Page 79 of Happily Never After

- Research Men’s Rights Conference

- Grill Jack

- Check in with Bri

When her alarmwent off at five a.m. on Saturday, Claire rolled out of bed like a ninja and crouched on the floor. She peeked over the edge of the down comforter. Luke was still sleeping, brows furrowed like he was lecturing someone. He probably was. Rosie raised her head, but apparently was too sleepy to follow her mom out the door.

Claire stepped silently down the stairs and quickly changed into the outfit she had laid out the night before. After two painfully lengthy meetings on Thursday and Friday, Brad had decided he needed another and it couldn’t wait. Happily Ever Afters had never followed a Monday-Friday workweek, but this was getting ridiculous. Mindy had done the smart thing andflown back to West Haven for the weekend, so Claire was going to the meeting alone.

She was supposed to be spending the day with Luke. He had planned a day date to show her all his favorite places in the city. But now it would have to wait until this infernal meeting was over. Brad insisted it would be quick, so there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t be. Surely he had some rich people stuff to do on Saturday—golfing, maybe? Or an underground fight club?

She set a pot of coffee to brew and pulled out one of Luke’s tiny notebooks—he had a literal drawer full in his kitchen. The pen scratched across the paper as she scrawled a quick note explaining her absence. Would he be upset when he found her gone? Probably. But her whole future was riding on this proposal. It had to be done.

Luke-

I HAVE NOT BEEN ABDUCTED. Quick meeting with Brad. Be back soon.

xoxo

Besides, he had forced her into a therapy sessiontwice.She had not been mentally ready to unpack what had happened at the ranch, and her session with Dr. Goulding had ended in a panic attack. He had no room to argue about boundaries.

She triple-checked that all the doors and windows were locked before hustling outside to the car. The sky blushed pink, but the sun still hovered below the horizon. Car keys were threaded through her fingers as she tiptoed across the lawn. ESA could be anywhere. Spying through a hole in a neighbor’s fence, lurking in a parked car. There would barely be time to inhale the sharp, sweet scent of chloroform before she was incapacitated. It had happened before. She quickened her pace and ran through her vehicle security check at double time.

Her heart pounded as she threw herself into the driver’s seat. She clutched a hand to her chest and fought for measured breaths. She smelled the stupid black licorice air freshener (Luke had the worst taste,) listened to the hum of the engine. There was only so much she could do to ground herself in reality in this tiny, ineffective car. The Porsche was sorely lacking in hauling capacity. She could barely fit a breath mint in the backseat let alone a set of professional grade speakers.

After a minute, her heart rate slowed. Her fingers cracked as she pulled them off the steering wheel and flexed. There was no need to lose her damn mind every time a shadow crossed her path. If ESA was run predominantly by frat boys, there was a zero percent chance that they were up at five thirty in the morning on a Saturday.

She needed to refocus and get to work. In two short weeks, the proposal would be in motion. Once Brad’s project was over and the shelter was effectively saved, she could breathe again. Well, if ESA didn’t manage to murder her in the interim.

She backed slowly out of the driveway and turned down the street toward the studio. Burbank was quiet this early on a Saturday. A couple of elderly neighbors puttered around in their gardens, watering flowers and reaching for their morning papers. She waved to Mr. Nesbit, a kind neighbor with an adorable golden retriever named Hank. He had left a bag of produce on their front porch the day before.

But what the hell was this? She almost stomped on the brakes.

Olivia stood outside a modest two-story brick house. She unfurled a yoga mat on her patch of front lawn that was more dirt than grass. Her neon yellow sports bra made Claire’s eyes water as she drove by. A complicated-looking ring light with a cellphone harness stood ready in the grass.

Her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t flash a middle finger at the attempted homewrecker. With her luck, it would end up on TikTok and her reputation would be even more brutally destroyed.

Thirty harrowing minutes later, Claire pulled into the studio and locked her doors. Despite its best efforts, Los Angeles traffic had not managed to claim her life. She did a quick bout of two-stepping and triple-checked her purse for Brad’s master binder. It had a fresh new tab devoted solely to trail decoration. Since her own stash was torched, she had spent the remainder of her Friday getting quotes from rental companies in the area. Hopefully Brad wouldn’t have any additional outlandish requests. They were running out of time.

Claire hustled into the studio. There was minimal staff here today, and they waved her back without bothering to check her ID. She knocked hesitantly on Brad’s door.

“Come in,” he said. “Ah, Claire. Thank you for meeting with me.”

Claire slid a coffee across the imposing mahogany desk. “It’s no trouble. So, two weeks out from the big day. How are you feeling?”

Brad stood and faced away from her. He sipped his coffee for a moment and stared out the window like a Bond villain. Her stomach clenched. Was he about to make some dramatic proclamation that he wasn’t ready for marriage after all? If so, she was going to torch the entire studio.

“I feel great. I only wish we didn’t have to wait another two weeks. My head just buzzes with ideas on how it can be bigger, better. But I know there’s only so much we can accomplish in a single day. Maybe I should have planned a proposal week.” He chuckled.

Claire’s smile froze. If he was about to propose that they stretch these events out over the course of a week, she was going to lose her shit.

“I think one beautiful day exactly as you have planned it will be perfect,” she said diplomatically. “You can always take a vacation afterwards to celebrate.”

“Now there’s an idea.” Brad pulled out his readers and scribbled something on a sticky note. “How’s Luke doing, by the way? He’s okay with me dragging you away from home so often?”

Claire smiled. “He knows how important this is.”

“How’s his next documentary coming?”

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