Page 15 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

Lily narrows her eyes, gaze flicking to my clenched fist. “Is that a poker chip ring?”

My stomach drops. My fingers curl instinctively, but it’s too late.

“Oh my God.” Kat finally looks up, horror dawning across her face. “What did you do?”

“I—”

Lily gasps. “Was ‘fresh air’ tall and devastatingly hot?”

My mouth goes dry. My hand drifts to my neck before I catch myself.

“Ha!” Lily shouts. “Made you look! Do you have a hickey?”

“No!”

My phone buzzes, saving me from further interrogation. But the second I glance down, my stomach turns to stone.

MRS. PLATSKY: Need help with damage control. Son's TikTok about our family yacht went viral. The wrong kind of viral. Call ASAP.

"Another crisis?" Lily peers at my screen.

"Apparently the yacht community is having a rough day." I switch to my email, where three more client emergencies await. "Maybe I should start specializing in maritime PR disasters."

"Or," Kat says slowly, "maybe this is the perfect time to start your own firm."

I look up. "What?"

"Think about it. Your clients clearly trust you more than the Drake name. Will's making himself look like an ass online. Why not take advantage?"

"Because I just broke my employment with Will’s company? And, in case you forgot, I already lined up an interview for a new position.”

“Um, Will and Drake’s PR contract came with a morality clause," she reminds me. "Which I'm pretty sure 'secretly dating your fiancée's college roommate' violates. As for the interview, those things can be cancelled, you know.”

“Besides,” Lily adds, "you've always wanted your own company. Remember that business plan you wrote in college?"

I start to protest, but my phone lights up with Will's latest post – some nonsense about "growing through what you go through" featuring him and Jenny in matching meditation poses.

"I'm going to need bail money," Lily mutters.

"No one's getting arrested." I stand, needing to move. "Or starting companies. Or?—"

A notification catches my eye:

A post from ALEX DRAKE…

Will’s billionaire cousin.

Oh god.

I click so fast I nearly drop my phone, but it's just a photo from the club last night. No Elvis. No marriage. No...

Connor.

The world tilts. The floor isn’t solid.

My brain flashes to this morning.

His lazy smirk. The low rasp of his voice. The way his hand lingered just a second too long when he handed me coffee.

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