Page 27 of Scout

Maybe this is the universe’s way of putting them in the same room one too many times. And maybeI’mthe glue. Or the match. Or the Rent-a-Cupid.

Wait.

Rent-a-Cupid.

Holy shit.

That’s actually a genius idea.

I nearly laugh out loud mid-sip of my warm mimosa. They’ll either fall back into each other or implode, but either way, maybe I can give them a push. Just enough. No strings. No feelings. Just one little nudge from the flirty blond in a Nike polo and emotional immunity.

We finish the last hole—thank God—and I lay it on thick. I meanOscar-worthy performance.I laugh at every one of Stephanie’s jokes. Flip my hair. Let her feed me a grape at one point. It’s so over-the-top that even Lin gives me a weird look. But I’m selling the fantasy. It's what I do.

Back inside, I make my move.

I pull out my phone and text Kendrix.

Me: Drinks? Me, you, Xavier. No clients. Just us?

His reply is instant.

Kendrix: When and where?

I glance up, catch his eye across the room, and tilt my head toward Xavier. He gets it. Walks over to him and shows him the message. They both look at me. I nod once.

Me: An hour. Beaumont Hotel bar.

The thumbs up emoji comes back. I tuck my phone away.

Game on.

I make my way back to Stephanie, who’s tapping away at her phone with one hand and holding a cocktail in the other.

“Time’s almost up,” I whisper as I lean in close to her ear.

She glances over at me, unbothered. “Oh, drat. Okay. Let’s make our donation and get out of here, then.”

I wrap my arm around her waist and escort her toward the gold-foiled donation box like we’re the couple of the year. She opens her clutch, pulls out a checkbook wrapped in embossed leather, and clicks her pen like she’s about to sign the Magna Carta.

I glance over as she writes.

Thirty thousand dollars.

She winks as she signs it. “Lin told me she raised twenty with the other doctors, so I had to go bigger.”

My eyebrows lift. “What is it you do exactly?”

“Me?” She puts a hand to her chest like I just accused her of murder. “I’m a stay-at-home daughter. My daddy supports me until he can find me a suitable husband to do the same.”

I blink. “Oh. And what does he do?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know what he does. And I don’t care. As long as I get to do what I want and buy what I want.” Her eyes sparkle. “Which today was you.”

“Sure,” I say, trying so hard not to laugh. “Well. Let’s go then. I’m getting dropped off at the Beaumont.”

Her Porsche smells of vanilla and old money. She drives too fast and doesn’t speak. Just taps her fingers against the wheel and occasionally checks her lip gloss in the mirror. When we pull up, she blows me a kiss.

“I’ll see you again, babe.”