Page 73 of The Love Destroyers

“Sorry,” the person calls, so it definitely wasn’t Nicole.

“Anyway,” Ellie says to me as if nothing had happened. “I don’t want to talk abouthim. Jeffrey betrayed me. He—”

This is getting good, but she cuts herself off, glancing at the camera. “The livestream. We have to do the livestream I promised my fans. I can’t let them down. They’re expecting a love story. It needs to be a love story. They’re going to forget all about Jeffrey, and he’s going to realize the only reason people took notice of him wasme.”

“There’s no rush,” I say. “Let’s—”

There’s a timid knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say, lowering the mask again.

The nervous young guy who let us into this room walks inside, a bit of a flop sweat beneath the armpits of his shirt. “Hi,” he says cautiously. “I’m Otis. I’m the guy you just told to fuck off.”

“So why didn’t you?” Ellie asks with a straight face. “I’m sick of men walking all over me. Taking and taking andtakingand never, ever giving.”

“Uh. Nicky sent me back here. I’m supposed to give you a tour of the brewery while she prepares a surprise for you out back.”

“See, he’s a giver,” I tell Ellie with a smile.

“Is it a behind-the-scenes tour?” she asks, pushing her bottom lip out as she considers.

“Yes,” he says, “very exclusive.”

Those must be the magic words, because she gets to her feet. “Do you have any beer that tastes good?” she asks. “Because I don’t like the ones that taste like beer.”

“I need to climb up there,”Ellie says, eyeing the copper kettle at the back of the brewery. We made our way through the tap room, where—no shit—a table of very drunk people burst into song. Nicole obviously must have paid them off, but Ellie beamed at them and signed a couple of napkins that were probably crumpled and tossed the second we left. Everyone was staring at us, and especially at me, which felt like a natural reaction to seeing a man in a full ski mask walk through the brewery.

It was a relief when Otis led us into the back to show off the kettles. He just pointed out this one, where the brewery’s new pale ale is maturing inside.

I’ve wanted to take a pause so I can text Nicole and Emma about thecollectibles, but Ellie’s constant demands for attention have made that too risky. She’s exactly the kind of person who’d look over someone’s shoulder.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” Otis says. “But no one’s allowed up there except for the head brewer. There was an incident a few years ago where a contaminant got into the beer, and—”

Ellie is already removing her high heels.

“Miss—”

“It’s fine,” she says dismissively, shoving the heels at me. I let them fall.

She gasps. “Those are vintage. They can’t be on thefloor.”

“Yes, God forbid they be used for their intended purpose,” I say. “Look…I’ll take a photo or video of you in front of the kettle. It’ll be just as good.”

She considers the offer for half a second before shaking her head and picking up the shoes, which she shoves at Otis, who accepts them.

Then she starts padding toward the kettle in her stockinged feet. The floor looks clean, with rubber honeycomb matting on top of the concrete, but I wouldn’t want to walk on it in my bare or nearly bare feet, and the fact that she’s doing it without hesitation suggests she’s tanked.

“I don’t want to cause trouble, but this can’t be avoided. The video needs to be taken while I’m on the ladder,” she says, “I won’t get anywhere near the top. And it’ll befantasticpublicity for your brewery. Your bosses will be wowed.”

“Miss—”

He reaches for her arm, but she sidesteps him.

“I can’t let you do this,” he tries.

“I can make or break you,” she snaps, giving him a stare-down. “Make or break. I closed down a rabbit spa with one post.”

A laugh escapes me, because I’m guessing that had more to do with an unsound business plan than her social media empire, but Otis looks chastened. He holds her gaze for five seconds before nodding. “Okay, if you’re quick.”

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