Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Aww, how sweet that he’s down to bone you,” Harlow says.
With an apologetic shrug, Ethan reaches for his yummy-looking mojito. “Yeah, sorry about…men.”
“Nothing a drink can’t cure.” I bat my lashes at him, then the cocktail.
Ethan waves down a pretty redheaded server named Martina and orders a mojito for me, too, as Harlow asks, “So, did he pass the Mayweather test?”
I can’t hide my glee. “Nope. Said see you later on the sidewalk. Didn’t even offer to call me a cab.”
Ethan gasps. “Left Mama Mayweather’s precious darling to travel the perilous city alone? How helpful of him to eliminate himself from consideration. I mean, douchebag behavior, but you’re off the hook.”
I smile like I got away with a theft. “I do love it when they make it easy.”
I’ll text my mom later with an update. She usually needs time to research the next nice, well-educated, family-centric candidate. Translation: she wants me to settle down with a rich boy from Park Avenue who’s got a family she trusts, and to take over her makeup empire before I’m twenty-five. I’ve got two years, but the clock is ticking loudly.
When the server returns with my drink, I take a sip of the mojito, my skull rings glinting under the chandelier. The cocktail does the final job in erasing my mood from the bad date. When I set it down, I say, “But it’s all for the best it didn’t work out. I have a lot on my plate, so it’s fine.”
“Or maybe you just need a change of scenery,” Harlow suggests. “A different vibe. What if you go out with someone tomorrow when you’re in Miami? You could get on the apps and see who’s there.”
How would I even have time for that? “At the Innovation conference? I’m going there to learn and network.”
Ethan whispers under his breath, “Fuck a hot dude at night.”
I slug his shoulder. “It’s supposed to be an amazing event. So many great speakers and business visionaries. Mikka Halla is the closing keynote. He wrote an amazing book about harnessing creativity in technology. I devoured it, and I’ve wanted to hear him speak for a long time.”
“Is he hot?” Ethan asks, wiggling his brows.
“He’s fifty-three,” I point out.
“And…is he hot?”
“Shut up. Even you don’t go for guys that old. And I am not going after Mikka Halla. He’s not my type.”
“Does he not like good girls?” Ethan teases.
“And are you sure you’re going to be such a good girl in Miami?” Harlow goads. “The sun, the heat, the beach. You know how it goes.”
“Of course you’ve plotted my deflowering already,” I say to Harlow. She’s the ultimate planner. That’s how she got her own happy ending.
Ethan stirs his drink with the metal straw, giving me that look. “Babe, the conference is full of your type.”
“Oh, you must mean other app nerds who are hoping to go big and desperately want to succeed without their mother’s success,” I say dryly.
“Yes, Layla. That’s exactly what I meant.” He clears his throat, then says, “But maybe Miami will be just what you need.”
“You’ll be away from New York,” Harlow chimes in.
“No interference from Mama,” Ethan adds.
“Lots of men who tick all your boxes,” Harlow says, then grins. “Like, the older box.”
In case I didn’t know my type. Still, I manage a protest of sorts. “That’s not always true. I liked David Bancroft in college.”
“You liked him as a friend,” she corrects.
“But I dated him for a couple months.”
“It was practically platonic,” Ethan adds.
To be fair, my relationship with David wasn’t platonic, but it ended amicably and I’m still good friends with him.
But even so, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure. I only have a few years to make my app go big. “I should focus while I’m there, guys.” But I can feel my resolve weakening as I picture…men in suits.
“You can focus by day,” Ethan whispers in one ear.
“Have fun at night,” Harlow seconds in the other. “Just imagine men who don’t tell you how much money they make.”
“Because they’re confident in who they are,” Ethan adds.
“Since they’re self-made,” Harlow adds.
A whoosh travels down my belly. They make such good points. “You’re making this hard,” I grumble.
“And there’s one more thing, Lola Jones…” Ethan emphasizes the name I use professionally for my app and my brand of online makeup tutorials. I registered for the conference under Lola Jones, as well. I don’t like to traffic in the cachet of the Mayweather last name, especially when it comes to my burgeoning makeup dreams.
Ethan pauses dramatically, takes a drink of his mojito, and sets down the glass with panache. “Imagine a man your mother doesn’t set you up with.”
That does sound like my type.
But I’m not traveling to Miami to find a man. I don’t need a man. I don’t want to rely on someone. I never want to experience again the pain of losing someone I love. Felt it. Some days, I still do.