Page 106 of Forget Me

I sniffed. I wasn’t sure my own fake eyelashes would stand up to tears. Besides, I’d cried enough of them into my Mateo-scented pillow. I clamped my mouth shut to keep the sob inside.

Natalie must have seen the tremble in my jaw. “Excuse us. We were on our way to get a second round.”

“Remember, you’re representing the foundation tonight,” Larissa hissed. “Only two drinks, Miriam. No mistakes.”

I straightened. I had to ask her about the rainy-day account. But not in front of Flavio and Natalie. “Larissa, could I—”

“No time.” Natalie clutched my arm and dragged me through the crowd to the closest bar.

“But I needed to ask her something about the foundation—”

“Fuck the foundation,” Natalie snapped. “We’re on a mission. Breakups call for champagne and chocolate.”

With Ben, it was red wine and greasy pizza. But that hadn’t lifted the heaviness in my belly. Maybe Natalie’s remedy would. I’d find Larissa when my eyes weren’t so leaky.

I put on an apologetic smile. “I’m allergic.”

“To champagne?”

“No. Chocolate.”

Her eyes softened with sympathy. “You poor thing. Chocolate is the best breakup remedy I know. We’ll have to drown your sorrow with…carbs. You’re not allergic to them, are you?”

“Only the chocolate-flavored ones.”

Two glasses of champagne in a corner of the ballroom later, the room had taken on a Crisco-smeared quality.

“I think I need to eat something more than salmon on toast points,” I said. I didnotneed a repeat of Bree’s bachelorette party—or its aftermath.

“Good idea.” Natalie stopped a server with an effortless wave of her hand. “Excuse me, can you ask the kitchen manager if they can start the dinner service?”

“I—I guess? We’ll have to ask Mr. Flavio.”

I scrunched my nose. The alcohol hadn’t lessened the tightness in my chest, but it had loosened my lips. “Why him?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Tonight, everything goes through him.”

Everything should have gone through Larissa. Or one of us. “Why?”

The server shrugged. “He says he’s in charge tonight. Heisthe owner.”

“Flavioownsthe country club?” That fact pierced through my foggy brain.

“Yeah?”

“That Flavio”—God, I wished I knew his last name—“over there?” I pointed at the center of the dance floor, where Larissa stood beside him.

“Yeah. I’ll ask the manager to ask him.” She turned on her black shoe and left me there, goggling.

“Flavio owns the country club,” I said.

“You didn’t know that?” Natalie asked.

“No, did you?”

“No, but why do you look like that?”

“He’s Larissa’s fiancé. The foundation is paying the country club five figures. Per hour. It’s a lot of money, and it’s a conflict of interest.” I’d written the checks, and Larissa had signed them. I hadn’t thought to look into the ownership of the venue, but now that I knew, I’d have to report it. Added to the funny business with the accounts, it was too much to ignore. I scrubbed at my hands. They felt dirty.

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