CHAPTER 31

I’M NOT HUNGRY, I MADE A MIST

Just before noon, two days after that kiss at the Spanish Steps that she couldn’t stop thinking about, an email popped up in Cady’s inbox.

Subject: “what’s for lunch?”

It was so him, she had to smile. It was true; she had never once visited the strip of food trucks around the corner from her office, but there was a first time for everything. She wrapped up some work, then dabbed on more lip gloss, smoothed her hair and went out in search of lunch.

She found a long line of people braving the oppressive, steamy August heat outside the Preamble truck, and suddenly felt like she was waiting outside the stage door for a band to emerge after a concert. Like a groupie. Not her favorite feeling, but still exciting. Eventually she made her way to the front. A man inside the truck had his back to her, flipping a burger on the grill, but he didn’t look tall enough to be Parker. Then someone popped up from below the window.

“Hi! What can I get for you?” a woman said perkily. She had high cheekbones, perfectly pouty lips and bodacious bouncy caramel hair that was more appropriate for a shampoo commercial. Frankly it should have been tied back. Cady was looking for faults, she knew, and that was all she could find. The woman had the kind of curvy figure that made the Preamble T-shirt look like it was designed for her and made Cady instantly disappointed with her own boobs in a way she hadn’t been since middle school. She was certain that this was Melanie.

For a moment, she was too shocked to speak, and then the truck’s side door opened and Parker appeared.

He slapped the man on the back. “Hey, man, I’m clocking in—” He stopped, looked at Melanie. “What are you doing—?” Then he noticed Cady. “Cady—”

Cady finally found her voice. “I’m not hungry.” She squinted, trying to process what she was seeing. “I’m not hungry. I made a mistake.” Then she backed up and began to walk away.

“Cady, wait!” She heard him say.

And then Melanie said, “How do you not know if you’re hungry?”

Cady tuned it out and sped through the snaking lines of patrons, nearly jogging, just trying to keep it all together until she turned the corner to her building. She just hoped he wouldn’t try to follow.

She typed a text once she made it safely into the elevator. 911: the ex was in the food truck. With him. She’s WAAAAAY cuter than me. She didn’t bother sending it though. She had run out of steam. She was done with disappointment.

* * *

Jay had been happy to throw himself into work. He hadn’t seen Sky in the couple of days since their fight, and that seemed significant in a very bad way. Luckily with so many editors on vacation, there was plenty to keep him distracted and in a comfortable state of denial for the time being. He began editing the daily gossip column and was sorry to see that Sophie had preyed upon one of the assistant editors enough for a shot at cowriting. Jay was also immediately sorry he had been so generous with that assistant editor. Gossip had never been the site’s strong suit, but these pieces were particularly bad, running the gamut from cheap shots to total absurdity: two items about reporters from other publications—he never liked throwing stones at the competition, it was just bad form, and he cut both—one item on Carter Thompson supposedly talking marriage with that national news anchor—they were gorgeous and would make hot babies, but honestly, Jay was pretty sure it was just a showmance for the campaign audience—and then a final item that absolutely had to be false. He hoped. It was too ridiculous. He texted Sky first.

The response came instantly: Not that I know of, but the pool has been off for a few days. Haze people just said “personal matters” and back on Monday. I know you won’t believe me, but I’ve literally just been sleeping and doing laundry. Xo.

Before Jay could even begin to sort through his feelings for Sky, he had to deal with the other part, the newsy part. He couldn’t see any way around it: he was going to have to call Birdie. He would kill the item now. But that was only a Band-Aid. If it was true, someone else would soon discover it, and they might not be so diplomatic.

* * *

Cady’s phone pinged as soon as she got back to her office. She had managed not to cry and decided to just go straight to the angry stage of grief. Mild progress.

A message appeared from PARKER APPLETON. She was confused. She was positive she didn’t have his number saved in there, hence why they were always emailing each other.

She considered not reading the very large block of text that came next, but she couldn’t avoid her problems anymore.

She definitely wasn’t going to write back right away. She wasn’t sure if she would bother at all. She read the note again. It seemed sincere, but what did she know at this point? Look at Jackson. Parker wasn’t Jackson. She knew that. But she felt so beat-up and beat down and had to get off this roller coaster. Maybe she just needed a break from all of it.

Someone knocked at the door and she half expected to see Parker. But instead Jeff appeared, a nervous, agitated look in his eyes. He threw himself into Cady’s chair and started talking without waiting to be asked in: “Gotta go over some things with you.”

She set her phone down. “Is this about that gardening segment? I didn’t realize the Weedwacker had that much horsepower. It sounds like Gracie’s leg is going to heal in a flash,” she explained. There had been a little mishap testing out some new tools; still, they had gone to a commercial break and there had been very little blood, at least.

“No, I don’t care about that. She can take one for the team.” He rolled his eyes, flitted his hand. “No, I need you to find ways for us to buzz it up for the sake of our show.”

“I know Madison’s hacks have gone well. I’m trying to get her back, but she’s had trouble getting away lately. It’s like she’s under house arrest.”

His eyes lit up: “Seriously? Should we stage some sort of prison break? Intervention?”

“No, I was just—no, it’s not, like, a hostage situation. She’s just been stuck on the trail, which isn’t her favorite place.” The campaign was probably trying to keep her off the show actually, which made Cady feel important though she knew she wasn’t.

“Oh, well,” he said, disappointed. “Well, keep thinking, okay?” He got up, brow still furrowed, eyes dark, very unlike him and troublingly so.

“Hey, Jeff, when you say ‘for the sake of our show,’ how bad is it?” she asked.

“We’re doing the best we have in years, but it’s not enough. We’re gone after the election unless we figure something out.”

She felt knocked out.

“Like rebrand again. I dunno. I’m gonna go drink in my office and update my resume.”