The Art of Almost Losing It (The Richmond Brothers #3)

1. Dani

DANI

“They know.” Piper rushes over to me.

“They can’t,” I wail then clap a hand over my mouth as a few of my desk neighbors look up, annoyed.

“You have to find a boyfriend. Today,” my cousin hisses.

I make a helpless gesture.

“We literally work in a high-end investment firm. There are lots of rich guys here who are mildly good-looking—just pick one, Dani.”

“I can’t.”

Piper grabs me. “You haven’t been working that hard at it.”

“I’m busy. I have all these projects.”

“You’re going to get crucified when you show up alone to the party on Tuesday.”

I’m hyperventilating. Silently.

My desk neighbor puts on noise-canceling headphones.

Curse open offices.

I duck down behind the pothos plant in its white IKEA pot to whisper to my cousin. “I need another plan. I didn’t find a guy online.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Piper hisses. “You’re not going to find a tall, hot, rich guy on a free dating app.”

“I got a subscription to the Meat Market app.”

I pull my phone from my pocket, sending my chunky Frenchie grumbling.

Piper slaps the phone down.

“I don’t need to see what losers are sending you dick pics. We’re down to the wire. We’re going to have to hire someone. Someone from out of state.”

“I can’t!”

“You live at home with your parents, and you’re an investment analyst at Svensson Investment. You can afford to hire an actor.”

“I’m trying to save up for a down payment.”

“You’ve been saying that for years. You’re stuck in a rut.”

“It’s a comfy rut.”

“It’s pathetic.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and takes a deep breath. “I say this with love, but lying about having a rich boyfriend was a cry for help. Your soul is yearning for change.” Piper’s voice raises.

My fellow analysts glare at the interruption.

Piper drags me out to the windy deck off the break room, which overlooks a chilly, dark Manhattan skyline.

“Why did I say anything?” I fret.

“Because those girls treat you like shit, always have, and you have low self-esteem, and you wanted to finally earn their respect—not with any of your own accomplishments, of course, but with a man, because everyone knows a woman ain’t nothing without a high-value man,” Piper fumes.

“I have self-esteem.”

Piper points. “You bought those shoes at Costco.”

“I like Costco! And I didn’t lie because I want a husband—I mean, I do—but I just wanted to belong.

All our other friends are engaged or married.

I’ve got like five weddings this year, including Colette’s and my brother’s.

I haven’t even dated, and they’re all talking about planning their pregnancies. ” I trail off.

“Those girls are not your friends—oh my god.” Piper paces. “I don’t know why you want to impress these people.”

“I don’t really,” I backtrack. “It’s just that our moms are friends, so I need to keep the peace.”

It’s my go-to excuse with Piper.

She wouldn’t understand.

My dirty secret is that I desperately want to be like them—the cool girls, with their sleek blowouts and their designer clothes and their casual invitations to meet up for dinner or drinks.

I want to be besties with them.

“You should have just told them you’re a happy dog mom.”

“Not that happy.” I glare at Lulu, my French bulldog, who whines and sits on my foot. “She ate my used tampon this morning.”

“God, your life is a shit show,” Piper yells at the darkening sky.

“Maybe I could ask Craig and then be like, Surprise! I just said my boyfriend was rich and powerful to throw you off!”

“Craig with a K? You know a work crush is supposed to be hot, right?” Piper puts her hands on her hips.

“I’m trying to keep my standards realistic. Also, a security guard is sort of well-paid, right?”

“Nice of you to keep that energy at the company Christmas party. You really went big with the lie. Rich and tall and hot?”

“At least I didn’t say he had blue-black hair and purple eyes,” I joke desperately. “I’m never drinking Christmas tequila punch again, that’s for sure.”

“Really? Because I could use a drink.”

“Maybe I should just tell them we broke up?” I chew on my lip.

“Or you can aggressively date. Take PTO and focus. Put that unhealthy spreadsheet coping mechanism to work. You can dredge up someone in the next few days.”

“I don’t really have the time—I have the Everhart project due.” I trail off and bite my lip as I look at my computer inside.

“This is your life, your future!” Piper demands. “Maybe this is the kick in the pants you need to make some changes. Stop living in your parents’ dining room.”

“You live there too,” I remind her.

Piper doesn’t get it. I’m an analyst—we’re the ones who actually do all the work. She’s an office assistant. She can go home before 8:00 p.m. without everyone thinking she’s a lazy slob.

The door out to the deck opens. Thunder rolls, and chilly rain starts to ping against the awning covering the Brazilian-hardwood deck.

Colette steps out, balancing on her sharp Louboutins that I’d never in a million years be able to wear for more than twenty seconds.

My frenemy tosses her glossy blowout.

She’s flanked by Greta, Maya, and Nora.

The Girl Squad.

“There you are, Dani. I thought you might have skipped work to get swept off your feet by your hunky, rich mystery man.”

There’s that slight smirk on her face.

Piper’s right.

She knows.

“Do you two have any fun weekend plans? Jeremy and I are going to Aspen for the weekend. You and your mystery man should come.”

“Does he ski?” Nora asks.

“Of course he skis—he’s wealthy, isn’t he,” Piper shoots back.

“He’s ski-agnostic,” I lie.

Colette’s eyes narrow—well, as much as they can when she’s injected her body weight in Botox.

Maybe I should start getting Botox. You’re never too young, right?

But I hate needles…

“I’ve been asking around town, and honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep him under wraps for so long,” Colette interrogates.

“He’s not married, is he?” Greta snickers.

“Dani’s not a cheater. He’s single and obsessed with her.” Piper jumps to my defense.

God bless your bestie. She will support you even at your most delusional.

“We’ll probably just have a quiet evening at home.” I cough out the lie.

Even though it’s freezing, I’m sweating from the anxiety, from the shame that I’ve never had a boyfriend, and that I lied about it.

“He’s coming Tuesday, though, right?” Maya asks sincerely.

Colette throws her head back. “Of course he’s not coming on Tuesday, Maya—God. He doesn’t actually exist, does he?”

“Yes, he does—he’s real.”

I sound pathetic, like when I was a tween insisting to this exact same group of girls that Santa was real and my parents would never lie to me and that Santa just drops off presents on our balcony since we don’t have a fireplace.

“Okay.” Colette rolls her eyes. “Well, hopefully he can get time off work to come to the engagement party the office is throwing for me. You should tell him it’s a great networking opportunity. Maybe that will make him… materialize.”

She and the Girl Squad shriek with laughter as they head back into the Svensson Investment office.

“Ugh.” I slump down on one of the wooden chairs on the deck. “Fuck my life.”

Lulu whines at my feet.

“Get up. You have four days to find a man,” Piper barks. “We cannot let them win.”

I’m never going to find a man, though.

Dejected, I scroll through the dating app later that evening.

It’s Friday night—and yes, people at Svensson Investment work late, but not as late as I’m working.

I don’t want to go home to my parents’ house and listen to the passive-aggressive commentary from my mom about what kind of man could possibly want me when I have holes in my shirt, and why won’t I let her take me bra shopping, and can’t I at least bring him to the birthday party the Thornes are hosting. They really would like to meet him.

Oh yes—all of the Upper East Side of Manhattan has been told this lie. Your girl is in deep.

Colette’s mom and my mom are besties, and I’m sure me and the Girl Squad hadn’t even closed out the check at dinner before my mom had found out about the mystery man.

Mom: Are you coming home tonight?

Mom: You can’t keep working late.

Mom: Men don’t like it when you don’t treat them like they’re the most important thing in your life.

Mom: Even though I volunteer mornings at the library, I always make sure your father has breakfast and a lunch to heat up.

Mom: Your boyfriend is going to break up with you if you don’t prioritize him.

My forehead thunks down on my desk.

For a second there, I was contemplating just telling the truth.

But I will never be able to look my mom in the face again if she finds out I’ve been lying about a boyfriend.

Lulu snorts from her pillow on the floor.

Dani: We’re going to grab a quick bite.

Mom: Order a salad.

Mom: You don’t eat enough vegetables.

Mom: And send your father and I a photo!

Mom: I’m starting to think this man doesn’t even exist.

Mom: What kind of man won’t let his girlfriend send her own mother a photo of him?

Dani: Mom, we are not engaged.

Mom: But you’re heading that way, aren’t you?

Mom: I was pregnant with your brother when I was your age.

Sure, Mom—I toss the phone in my bag—tell me you’re disappointed in me without telling me you’re disappointed in me.

I should move out. I close out of the pitch deck I was tinkering around on and start looking at condos. I don’t have enough saved, though. And though my parents happily forked over money for my brother to buy a place, no such offer has ever come for me.

I have neither a rich, generous boyfriend nor rich, generous parents.

I should have been born with a penis.

I steal a glance at the break room where Craig with a K is filling up on coffee before making his security rounds. Okay, he’s definitely not buying a two-bedroom two-bath condo with a big kitchen in a doorman building in Manhattan, but he is a man who is employed.

Dad bods are in, right?

He looks up, and his dark eyes meet mine.

I gulp and give a half wave. “Just heading out. Have a good evening!”

His gaze sits on me a little too long before he gives a slow nod. “Evening.”

The pizza place around the corner sells slices for a dollar starting at 11:30 p.m., and yes, I need to actually start my New Year’s resolution to get healthy, but I’ve had a stressful day, okay?

One of the VPs screamed at me.

There’s chatter that Svensson Investment is going to reverse their dogs-in-office policy. Svensson Investment told us we could bring dogs to work—this was in lieu of a raise last year.

And I still don’t have a boyfriend.

I chew on my piping-hot slice of pepperoni pizza as I trudge through the sleet, carrying all my work bags and the doubled-up paper plates with my other two slices, trying to convince a wailing Lulu to “Just walk for a little bit—please, I cannot carry you right now.”

I shouldn’t have lied at the Christmas party. What was I thinking? Someone drugged that punch, because that was so unlike me.

I know my lot in life.

My entire life, since I was aware enough to recognize male attention, it was never directed at me.

Guys want girlfriends like Colette and the Girl Squad—polished, fun, flirty, cool. They go to sports games and play beer pong but still look like models.

That was made painfully obvious in high school then college; when a group of guys came up to flirt with the Girl Squad, they’d either ignore me or, if I was unlucky, make a disgusted face at me.

Piper always liked to tell me that the Girl Squad only kept me around to make themselves look better and to please just go no-contact with them already.

I know I’m just the sidekick.

The leftovers.

The extra person to help offset the costs of the bachelorette party.

At least they let me in the bridal party.

I toss the crust to Lulu, who stops her whining long enough to gobble it down.

Being part of the popular group is better than nothing, right? It’s better than being alone, right?

The Svensson Investment tower is bright at the end of Wall Street.

We are allowed to take a rideshare home on the company dime if we leave after 9:30 p.m.—and I’m way past that. I could head back to the office with my pizza and order an Uber. Embarrassingly, I have done that before.

Walking cancels out the pizza.

My mom’s salad comment still echoes in my mind.

I head down a darker side street toward the farther-away subway station that will take me directly home.

“Today is the first day of the rest of our lives,” I tell Lulu. “Piper is right—this was a wake-up call.”

The office district gets pretty dead after midnight. Passing the darkened office buildings, I duck my head against the cold and head toward the harbor, pushing myself to just make it to the subway station so I can catch the train.

Thunder rolls, and the sleet turns to cold, pounding rain.

“Should have taken the Uber.” I curse as the wind tugs my umbrella inside out, spraying me with ice-cold water.

I’m trying to whack Lulu away from some questionable waterlogged trash and juggle the last of my emotional-support pizza and the broken umbrella—and I don’t even notice the almost-silent black Mercedes pull up beside me…

Until I feel the hands on my throat… and hear the deep voice in my ear.

“If you scream, I’ll break your neck.”