Page 43 of The Invitation
I follow the GPS through traffic, getting all green lights as I drive toward Ruma … and Ripley.
A shot of adrenaline shoots through me.
The pep talks I’ve been giving myself over the past two days have helped settle most of my anxiety. I’ve reminded myself that I handled Ripley well at The Swill on Tuesday and walked out of there with the upper hand, just like I planned. And, thanks to my degree and work in broadcasting, I also have loads of filming experience. I’ve been in front of more cameras than I’ve been behind. Remembering that helps my nerves.
Besides, there’s no reason that I can’t have fun with this. What’s not to love about going out a couple of times a week essentially for free when, quite frankly, you have nothing else to do and little discretionary money in the bank? Getting paid to help prove your best friend is brilliant is a great gig. And havingthe opportunity to flirt with a handsome asshole who knows I’m only pretending, but no choice but to keep his mouth shut and just smile back? That’s gold.
“You’re meeting Myla at the restaurant, right?” Sutton asks.
“Yes. We’re meeting at the VIP entrance in the back. She called this afternoon and gave me the rundown but said she’d meet me there just in case I panicked or had last-minute questions.”
“Are you getting close?”
“Actually, I’m pulling up right now.”
Ruma looms in front of me on the right-hand side of the road. Crimson letters, lit up from the inside, spell out the name on the front of the brick building. The parking lot is packed, and a line extends along the front sidewalk. It’s only slightly intimidating.
I drive to the back and spot Myla standing beside an oversized bald man next to a matte black door.
“I see Myla,” I say.
Sutton cheers. “Okay. Go. Have fun! And, Georgia … thank you,” she says, the final words softer. “I know I’ve said it a million times, and I must sound like a broken record, but I owe you, friend. Big time.”
“You’re welcome for the millionth time. And you don’t owe me anything. We don’t keep a scorecard in this friendship.” I pull into a parking spot between two fancy sports cars. My little cracker box with a dented bumper looks very out of place. “Love you, Sutton.”
“Love you. Call me on your way home.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
I end the call, turn off the ringer, and shove my phone into my purse.
My heart pounds as things get very,veryreal. I take a deep breath and give my teeth and nose a quick check for food and boogers—a fear I picked up from my mother—and then open the door.
The air is balmy and scented with spices as I step onto the asphalt. I lock the door behind me and navigate the cars worth more than some small countries. All the while, I remind myself that there’s nothing to worry about.
This is going to be fun.
“You look stunning,” Myla says, her red curls bouncing as she steps toward me. “I absolutely love that dress.”
“Thank you.” I stand a little taller, her words building my confidence. “I took way too long picking it out. I had it down between this and an icy blue number that I’m obsessed with. But I watched this woman on Social explain color wheels and how to dress for your season, and icy blue isn’t in my preferred color palette and now I have second thoughts every time I put it on.”
Myla laughs. “I’ve seen those videos. Is it narcissistic to think I look the same in all of them? I’m not saying I look good in them. I’m just saying they all look the same.”
“I had to get Sutton to tell me which one I am, so no judgment here.”
Her grin is warm and disarming. I appreciate it.
“Do you have any questions for me?” she asks, fastening an audio pack to the back of my dress. “We’ve already been inside and fitted your table and the surrounding area with cameras and microphones. They’re all discreet, so you shouldn’t notice them. Gary is on the other side of the door and will follow you as you‘meet’Ripley. Be warned that the camera will roll as soon as you walk in.”
“No pressure.”
“No pressure.” She winks. “A man named Adam will be standing at the host stand. He knows who you are and will usher you to the table. Ripley is already inside and waiting.”
Of course, he is.
“Just remember that you and Ripley don’t know each other,” she says. “You’re meeting here for the first time after being matched based on your search history. Aim for an easy conversation and take some time getting to know each other. You don’t have to dig in too deep right off the bat.”
