Page 14 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"Wait." I reach for her hand but she's already backing away. "Let me help. We can figure this out together."

"No offense," she says, still retreating, "but I think we've done enough figuring out things together."

"Ariana—"

"I'll have my lawyer contact you about the annulment."

"At least let me?—"

But she's already gone, leaving nothing but a faint scent of vanilla and the ghost of her laugh haunting our corner table.

I look down at my poker chip ring, then at my phone where Alex has helpfully sent me approximately eight thousand texts about my "epic Vegas romance."

Well, shit.

Looks like I might need those panic attack pancakes after all.

5

PANCAKES, CONTROL ISSUES, AND OTHER BREAKFAST DISASTERS

ARIANA

You know your life is in free-fall when you're barricaded in a Vegas hotel room, wearing last night’s dress like a second skin, your hair a bird’s nest of regret, and your only jewelry is a poker chip wedding ring. Not to mention, your ex-fiancé is currently going viral for finding his "authentic self" with your former college roommate.

The room feels smaller by the second, air thick with the scent of spilled champagne and panic. My phone is practically vibrating out of my grip with a never-ending stream of notifications. I squeeze it like a lifeline and force myself to read Will’s latest post—again.

"Sometimes the universe sends us signs. Sometimes those signs wear Louboutins and work sixty-hour weeks. Today I'm grateful for dodging bullets and finding my authentic self. #blessed #truthseeker #newbeginnings."

Beneath the caption is a nauseatingly perfect photo of Will and Jenny in Santorini, backs arched in matching yoga poses as if karma itself has rewarded them for their betrayal with Grecian sunsets and enlightenment. My stomach clenches.

“I’m going to kill him,” Lily growls from where she’s sprawled on my hotel bed. “Like, full-blown Dateline episode. Like I said before, I know people.”

“You do not know people,” Kat deadpans, eyes glued to her laptop. “And murder is harder to spin than a PR crisis.”

"Speaking of crises..." I swipe through my inbox, the messages blurring together. “Senator Thompson’s wife is asking for help with ‘compromising yacht photos.’”

“The one with the OnlyFans scandal?”

“That’s the one,” I confirm, skimming past it to another emergency. “And apparently Regina St. Claire’s daughter was caught trying to steal a baby llama from the zoo.”

Lily sits up, blinking. “I mean, I hate to say it, but that’s kind of badass.”

“Not helping.” My throat tightens as I drop onto the mattress, my pulse hammering against my ribs. The walls feel like they’re closing in. I need a plan. I need control. I need?—

Kat clears her throat. “Where exactly were you last night?”

I freeze, phone slick in my grip. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You disappeared from the club. Didn’t come back. And?—”

"And your dress has glitter in places glitter shouldn't be," Lily adds helpfully.

“I needed air,” I say quickly, but my heart is beating so fast I can barely hear myself.

“For eight hours?”

“It was... very fresh air.”

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