Chapter 11
Back in my room, I lie under sandpapery sheets and breathe in old cigarette smoke. Reliving what happened with Nate is not an option, so instead I fantasize about the twenty-two-dollar omelet and the comfortable hotel room I walked out on.
It’s not that I can’t afford those things, exactly. I make good money at CycleLove, and even though Los Angeles is expensive, Michelle charges me a pittance in rent. But I started off in a hole.
My mom spent freely when Jolee was doing well.
It was important to show people what kind of life it provided, she said.
We had a big house and luxury cars. We shopped at Neiman Marcus and Shopbop and vacationed in gorgeous places.
She posted pictures of it all, shamelessly reminding people that they too could wear Valentino Rockstud sandals on a trip to Turks and Caicos that they didn’t have to take PTO for, because if they seized the opportunity she offered, they’d be their own boss.
Savings accounts don’t photograph well. And much of the fancy stuff was smoke and mirrors, financed by debt.
Unsurprisingly, I was shitty with money until Michelle taught me how to budget.
Now I hoard my pennies, because CycleLove won’t last forever.
I can’t save as rapidly as I’d like, partly because of my debt and partly because my camera-facing job requires certain expenses—highlights, skincare treatments, teeth whitening, a personal trainer—but I usually make responsible choices.
That’s why I need to get my trip back on track.
My focus has to be on getting motivated for my return to work.
At the same time, my focus also needs to be on curating an Internet personality that matches Tracy’s vision.
It doesn’t feel like me yet, but it’s still new.
Even though it would probably be safer for me to haul ass out of Vegas and regroup somewhere in the Utah wilderness, Tracy would call that snoozeworthy, so my only real option is sticking around to create content with Logan and his wild, famous friends.
If only he hadn’t stuck his phone in the mail and gone off the grid. None of the guys he’s with have posted today, but Nate and I agreed to reconvene this evening to come up with a plan to find him. We didn’t talk about what will happen if we can’t.
By late afternoon, I’m still queasy and parched, but less acutely so.
Thankfully, Nate put my purse down before he jumped into the pool to rescue me, so my phone and wallet aren’t waterlogged.
I send Bailey a quick, sanitized update and shoot off a brief message to my mom, letting her know I’m on vacation.
Caleb and I broke up , I add, in case she hasn’t seen.
Maybe she’ll ask if I want to talk about it.
I’m not sure I do, but it would be nice to have the option.
I wonder if she’ll ask me to visit once she hears I’m coming back east. Since my parents left Pennsylvania for North Carolina, I haven’t seen their new place, although I did help with the down payment.
Mom: Oh wow! I wish I could take a vacay but my car’s about to go!
I groan. Another brick on my shoulders. This is the start of a familiar process: hints that gradually become more pointed, eventually turning into direct requests for help. Cars are expensive. I’d really have to shift things around for a while. But what can I do? Transportation is a necessity.
I can’t deal with it right now. Probably because I’m a cold, empty person. Instead, I switch to my text thread with Michelle, who sent me a bunch of messages this morning.
Michelle: “DUMP HIM”? Lol. Who are you?
Michelle: Tracy is loving it though. Hope you’re ready to be the single girl power queen of CycleLove.
Michelle: She’s got a collage going in her office with pictures of you next to Jennifer Aniston and that photo of Nicole Kidman celebrating as she left her divorce lawyer’s office.
She’s joking about the last part. I think.
When Tracy decided I was Quinn Ray of Sunshine, there was no collage.
Now I guess she’s turning me into something else.
Quinn Can Buy Herself Flowers. She’s a genius, though, and the proof is there when I open Instagram.
Yesterday’s post is performing well, I’ve gained another ten thousand followers, and the “best moments without a significant other” slideshows are multiplying exponentially. I dare to check my DMs.
The first one says, You’re my hero, Quinn! I broke up with my boyfriend because of you!
Holy crap.
The second one is from a man whose profile photo shows him wearing wraparound sunglasses and an American flag T-shirt. It’s a full-length novel that starts, Women who claim not to need a man are responsible for population decay.
There’s a ton more in my inbox, but I put my phone down. I feel a little sick about the idea that I’m inspiring some kind of mass reaction in people when I’m not even sure I have an official position on singledom anyway.
Do I think there’s more to life than romantic relationships? That people should like themselves for who they are on their own? Of course. But it feels like the Internet is flattening me out into one thing.
I’m feeding into it, I know that. I chose to wear the DUMP HIM T-shirt.
My phone vibrates. Nate wants to meet for dinner.
For a moment, his hand is on my thigh, his stubble skimming my neck.
Nope. Bad idea. The more time I spend there in my head, the harder it’ll be to get out.
Better to act like it never happened. I throw on a pair of denim shorts, my Seapoint hoodie, and flip-flops and meet him back at the Cosmopolitan.
When we spot each other in the lobby, Nate shuffles over to me. “Sorry about earlier.”
“No need.” I blow past him. “Let’s eat.”
It’s difficult to believe that so far on this trip, I’ve only been on one hike, yet I’ve eaten two meals in a casino food court, but here we are. Over a couple orders of sliders, Nate fills me in on the latest developments in the Logan search.
“I sat in the lobby for an hour, hoping they’d pass through. I should’ve spent more time looking for them at the craps tables, but I’m wiped. I could barely move. Pretty sure I still smell like whiskey.”
I grab his forearm and bring it to my nose. The regret hits immediately—I shouldn’t be touching him—but it’s too late. “You smell like body wash.”
My nose must have wrinkled, because he mimics the expression. “My deepest apologies.”
Even though I hate fragrance, Nate smells better than most people. “Could’ve been worse,” I say. “What about me? Tequila?”
He looks down at my outstretched arm and a beat passes, like maybe he won’t do it. Please don’t make it weird, I urge him in my head.
He lifts my wrist, and relief flows through me.
“You smell like…” Something about the careful way he’s holding my hand while inhaling the scent of my skin makes me dizzy. It’s a joke, I remind myself. His teeth sink into his lip. “Like…nothing.” He sets my arm down.
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
We look at each other. There’s warmth in his face, but I barely have time to recognize it before he clears his throat and returns to business. “I messaged one of Logan’s friends. Livvie. Apparently, Logan is supposed to be at a party with a bunch of Beach House people in Denver tomorrow night.”
I struggle not to collapse into my sweet potato fries. “Please tell me Denver is located in Las Vegas. Like Paris, or New York-New York.”
His mouth ticks down at the corner. “I’m going to book a flight back to L.A. for tomorrow, if I can.”
It feels like a gut punch. “Wait, what? You’re giving up?”
“We’re not going to find him tonight. He might have left for Colorado already. What am I going to do, chase him another seven hundred fifty miles?”
I straighten my spine. “You’ve obviously considered it, since you know exactly how far it is.”
He sits back and crosses his arms. “I happen to be excellent at geography.”
“Oh, right. I’ve been wondering, how many miles are we from Albuquerque? Or Vancouver?”
“I’m not Jolly the Clown. I don’t perform on demand,” he says.
“Nate.”
“Quinn.”
I give him my most pointed look, which is not all that sharp. He looks away and works his jaw.
“Fine,” he says. “What about you? You’re coming with me?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m part of this now.” In Denver, I’ll have something better than Logan: the women of The Beach House.
They’re the ones who come out of it with the most fame and the biggest endorsement deals.
Associating with them will give me a bigger boost. Plus, if I’m aiming for “girl power,” isn’t it better if my content includes girls?
Many of whom have faced ugly breakups on national television?
It sounds cheesy, but I think it will please Tracy.
And Vegas to Denver is a scenic drive. Maybe I can film snippets of the trip and cobble them together into one video, a “day in the life of a single girl on a road trip” kind of thing.
As long as I can avoid revealing that I’m on the road trip with a hot guy.
“What’s your role, exactly?” Nate asks.
Right. The pitch. “Need I remind you that my mother sold a full case of Jolee tubing mascara after it made the news for making people’s eyelashes fall out? She convinced them to use it to cover up their gray hairs. Being a salesperson is in my blood. I’ll be your business wingwoman.”
He frowns. “What about your plan, though? A Beach House alumni rager isn’t going to take place in a national park.”
I can’t bring myself to explain that I need to use this rager for content.
“There’s a lot to do in Colorado. And it should be easy to drive north after to…
South Dakota?” I’m not one hundred percent sure that’s correct, but there’s plenty of time for research.
“Besides, I don’t have to be in nature for every minute of the trip. More than anything I need to be away. ”
“Temporarily,” he says.
“Of course.” We stare at each other. He’s daring me to concede something, I think, but I don’t know what. “You’ll need to fill me in on all the details about your camp before the party. You’re sure we can trust this Livvie person’s information?”
“She lives in Denver. The party’s at her friend’s place. It’s the best we’ve got.”
“Are she and Logan a thing?” If she’s Logan’s latest love interest, her intel is probably accurate.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Logan tried to set me up with her a couple times, actually.”
That makes my stomach churn in a way I don’t want to acknowledge.
“I’ll drive the first half,” I say. “Better get some sleep tonight. It’s going to be a long day.”