The Infatuation by Lauren Rowe

Author:Lauren Rowe [Rowe, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Kat

I slowly open my eyes. I don’t feel great, but it definitely could have been a lot worse. When Josh brought me to my room after I barfed all over him, he helped me shower—in my bra and undies, I noticed—ordered me chicken noodle soup from room service, and made me drink a bunch of Gatorade and take four Ibuprofen before finally tucking me into bed. I have to admit, I kinda swooned at how attentive and sweet he was, even through my queasiness.

I look at the clock. Three o’clock. Wow, I slept a full seven hours. I grab my phone and look at my emails. Damn. I’ve got two messages from my boss, attaching documents that require my attention. Obviously, I’m gonna have to head back to Seattle soon or risk losing my job. My work is piling up and I’ve already used up all my vacation days this year. Hmm. Maybe there’s a way for me to finagle this.

I forward my boss’s email to my co-worker Hannah, asking her if maybe she’s willing to help a sistah out?

Hannah’s email reply is immediate. “Of course, baby. I got you. Any time.”

“Thanks, baby. You know I’ll return the favor.”

“You’ve helped me with a thousand pitches, girl. And I still owe you big time for helping me with the politician who sent the dick pic to the teenager.”

“You don’t owe me a damned thing,” I write. “And if you do, then helping me with this pitch puts you way ahead, for sure.”

“Where are you? Still in Vegas?” Hannah writes.

“Yeah. And currently hung over. Partied all night. You won’t believe who I partied with.”

“Who?”

“RED CARD RIOT!”

“WTF!!!!!! Are you serious?”

“Serious. LMFAO,” I write.

“Cray,” Hannah writes.

“Probs going to their concert tonight, too. And watching from backstage!!!!!”

“No way! Double cray. Are they hot?”

“Totes. But really young. Just wee little baybays.”

“Oooooh, you could do the Mrs. Robinson thing. That’d be hot.”

“That’s not one of my fantasies, actually. But, trust me, I’ve got plenty of others.”

“Oh, I know you do. LOL,” Hannah writes.

“Thanks again, girl. You’re a great friend.”

“Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, say hi to Sarah. How’s she feeling?”

“She’s great. Breaking news: she’s in luuuuuurve.”

“Awesome! With that guy she went to Belize with?”

“Yup. And he’s in luuuuuuuurve with her, too.”

“Aw.” Hanna attaches a heart emoji. “I’m jelly.” She attaches a green-faced emoji.

“Me, too.” I exhale wistfully. “Okay, gotta go,” I write. “Just woke up. Gotta get some food in this sad-sack body.”

“By all means. Partying requires fuel. Have fun.”

“Thanks again for the assist.”

“No worries. Have an extra drink for me. Or two or three.”

“Thanks, Hannah Banana Montana Milliken.”

“LOL. Any time, Kitty Kat.”

“Meow.”

“Mwah.”

Phew. Catastrophe averted. At least for now. I have no doubt Hannah will style me—the woman’s damn good at PR—and that ought to buy me at least a little time. But, clearly, I can’t stay out here in Las Vegas forever. Sooner or later, the jig’s gonna be up. I just wish I knew how long Operation Ocean’s Eleven was going to last (and what my part in it might be).

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