Chapter 9 #2
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Hi, you have every right to be mad at me for finding your number now that I know your full name. I’m sorry, but please hear me out.
This is Griffin, by the way.
“Ugh, it’s Griffin.” I roll my eyes.
“What does he want?”
I look back at my phone and keep reading.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
I’m not sure if you’ve seen all the articles, but it seems we’ve suddenly become the subject of every news outlet’s attention.
If you haven’t, I’m sorry I’m the one breaking the news.
If you have, then you know this narrative is already getting out of control.
I have a proposition for you that I think will be mutually beneficial for us.
Okay, that kinda sounds dirty.
I promise it’s not dirty.
Anyway, my agent wants to speak with us together, so if you’re able to come over today, I can send a car for you.
And by IF, I mean that my agent NEEDS to talk to both of us since this now concerns you, too. So, please agree to this, and we can get everything sorted out together.
Sorry for all the texts. I’ll stop now.
I stare at my phone, a storm of anger brewing inside me.
I’m infuriated that this even happened. That Griffin just waltzed back into my life like it was nothing.
But in reality, he’s the Mento dropped in my Coke bottle, making a giant explosion and a mess that I’m left to clean up when he inevitably ghosts me again. Because he will.
The problem now is that I’m also filled with dread. He’s right. I could handle him walking in and out of my life the first time—okay, I could at least wallow in peace—but I’m out of my wheelhouse this time.
I have no clue what I’m supposed to do when my face is plastered on every tabloid. When lies are being spread about me to my face and behind my back, and comment sections are filled with unspeakable things that my friends won’t even let me read.
I’m mature enough to admit that I need guidance from his agent. And, like it or not, maybe I even need help from Griffin.
I shudder at the thought.
But I’m also petty enough to save his name in my phone contacts as Mr. Too Late. Shoutout to my girl Taylor for such an iconic song bridge from “Mr. Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version).” She’s the real MVP.
“Well?” Kelsey nudges my elbow.
“His agent wants to talk to both of us together about everything going on.”
Her demeanor softens. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” She eyes me warily as I take a deep breath. “So, why do you still look like you just sucked on a lemon?”
“Because that means I have to spend more time with him.”
“Just until this all gets sorted. Then you can say sayonara.”
I nod. “You’re right. Better to get this over with now.”
Ugh, I can’t even imagine how much more awful this would be if I weren’t on winter break. All my students would be grilling me as if I were a hot dog and it was the Fourth of July. Look at me looking at the bright side of things; Shayna would be proud.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I type out a response.
ME
I’ll come, but only because I want this all to be over with. You don’t need to send a car. I can drive myself if you send me your address.
Seconds after my message says it’s been delivered, the three little dots of doom appear, letting me know he’s typing.
MR. TOO LATE
Thank you! I’d rather send a car for you. It has tinted windows and someone I trust to keep you safe in case any paparazzi try to find you.
ME
They already found me.
MR. TOO LATE
I’m sorry. I can send a bodyguard as well.
ME
My friend’s boyfriend already scared them off, but I guess you sending a car wouldn’t hurt.
I hate admitting that Griffin’s right, but I don’t know what I’d do if paparazzi followed my car around. I send him my address, and he responds immediately.
MR. TOO LATE
My driver will be there in ten minutes. His name is Ted.
I thumbs-up his message, not wanting to prolong any interactions with him any more than necessary.
Glancing down at my matching sweat set, I consider changing before adamantly telling myself no. There’s no need to impress Hot Cocoa Man. He doesn’t deserve my time, let alone my cute outfits.
I cuddle with Kelsey’s dog, Winston, on the couch until I hear a car pull up outside. Kelsey hugs me after I slide my feet into my Ugg dupes for the second time today.
“You’ve got this, Mal,” she says with such confidence that I almost believe her.
With one last deep breath, I step away from their embrace and out our front door.
“Don’t let him charm you with empty words. You are Veronica Mallory Porter, and you don’t need a man,” Kelsey yells after me.
I laugh, shaking my head as I approach the waiting car.
The driver gets out and extends his hand. “I’m Ted. You must be Mallory.”
After a quick handshake, I say, “That’s me.”
Ted opens the rear passenger door for me, and I offer him as much of a smile as I can muster. Before I know it, we’re off, and my stomach is in knots.
I repeat my friend’s words like a mantra.
I am Veronica Mallory Porter, and I don’t need a man.
Griffin’s flattery may have sucked me in before, but I know better now. I won’t let him charm me this time, only to throw me out like last year’s jeans.
I am a crisp new pair of denim.
I am valuable.
I am Veronica Mallory Porter, and I don’t need a man.