Page 6 of Maverick Mogul

He takes a step back, surprised. “OK, so I’ll make some calls and fix it for you.”

“Oh will you? Will you really?” I snap back. “Well thanks, but I don’t need a white knight galloping in. Especially one who doesn’t remember me because I’m so invisible that he literally tries to walkthroughme.”

He startles at this, the question in his eyes. Well, I’m this far in it now.

“Hayworth High—got you through bio labs? Grace Sommerville.” I sweep a hand down my general presence. Yes, I’m still wearing glitter-bombed yoga pants. In a restaurant so expensive that the prices aren’t listed on the menu. “Just peachy to see you again.”

“Grace,” he repeats, realization dawning.

“Yep. It’s a nameanda lifestyle,” I say, heavy with sarcasm. “Although clearly my natural grace hasn’t helped me out so far. Maybe I should leave it off the resume for my next job – because yes, I’m going to have to find another humiliating PA position now.” I yell. “Not every person starts as the Prom King and only goes up from there! Like, ‘Most Popular’ in the HHS yearbook wasn’t enough? Let’s breezily shoot for ‘Most Popular’ in the country’s largest metropolitan area!”

Beside him, the blonde date tries not to laugh. I can’t even be mad at her. I’d laugh at me too right now.

I turn to go. The adrenaline is wearing off and I’m ten, maybe twelve seconds from bursting into tears. “Have a nice life, Charlie Fox! Go Hawks.”

And then I leave, safe in the knowledge I will never, ever see the man again.

At least, that’s what I think at the time…

2

GRACE

“It washumiliating,”I exclaim, propping both elbows on the front counter. It’s the morning after my grand cake debacle, and luckily, my embarrassment has faded to a horrified kind of laughter as I retell the night in all its cake-covered glory. “Everyone was staring at me like one of those awful dreams when you’re in the middle of 5thAvenue, totally naked.”

“But you weren’t,” says my aunt, Skye, at the register of her little gift shop in Brooklyn while her wife, Jen, is making change for a customer. “That has to count for something, right?”

I laugh. “OK, you win: It could have, in fact, been worse.”

“I can’t believe Bret the Brat,” she adds, loyally. She’s my dad’s sister, but she’s only ten years older than me, and officially my fairy godmother since I moved to the city.

“And I just stood there! Why didn’t I have some kind of witty comeback?” I wonder. “About his hair… Or his face… Or the fact he still sleeps with a Mets shirt like a binky. I always think of them way too late.”

Jen pats my hand. “Me too.”

“Sometimes she texts them to me days later,” Skye says, fondly. To the customer, she says, “Thanks so much. Enjoy.”

He bought an incense burner, a bracelet with blue aventurine stones, and a custom Sagittarius tea blend. I’m not sure if any customer has ever purchased the exact same combination of items here, but that’s the fun of the place. Part tea shop, part tarot and mystical décor,

thus: The Brooklyn Mysteaque. For all your crystal, zodiac-inspired knick-knack, hanging plant and loose-leaf needs.

Jen passes me a honey for my tea. “And his family are really backing Bret up on this?”

“Mrs. Bassinger might not have, but she’s in Zurich. It’s done,” I say. “Plus I called Mr. Bassinger this morning and pretty much begged him not to fire me. Would you believe he stuck by Bret, the rotten apple of his eye?I have to trust my son’s judgment, he said.”

Really, John? Do you?

But it’s behind me now. I take a deep breath and try to think positive. “Maybe I’ll find something better next time. That won’t be hard, right? Low bar!”

“Well, the studio’s yours for as long as you need it,” Skye says, nodding to the back staircase.

“That’s why you’re my favorite aunt,” I beam.

She laughs. “I’m youronlyaunt.”

“Details, details.” I’ve been living up there for the past year, since the Miles-Nadia debacle. Back then, I was on the cusp of my adult, settled life. Miles was graduating law school, thanks to me working to support us, doing all the household chores, and generally being the sympathetic quasi-spouse. It was a grind, but that’s what partners did, right? As he kept pointing out, it was only fair that I carried the load for now, because once he started pulling in the big bucks, things would change.

Things changed, alright. At his grad party, I gave Miles a five-hundred-dollar monogrammed briefcase I’d saved up for. He gave me a vague,We’re-just-not-happy-are-we?dumping speech.

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