Page 7 of That Fake Feeling

“Con-norDash-wood,” he says, as if repeating the name more slowly will make me know someoneIdon’t know. “Youmet a couple of weeks ago.”

“Idon’t think so.”

Whateverthis guy’s offering, it’s probably a scam, but right nowIhave nothing to lose, soImight as well hear him out.

“Youmet at the launch of the community garden inWarmSprings.Ibelieve you were handing out samples of wine.”

Oh, shit.Yes,Ido know that name, butI’derased it from my memory.

“Doyou mean the guy who grabbed at my tray, knocked me down, and fell on top of me in a bed of tomato plants?”

AndIwasn’t even supposed to be there.Brittney’sdad was depending on her to help him serve his homemade concoctions at the event.Butshe was sick with the flu, soIschlepped up there to take her place.Ithelped that he paid me handsomely for my services and threw in the train ticket.

Sterlingis silent for a second.

“Well, yes.But—”

“Andthen the humiliating photos of me sprawled on the ground under him were all over the gossip sites because apparently he’s well-known for that sort of thing.”

“LikeIsay—”

“Andthe video filmed by the local news crew ended up online.AndeveryoneIknow sent me a screenshot of my face contorted into an open-mouth scream with my tray of drinks frozen in midair as this manI’venever met before hurls himself at me.”

“Ican see how—”

“I’mvery luckyIwasn’t impaled on one of the bamboo canes.”

“Well, the thing is—”

“Andthe owner of the plants wasn’t very happy.Shesaid they were the healthiest tomatoes she’d ever grown, and we wrecked them.”

“Okay.So—”

“Butwehadn’t wrecked them, had we?No.Hehad wrecked them.”

Theinjustice is intolerable.

“Yes,MissBellamore.”Sterlingpauses for a second, like he’s waiting for me to interrupt him again. “Icompletely understand how embarrassing that must have been for you.”

“Itwas.Andyou don’t.”

I’venever wanted to be the center of anyone’s attention, but there wasn’t a single person in any of my classes who didn’t mention it.Evena couple of the teachers joined in.OnesaidIcould drop out now that a drunken billionaire had fallen for me, as if there’s no other reason to be in school than to pick up a rich guy.

“Perhapswe could go some way to compensating you for that,”Sterlingsays.

Iflick to the tab showing my tuition bill for next semester. “Compensating?Youmean with whatever this job opportunity is?”

“Yes.”

“Isthe job working for the ass who humiliated me?”

There’sanother pause.

“Itwould be working forMr.Dashwood, yes.”

“No, thanks, then.Bye.”

Sterlingshouts louder asItake the phone away from my ear to hang up.