Page 2 of The Tryst

I flop down between them, then blow out a long, heavy breath.

“Was it that bad?” Harlow asks, voicing the sympathy on both their faces.

“Nine out of ten,” I say, wrung out by the hour with Mister Moneybags.

Ethan lifts both arms skyward. “Yes! Free mojito for me.”

I look from one to the other. “That was your stakes? Like either of you couldn’t affordyour own mojito.”

“Not the point,” Ethan says. “Now, give us the full report.”

“He paid for the drinks,” I begin. “So there’s that. But otherwise, he waved his big, rich dick around the whole time, and then hejust so you knowed me.”

“Aww, how sweet that he’sdown to bone you,” Harlow says.

With an apologetic shrug, Ethan reaches for his yummy-looking mojito. “Yeah, sorry about…men.”

“Nothing a drink can’t cure.” I bat my lashes at him, then the cocktail.

Ethan waves down a pretty redheaded server named Martina and orders a mojito for me, too, as Harlow asks, “So, did he pass the Mayweather test?”

I can’t hide my glee. “Nope. Saidsee you lateron the sidewalk. Didn’t even offer to call me a cab.”

Ethan gasps. “Left Mama Mayweather’s precious darling to travel the perilous city alone? How helpful of him to eliminatehimself from consideration. I mean, douchebag behavior, but you’re off the hook.”

I smile like I got away with a theft. “I do love it when they make it easy.”

I’ll text my mom later with an update. She usually needs time to research the nextnice, well-educated, family-centriccandidate. Translation: she wants me to settle down with a rich boy from Park Avenue who’s got a family she trusts, and to take over her makeup empire before I’m twenty-five. I’ve got two years, but the clock is ticking loudly.

When the server returns with my drink, I take a sip of the mojito, my skull rings glinting under the chandelier. The cocktail does the final job in erasing my mood from the bad date. When I set it down, I say, “But it’s all for the best it didn’t work out. I have a lot on my plate, so it’s fine.”

“Or maybe you just need a change of scenery,” Harlow suggests. “A different vibe. What if you go out with someone tomorrow when you’re in Miami? You could get on the apps and see who’s there.”

How would I even have time for that? “At the Innovation conference? I’m going there to learn and network.”

Ethan whispers under his breath, “Fuck a hot dude at night.”

I slug his shoulder. “It’s supposed to be an amazing event. So many great speakers and business visionaries. Mikka Halla is the closing keynote. He wrote an amazing book about harnessing creativity in technology. I devoured it, and I’ve wanted to hear him speak for a long time.”

“Is he hot?” Ethan asks, wiggling his brows.

“He’s fifty-three,” I point out.

“And…is he hot?”

“Shut up. Even you don’t go for guys that old. And I am not going after Mikka Halla. He’s not my type.”

“Does he not likegood girls?” Ethan teases.

“And are yousureyou’re going to be such a good girl in Miami?” Harlow goads. “The sun, the heat, the beach. You know how it goes.”

“Of course you’ve plotted my deflowering already,” I say to Harlow. She’s the ultimate planner. That’s how she got her own happy ending.

Ethan stirs his drink with the metal straw, giving methatlook. “Babe, the conference is full of your type.”

“Oh, youmustmean other app nerds who are hoping to go big and desperately want to succeed without their mother’s success,” I say dryly.

“Yes, Layla. That’s exactly what I meant.” He clears his throat, then says, “But maybe Miami will be just what you need.”

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