Page 81 of Before I Say I Don't
The table clapped and hollered in agreement, glasses thumping against the wood.
I leaned forward a little, letting the pause build before revealing my secret to success.
“Two things—I said yes when other people said no, and I didn’t touch my money unless it made me more money.”
A few heads bobbed instantly, like they were already scribbling mental notes in invisible notebooks.
“That’s it? That’s your secret?” Serena asked, squinting at me like I’d just given her a diet tip instead of a blueprint.
I swirled the wine in my glass, savoring it before I gave them the more extended version.
“That’s the short version. The long one? I worked eighty-hour weeks in my twenties, took the worst clients because they brought the biggest returns, made partner by twenty-eight, and invested like I was allergic to broke. “Oh—”sipped wine“—and I didn’t buy dumb stuff just to prove I was making money.”
Lena leaned in, smirking. “So no yacht… or five Birkin bags?”
“Girl, no!” I laughed, shaking my head. “The goal was freedom, not flexing. Now, though?” I stretched my arms out, showing off the sparkle on my wrist; the diamond glinted under the lights. “Now I can flex while I’m free.”
That line set the whole table off—cheers, claps, even someone snapped like we were in poetry night.
Serena raised her glass high. “Okay then! Flexandfree! Goals!”
“Yup!”
Ten minutes later, the champagne, water, and wine finally caught up with me.
“I’ll be back. I gotta pee!” I whispered to Danica, scooting my chair back before anyone noticed, rushing toward the hall bathroom.
As soon as I touched the knob, my irritation spiked. My heels clicked against the hardwood as I shifted my weight, knocking twice for good measure.
“Is somebody in there?” My tone was clipped, more impatient than polite.
“It’s me, sis!” Kendall’s voice floated through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “You may want to go to another bathroom. I don’t know what y’all put in those deviled eggs, but it just declared war on my stomach! My wig is sweating, and the paint on these walls might start to peel! Fair warning!”
Under different circumstances, I would’ve laughed—maybe even doubled over. But not with my mood already tight.
Instead, I sighed and muttered, “Good luck in there, girl,” before turning toward the stairs.
The upstairs bathroom was my only option. I hated climbing those stairs, especially in heels, but my bladder wasn’t about to negotiate. On the way there, I cut through the kitchen, and that’s when I saw it—Kendall’s phone. It was sitting on the island—screen lit up, unlocked, and a video still rolling.
The first time I passed it, I was heading toward the bathroom with my thighs clenched like a toddler, so I breezed right by. My mind was solely focused on relief, and on praying I didn’t pee on myself.
But then it hit me—Kendall never let her phone out of her sight. So she must’ve dropped it there in her rush to the bathroom—too distracted by her deviled-egg disaster to care.
Suddenly, my eagerness to pee seemed to magically vanish.
Instead, something colder took over—curiosity laced with suspicion. Knowing what I knew about her and that Taryn chick, the itch in my brain was louder than my conscience.
Go through it!
Check it!
Now!
My gaze darted around the kitchen. It was empty—not a shadow moving, not a whisper of footsteps.
And that was all the permission I needed.
My fingers twitched, and before I could talk myself out of it, I slid the phone toward me. I was just about to dive into her messages when a notification banner slid across the top of the screen.
