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“You have it?” Dayton murmurs. “Awesome. It’ll be great to see you…” Dayton chatters on about logistics.

If Ethan can be friends with Cleo, why can’t I be friends with Dayton?

“Sure, sounds like a plan. See you Saturday afternoon then.”

I hang up and turn my attention to my furious keeper next to me.

“And you were saying?”

He glares at me and I smile.

It takes two to tango and I’m a dancer, Ethan Anderson.

You don’t know what hit you.

Chapter 19

“You’re sure about this,Lexy? You know how I feel about him.” Summer’s voice travels through my laptop speaker as I get ready for my coffee date with Dayton in my UNYC apartment.

“I know. You aren’t a fan of Dayton. This is just catching up, nothing more, Sum. He’s making a name for himself in finance and didn’t you say it’s always good to network?”

“If that’s what it is. I guess.”

They say distance really tests a relationship, and the same goes for friendships as well. Our calls have dwindled from several times a week to monthly, if I’m lucky.

In classic Ivy League fashion, there are mixers and secret handshakes with the movers and shakers in society, and she, being one to never say no to networking, is eating it all up.

Perhaps Keeper inspired something in me, because I want to make it on my own without the Vaughn name as well. Didn’t Ethan used to say he wanted his name to mean something?

I want the same thing too.

But at my college, we don’t have the same opportunities Summer has, so I’ll just have to work harder and hustle. But at least now, I know what I want to do—work in marketing and design groundbreaking campaigns.

“I didn’t like how he treated you before.”

“I know what I’m doing, Sum. It’s different now. I’m no longer the lost girl at Broadbent.” I finish my simple makeup look—eyeliner, mascara, tinted moisturizer—with a coat of pink lip gloss.

Squaring my shoulders, I face the camera. “Trust me, Sum. You’re looking at the new badass Alexis Vaughn, ready to take on the world.”

Keeper always believed me—ah, stop it, Lexy. Keeper is your imagination and Ethan Anderson, an infuriating asshole, is the reality.

“Fine. You win. You do you. Just don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ later on. Well, I think you’re—”

The doorbell rings and I frown. “Someone’s at the door. Got to go.”

We hang up and I walk through my colorful living room filled withNational GeographicandTravel Leisurephoto prints of places I want to see and experiences I want to try out—all part of my meticulous Twenty by Forty plan—not every item makes it onto the master list.

The doorbell blares loudly again.Who the hell is it?I’m not expecting anyone, and the doorman holds the packages.

Someone pounds on the door now and my hackles rise.

I scurry to the foyer and peek through the peephole, finding Ethan tugging his hair and pacing back and forth in the hallway.

Huh?Quickly, I open the door.

“Ethan? What are you doing here and how do you know where I—”

“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?” His voice is hushed. Urgent. He looks like he ran all the way from his place in Manhattan to see me.