Page 31 of Best Offer Wins
Did she screen my call? I send her a text:Can you let me know when you have a sec to talk? I have a couple things to discuss. Thanks.
I stare at my phone, trying to conjure a response. I guess I could work out to pass the time. I really have no excuse not to today.
At ten thirty on a Monday morning, I’m the only one in the fitness center. I reluctantly climb onto a Peloton, the forty-five-minute ride feeling even more like some kind of elaborate yuppie torture thanks to my stubbornly silent phone. It only chimes once I’m back upstairs, getting out of the shower.
Ginny, finally:I’m sorry, but I can’t work with you and Ian any longer. Good luck.
She’sbreaking up withus? The steam in the bathroom suddenly feels suffocating. Jack must’ve ratted us out to Ginny’s sister-in-law. He has the perfect house and he looks like he stepped out of a goddamn Renaissance painting, but he still feels the need to pile on? Or maybe Curt made him do it. I bet that’s what happened. That smug asshole.
I take a deep inhale to steady my breathing, then type out a response:Thanks a ton, kiddo. It’s a great day to go fuck yourself.
My thumb hovers over the send button. But I can’t do it. Taking this out on Ginny feels misdirected. Who knows what blown-out-of-proportion version she got of how things went down? And she’s not the one who treated us like criminals.
Curt’s words ricochet around in my head.
If you ever come near my family again…
As if Ian and I are perverts or something!
Get the fuck off my property…
Is thatallthat house is to him? A piece of property?
Still in my bathrobe, I go to my desk and tug open the top drawer. I pull out my copy of Curt’s book, most of which I read last week when I probably should’ve been reviewing the VIP notes for the party. I flip through it, searching for what, exactly, I’m not sure. I skim the acknowledgments again. He thanks the usual suspects: His “unflappable” agent, “who assured me from the jump that this idea was a winner.” His “esteemed colleagues” at Georgetown for “indulging my passionate ramblings over many a cafeteria lunch as I was putting this tome to bed.” And “Jack and Penny, the loves of my life, the center of my universe.”
Something about this guy doesn’t sit right. That’s at least one thing I learned from being around my dad—to be skeptical of people who seem to be trying just a little too hard.
It’s been long enough sinceFalling Apartcame out that I’m sure no one is paying attention to the ratings anymore. Except for Curt. I bet he monitors them religiously. A new anonymous one-star review could really be a day-ruiner.
I pull up the book on Amazon and click on the ratings—still 239 of them, with an average of 3.5 stars. Before I write my own, let’s see if any of the other one-star pans can provide some inspiration.
Here’s a write-up titled “Patronizing and dull” from a user calledTom S.:Bradshaw weighs down chapter after chapter with oversimplified anecdotes about the complex mechanisms of the global supply chain. You’d think he’d assume some basic level of intelligence from his readers, but instead he relentlessly talks down to us, deviating from his patronizing tone only for an occasional, unsuccessful attempt at a joke. The result? Flabby, sophomoric, obnoxious.
Damn, Tom S.
There are a few others, generally in the same vein, though not quite as devastating. A user named GenieLee says the book isrepetitive and obvious. Someone called PrincetonProf deems itpseudo-intellectual.
But then I scroll to the review that stops me cold. It’s dated January 17, 2019—only a couple days after the book was released. It’s five words long, all caps:
DO NOT TRUST CURTIS BRADSHAW.
Whoever left it identifies themself only as “…”
As in, just an ellipsis. Three dots. No initials or numbers or special characters. Essentially, a blank space.
I read it over and over:
…
DO NOT TRUST CURTIS BRADSHAW.
A chill prickles my neck beneath my still-wet hair. It’s not really a review at all. It seems more like a message.
But from who?
11
I really did try to do this the nice way—tried to be a friend to Curt and Jack, truly wanted to be a role model for Penny. I wasn’t even bullshitting about building them a guest suite in the basement. We could’ve been one big, happy, transatlantic family—if only they hadn’t freaked the fuck out.
