Chapter 10
MELODY
Iwas still in bed, wrapped in my comforter like a burrito, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom windows, way too bright for someone who had gotten home past one in the morning. My head felt fuzzy from the champagne hangover. Better than an actual hangover.
And my first coherent thought was about the kiss. The several kisses.
No. I wasn’t going to think about the kissing. Or Austin Bancroft. Or the completely insane night I had. Or the silly text he sent shortly after I walked in my door. It was just part of his charm. There was no way I was going to hear from him again.
My phone buzzed again.
I had muted all notifications from social media so it had to be a text message. Probably Cleo. I reached for it, squinting at the screen.
Austin: Morning, baby girl. Hope you slept well.
My heart did a complete somersault in my chest.
Austin: This is Austin, by the way. In case that wasn’t obvious.
I sat up so fast I got dizzy, clutching my phone like it might explode. Austin Bancroft was texting me. Again. What the hell was happening?
Austin. Bancroft. Was. Texting. Me.
What was I supposed to say? How did people respond to texts from devastatingly hot billionaires the morning after fake-dating them at a society wedding?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed something, deleted it. Typed something else, deleted that too.
Think, Melody. Be cool. Be casual. Be the kind of woman who definitely knows how to handle this situation.
Me: Good morning.
I stared at the message. That was so boring. So bland. He probably thought I was the least interesting person on the planet.
Three dots appeared. He was typing.
Austin: Dinner tonight? I know a place. Nothing fancy. Promise.
My stomach flipped. He actually wanted to see me again. This wasn’t just a wedding-night thing.
Austin: Unless you’re busy. No pressure. Just thought it might be fun.
I should say no. This was moving too fast. I didn’t know him. This whole thing was crazy. But my fingers were already typing.
Me: Dinner sounds good.
Send.
Oh god. What had I just done?
Austin: Perfect. 7pm? I’ll pick you up.
Me: Text me the address. I’ll meet you there.
I stared at that last message, a stupid smile spreading across my face. I wasn’t going to be that easy. Even though he already knew where I lived, it was my standard safety feature. I preferred to meet my dates at the place.
Then panic set in.
What was I supposed to wear? How was I supposed to act? What did people even talk about on dates? I hadn’t been on a real date in… how long had it been? Two months? Three?
I needed help.
I opened a new tab on my phone and typed into the search bar.
Me: How do I flirt over text with a guy I just met?
Responses popped up. Keep it light. Use humor. Show interest but don’t seem desperate. Mirror his energy.
I screenshotted the advice and saved it to my photos. That advice was all probably obvious, but I was freaking out. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.
I stumbled to the kitchen and made coffee, my phone clutched in one hand. No new messages from Austin. Should I text him? No, that seemed too eager. But what if he was waiting for me to text him? What if he thought I wasn’t interested?
“Get it together,” I muttered to myself.
I’d built a business from nothing. I’d survived being canceled by the entire internet. I could handle one date with one admittedly gorgeous, charming, completely out of my league man.
My phone buzzed.
Cleo: Girl. GIRL. Have you seen the internet this morning?!
Cleo: You and Austin Bancroft are EVERYWHERE
Cleo: I’m coming over. We need to talk.
Me: Door’s unlocked. Bring pastries.
Twenty minutes later, Cleo burst through my front door carrying an iced coffee in each hand and a bakery bag tucked under her arm. Her purple hair was in space buns today. She wore a vintage band tee, Rolling Stones, with leather pants and about seventeen rings.
She looked like she’d already had three espressos and was ready to fight someone.
“Okay,” she said, setting everything on my kitchen counter. “Spill. Everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
I filled her in while we ate croissants at my kitchen island. The bathroom confrontation at the wedding. Austin waiting for me outside. The kiss. The burgers. The ride home.
“And now he wants to see me again,” I finished. “Tonight. For dinner.”
Cleo stared at me, mouth hanging open. “Tonight? Like, tonight tonight?”
“That’s usually what tonight means.”
“Melody.” She grabbed my shoulders. “Do you understand what’s happening here? Austin Bancroft wants to take you on a date.”
“I know that. Why do you think I’m freaking out?”
“You should be freaking out! This is—” She pulled out her phone and started scrolling. “Look at this. You two are trending on Twitter. There are already fan edits. Someone made a TikTok compilation of all the photos from last night set to a Taylor Swift song.”
She showed me her screen. Sure enough, there we were. Austin dipping me on the dance floor. Austin’s hand on my waist. That kiss outside the bathroom. Dozens of photos, hundreds of comments.
They’re so cute together.
Okay but the height difference??? I’m obsessed.
Finally a Bancroft with taste.
She’s gorgeous. He’s lucky.
But of course, there were other comments too.
What does he see in her?
This has to be a joke.
Publicity stunt for sure.
I looked away from the phone. “See? They think it’s fake.”
“Who cares what they think?” Cleo set her phone down. “The point is, people are talking about you and Austin together. Not about Femme Curve. Not about the edited photos. About this.”
She was right. For the first time since my scandal broke, I wasn’t the villain in my own story. I was just a girl at a wedding with a guy. A really, really hot guy who apparently wanted to see me again.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted. “Cleo, I haven’t been on a real date in forever. What if I mess this up?”
“You won’t mess it up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” She squeezed my hand. “You’re smart and funny and gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to date you.”
“Even a Bancroft?”
“Especially a Bancroft.” Then her expression turned serious. “But you need to keep your guard up. Austin has a reputation for a reason. He’s a player. A heartbreaker. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know what he is.”
“Do you? Because you’re looking at me with that dreamy expression you get when you’re catching feelings.”
“I’m not catching feelings. I barely know him.”
“Uh huh.” Cleo didn’t look convinced. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t fall for the Bancroft charm too fast.”
I hadn’t fallen for anything yet, but Austin was certainly charming. I’d been thinking about Austin since the moment I woke up. He’d saved me last night. Taken the heat off me when I needed it most. Given me a night where I felt beautiful and wanted.
Was it so wrong to want more of that?
“I had fun with him,” I said quietly. “Like, real fun. I know he’s probably just—I don’t know—using me for whatever game he’s playing with his family. But for a few hours, I felt like myself again. Before everything fell apart.”
Cleo’s expression softened. “Oh, babe.”
“And I know it’s stupid to think that someone like Austin Bancroft would actually be interested in someone like me—”
“Stop.” Cleo held up a hand. “First of all, stop with the ‘someone like me’ bullshit. You’re a catch. A total fucking catch. Second, if Austin doesn’t see that, he’s an idiot.”
“But—”
“No buts. You’re going on this date, and you’re going to have an amazing time, and you’re going to look so hot that he forgets his own name.” She stood up, all business now. “Come on. We’re picking out your outfit.”
“Cleo, we have work to do.”
“Work can wait. This is more important.” She was already heading toward my bedroom. “What did he say to wear?”
“Something comfortable.”
Cleo grinned. “Okay, I can work with that. He wants casual but still pulled together. Probably wants you to feel like yourself, not like you’re trying too hard.”
“I think you might be giving the guy a lot of credit,” I said with a laugh. “He’s probably telling me not to wear a formal gown or a tiara.”
“A good tiara is appropriate for any occasion!” She laughed.
I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Cleo was already in my closet. She knew my wardrobe better than I did. We spent the next hour going through my things. She pulled out outfit after outfit, creating combinations that looked fresh even though I had worn everything several times before.
“Hold the phone,” Cleo said, pulling out a dress I’d forgotten I owned. “Where have you been hiding, little lady?”
It was a casual wrap dress in a pretty teal color that I’d bought on a whim months ago.
The fabric was soft jersey that draped beautifully, and the wrap style cinched at the waist before flowing over my hips.
It had three-quarter sleeves and a V-neckline that was flattering without being too revealing.
I held it up against myself. “You think?”
“I know.” Cleo was already digging through my sneaker collection. “This is perfect. Comfortable but still polished. Shows off your curves without looking like you’re trying too hard. And the color makes your eyes pop.”
I slipped into the bathroom to try it on, and when I emerged, Cleo let out a low whistle.
“Damn, girl. Austin Bancroft is not going to know what hit him.”
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. The dress fit like a dream. The wrap style emphasized my waist, and the color really did make my hazel eyes stand out. I looked like myself, just the elevated version.
“Now for shoes.” Cleo held up a pair of my favorite sneakers, limited edition Nike Dunks in cream and sage green that perfectly complemented the dress. They were pristine, only worn once for a photoshoot. “These.”
I quickly put them on and turned left, then right. “You think?”
“I know.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For this. For everything.”
“Please. Like I’d miss the chance to style you for a date with a Bancroft.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “But seriously, I’m excited for you. You deserve something good after the week you’ve had.”
“Even if it’s probably temporary?”
“Even if.” She checked her phone. “Okay, we have seven hours until he picks you up. That’s enough time to do a full glam session, practice some conversation starters, and maybe spiral into panic only two or three times.”
I laughed despite my nerves. “Sounds like a plan.”
We spent the rest of the day working. We decided not to post any new content. I didn’t want to remind people of the scandal. I was basically taking cover. Waiting for things to blow over.
Around five, Cleo started my hair and makeup. Nothing too dramatic. She knew my style. Soft waves, natural makeup with a bold lip, a hint of shimmer on my eyes.
“You look like you,” she said, studying her work. “Just the very best version.”
I stared at my reflection. She was right. I looked like myself, only more polished. More confident.
I knew why she said it. After the craziness of people saying I was fake, it was important I was myself. No gimmicks.
“Now get dressed,” Cleo ordered. “And remember, if he tries anything creepy, you text me our code word and I’ll call the FBI.”
“What’s the code word again?”
“Pineapple.”
“Why pineapple?”
“Because nobody ever casually uses the word pineapple in conversation. It’ll be obvious.” She handed me the outfit. “Now go. And Melody?”
“Yeah?”
“You are going to have fun. You deserve it.”
I got dressed, put on my shoes, and spritzed some of the vanilla body spray I loved from head to toe. I had a huge assortment. Another gift from a brand wanting me to promote their products.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I looked good. Really good.
Cleo was sitting at the center island, laptop open and typing away when I walked in.
She whistled low. “Damn, girl. You look hot.”
“You think?”
“I know.”