I scoffed. “Seriously? It’s only four grand. He makes that much in twenty minutes.”
“And,” Isaac continued, “he doesn’t want to stop charging for his live stream.”
“Wait, I don’t understand. What do you mean charging for his live stream?”
Isaac raked a hand through his hair. “A lot of YouTubers do it. When they live stream, you make a donation in exchange for access to the feed. For the event, we’ve asked that the donations go to charity instead of to the content creator.”
“Right. Of course. That’s the entire point of the event.”
“Except, he thinks that’s asking too much. He says he’s willing to match whatever my live stream brings in, but anything above that is his to keep.”
“Great guy,” I said. “So generous.”
“Tell me about it,” Isaac said.
“What he’s not thinking about is what backing out would do to his public image.” I reached over and unmuted the call. “Hey, Rizzo, Alex here.”
“Hey, Alex, my man. You talk some sense into Isaac for me?”
Ha. Not exactly. “I want you to answer a question for me.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“How long does it take you to make four thousand dollars?”
He was silent a moment, then he chuckled. “Not very long.”
“We aren’t changing the terms of our original agreement. You made a commitment and we’re holding you to it. You’re free to back out if that’s what you decide to do, but if that happens, I want you to know I’ll be obligated to work up a press release explaining exactly why you backed out of the event—the charity event that has the potential to bring in thousands and thousands of dollars to benefit America’s underprivileged neighborhoods. I might mention how long it takes you to make four thousand dollars and will be sure to make the point that, in your mind, the small amount of time it takes you to make more money than what most of your viewers earn in weeks, even months, was more important to you than your participation.”
“It’s not just about the four grand—”
“Are you confident your public image could stand the hit of being the guy who backed out of a charity event because of his own greed?”
“Now you’re just playing dirty,” Rizzo said.
“No, playing dirty would be including a picture of your multi-million-dollar mansion in the press release.”
He was silent for a beat before finally relenting. “Fine.”
I smiled. “Always a pleasure to talk with you, Rizzo. We’ll see you in December.” I hung up the phone and Isaac let out a whoop of victory.
He straightened an imaginary tie and slipped on a pair of imaginary sunglasses. “Always a pleasure to talk with you, Rizzo,” he said in an exaggerated Southern accent. “We’ll see you in December.”
I socked him in the arm. “You’re welcome.”
“Seriously, you are one convenient man to have around,” Isaac said.
“I have a list of things I need you to go over when you have time,” I said, moving to the fridge. I pulled out the leftovers from last night’s Chinese takeout. I opened the container and sniffed. Maybe it wasn’t last night. “When was the last time we had Chinese?”
“The fact that you can’t remember probably isn’t a good sign.”
I tossed the leftovers into the trash, instead grabbing an apple from the basket on the counter. “I talked to the event planner this morning. She had questions about the food and sent over a few different designs for the decorations. She wants you to pick the one you like the most.”
“It’s happening on Christmas Eve. I assumed it’d be decorated for Christmas.”
“The designs are all holiday-themed, just different styles. You’ll see what I mean when I send them over.”
“Cool. I’ll take a look. But you know you could probably just decide and never tell me we’d actually had options and I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“You and Dani really aren’t anything alike, are you?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Not hardly. You should send her the designs. She’d know exactly which one to pick.”
A pang of regret pulsed through me. Dani would know. She’d be the perfect person to consult. Instinctively I reached for my phone.
She hadn’t texted, not since she’d asked me about Sasha. But that didn’t stop me from compulsively checking for new messages. I dropped the phone back on the table, annoyed that I could so easily forget the reasons why I’d left. I’d only ever wanted to escape the LeFrancs and the world they lived in. I couldn’t do that with Dani. She was too connected. Too loyal.
An image of my mom flashed through my mind, one arm looped through Alicio, the other resting casually on a ten-year-old Victor’s shoulder. Gabriel stood beside him, his hand holding onto the hem of my mother’s jacket. It was a popular photo—one of the first ones that popped up when you googled Alicio’s name.
Just the four of them.
Their perfect little happy family.
Dani hadn’t been the only person to choose LeFranc over me.
My phone dinged with an incoming text and I lunged for it, grateful for the distraction, hating that I couldn’t tamp out the hope that the message might be from Dani.
My shoulders fell, but I typed out a response anyway.
“Who’s texting?” Isaac asked. “Somebody terrible?”
I shook my head. “Jasmine. Confirming our date for this weekend.”
“Wow,” Isaac said, his expression even. “I can already tell it’s going to be a party and a half.”
“Shut up,” I said, tossing my apple core into the trash. I left the kitchen, grabbing my laptop off the table on the way, and headed to my room.
I would go on a date with Jasmine.
I gritted my teeth.
I would go and I would have fun.
Chapter Thirteen
Dani
Two days of sneaking around, following Sasha and tracking her every move at LeFranc and I finally had my proof. It came in the form of a tiny Swedish tailor named Julian who spoke terrible English, but not so terrible that I couldn’t milk out the information I needed.
After an uncomfortable back and forth in the elevator, he confirmed that yes, he was working with Sasha on her wedding gown. Not designing. Just altering, tweaking a dress that was already made. The thought of my gown being tweaked to fit her body made me feel sick, but I pushed aside the discomfort. If I had any hope of getting it back, I had to stay focused.
Back at my desk, I sent Chase a text. Basement. 3:30 PM. Outside the elevators.
Message received, he texted back.
Chase was already in the hallway when the elevator finally deposited me on LeFranc’s bottom floor at 3:37 PM. He leaned against the wall, his foot nervously tapping against the floor. “What took you so long?” he asked, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the elevator.
“I couldn’t get rid of Mylie,” I said. “She kept asking me questions about Hank up in accounting.”
“Hank? Really?” He motioned to his head. “With the . . . hair thing?”