is that a rat?” Wes asked, his sunglasses directed squarely at her phone screen.
Her mind skidded suddenly to the rat and the rose peeking out from the garbage can. Her driver probably didn’t want to hear her ratport. “I don’t want to distract you.”
He gestured at the stopped traffic around them.
“It’s a hedgehog. His name is Perkins.”
He snorted. “Like Clive’s friend Perkins?”
Of course, as the estate’s representative, Wes would know everything about the book. In the novel, Lieutenant Samuel Perkins and his wife Charlotte came over for a dinner party, which served as the climax of the book, where Eliza first lost control of her temper. Morgan described Perkins as having a long nose and pinched face, and once Mo saw her hedgehog, well—sometimes a name stuck.
Traffic finally moved again, and the Bronx slid past at a pace a little faster than walking. As they crawled, she toyed with the name Wes in her head, flipping it here and there. Something about him pinged in her, like they’d met before, but she couldn’t place him. Then, finally, it clicked. She glanced sideways at his profile, then typed into her phone. She searched for his name and found him instantly on LinkedIn.
Wesley Spencer was a literary agent, and on LinkedIn he wrote about trends and pointed out publishing scams. He also spoke openly about being a bisexual man in the publishing world and the need for more and better representation. Mo had been following him for a few years, in fact, along with his other half a million followers.
With his LinkedIn headshot in front of her, she had to admit he was more handsome in person. His mouth was nice, Mo noticed. He had perfectly symmetrical lips, something she hadn’t realized other lips lacked before. It was easier to look at his lips, since his eyes were obscured. Covered or not, Mo could still see his eyebrow jutting up above the sunglasses.
She looked away before she made it obvious, but she felt him glance over at her, curious.
At a stoplight, Wes asked, “Do you think Perkins is gay coded?”
