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Brianna
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I say, glaring at my friend.
Deb only smiles gently. “It’s getting your mind off of Chet, right?”
She’s right. It is getting my mind off of Chet. Maybe not entirely mending my heart, but it’s a start. After all, Chet’s an asshole, so anything I can do to move on and to get my money back, will help.
At least I hope so.
“All right.” I hold my fingers over the keyboard. “What am I supposed to write?”
Deb checks her list. “Everything on here. Everything you can sell—even the venue.”
“The venue? Seriously?”
She nods. “Seriously. If you can find someone who’s been waiting for this place forever, maybe you can make a deal. Maybe they’ll want to push their wedding up. It’s a long shot, I know, but they’re not going to refund your deposit on the place.”
No, they aren’t. The wedding is supposed to be in three weeks, and we were nearing the end of plan-making. Meaning, we had already booked the venue a long time ago, hired the caterer, paid for the flowers and on and on. Oh, and the dress…
That had been the best part. My dream dress.
And now, I don’t even want to wear it. It reminds me too much of Chet. Chet the liar. Chet the cheater. Chet the asshole who had made me fall in love with him even though my friends had warned me he was just a player.
How was I supposed to see that when I was drowning in love?
Had he even given any indication of these things? I’m afraid to ask Deb. She’ll probably say yes. She’ll probably say there were signs, signs, and more signs. And then I’ll feel like a complete fool—worse than I already do.
Deb is just too kind to say, I told you so.
“What about the engagement ring?” I ask.
Deb runs a hand through her hair. “What do you think?”
“Pawn it.”
Deb laughs. “That’s the spirit. Get Chet out of your life completely. I know it’s hard and he’s a total dick for doing this to you, but the faster you get all memory of him out of your life, the less he can hurt you.”
She’s right again. My heart will take time to mend, but it’ll be easier when I don’t have reminders of him everywhere. And when I figure out how in the world I’m going to get back on my feet financially.
That alone makes sadness turn into anger. Fuck Chet. He was supposed to pay for half the wedding when he got his first bonus at work. He was supposed to help pay for rent, too. To make up for all the money I’d lost the last several months trying to secure our future.
My fingers start moving, and I list all the items written on Deb’s notebook. I set up the rest of the ad and blow out a breath before pressing SUBMIT.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now, we print out flyers and put them up everywhere we can think of,” she says, gesturing to the computer. “Trust me. Someone’s bound to see them. And if that gets you even $100 back then that’s helpful, right?”
“Right,” I grumble, though I’m sick of her being right.
Rent is due in two weeks and I’m barely getting any hours at work. It’s my fault. I told them I needed to cut down on hours to help plan the wedding, and they compensated by hiring new employees who are now getting all the hours I used to have.
Deb wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I promise after the flyers we’ll take a break. I’ll buy you a drink.”
I sniffle a little, though mostly I’m just playing it up to get her sympathy. Mostly. “Two drinks.”
She laughs and nods. “Two drinks. Big ones. And we’ll eyeball all the hotties in the bar just to make ourselves feel better.”
“I feel better already.”
I’m only partly lying. I do feel better. I’d let myself wallow for a few days, but now I’m over it. I need to be productive, and this is the best way to do it.
So I get back to work and try to think of this as business and nothing more.
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W e cover all our favorite spots, and spots we know get a lot of traffic. At the last place, a little dive bar we frequent because it’s just around the corner from my apartment, I point to the back of the building. “Last one.”
“I’ll grab a table,” Deb says.
I spot a few guys at the bar, watching me, and sway my hips a little just because I can. I’m not attached anymore, and though I don’t particularly want to pick up a guy in a bar—let alone one a week after being dumped by my fiancé—I’m single and I’m allowed to flaunt it.
In the hallway to the bathrooms, there’s a bulletin board covered with flyers for bands and apartments for rent. I spot an empty bottom corner to put up my sad flyer up with a thumb tack, hoping to lure perspective brides to buy my wedding experience. My dream.
A man comes out of the bathroom and bumps into me, knocking the paper loose and watching it flutter to the ground.
“Shit—my bad.” He bends to grab the flyer. “You okay?”
“Uh…” I blink up at him. He doesn’t look like he belongs here. Nice three-piece suit, shoes shiner and probably more expensive than my entire wedding. I can’t believe he just came out of that bathroom. Maybe he’s lost. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He starts to pass over the flyer, then pauses and looks at it. “You’re selling a wedding experience?”
Yeah, so my wording isn’t the best. I was trying to make it sound enticing.
I pluck the flyer from his hand and tack it to the board. “Yes.”
His lips curve in a grin. “That’s one I haven’t seen before.”
Damn, he’s cute. And cocky. He’s totally laughing at me right now. Well, screw him. Chet’s probably laughing at me too, and I don’t need that in my life. Ever.
“You should probably get out more,” I say, then turn on my heel and sashay back to the booth.
The guys at the bar are openly staring now but I ignore them and slide into the booth with Deb. “Men,” I huff.
“Yeah, I see them ogling.”
“Not them—the asshole back by the bathrooms.”
Deb glances in that direction, trying to peer into the hallway. Then her eyes widen. “Holy hell. You mean, Mr. Business Suit—the guy practically oozing money from his pores?”
I wave off her assessment. “I need a drink.”
“He’s hot.”
“The assholes always are,” I say.
“Ain’t that the truth?”
Putting Chet and Mr. Money Bags out of my mind, I order a drink and take the night off from worrying.