“From the chocolate melted on your chin and the fact you’re wearing the same outfit you’ve been in for the past three days, I’m guessing you haven’t heard any news about a job?”
“Ding, ding, ding,” I said, not moving a muscle as she stepped over my legs that were propped on the coffee table to join me on the couch.
“You know, that call center around the corner has a hiring sign up. It’s probably not a lot of money, but it’s something. Just until you get back on your feet.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. I have a new plan.”
On the television, another episode was starting. Holly groaned when she caught sight of what I was watching and grabbed the remote, but I pulled it back.
“Really?” she asked.
“I’m beginning to realize that these women knew what they were doing, what I should have been doing.”
“And what was that?”
“Fallen in love with and married a billionaire.”
She laughed. “You’re hilarious.”
But I didn’t smile, just stared at her until the laughter stopped.
“You cannot be serious, Jane. Since I’ve known you, you’ve been determined to prove yourself and your capabilities to every single person who wrote you off as a blond airhead.”
True. However, these days my blond status was in question thanks to three inches of roots that were more a muddy dishwater color than my usual sunny highlights. “I’m dead serious. Did I ever tell you about my old high school nemesis, Tracey Applewood?”
“Yeah, I think so. She stole your boyfriend, right?”
I nodded. “And from then on, it became a competition to see who could one-up the other. She focused her time and attention on dating the entire varsity and junior varsity football teams, cheering said football teams on at every game as head cheerleader, and getting her face on practically every page in the Deerfield High yearbook. Meanwhile, I was the idiot who thought being named Rhodes Scholar and graduating top of my class would end up meaning something. Boy, was I wrong.”
I relayed to her the events of my run-in with Tracey this afternoon, including my own estimation of the value of the diamonds on her right hand alone.
“Please. She’ll be chasing that ephemeral bottle of youth for the rest of her life in an effort to keep this Dr. Plastics guy,” Holly said dismissively. “What you have, your law degree and your ambition, they actually mean something.”
“These days, I’m not so sure. The only thing I have to show for the past few years since high school is a nonexistent social and love life and a student loan debt that has edged over a hundred grand—which is maybe a thousand less than I started with despite years of regular payments. What I should have been doing was finding a partner who could have given me the opportunities to do whatever the heck I wanted without going into massive debt. Whether that was pursuing a law degree or just pursuing the pool boy.”
“I’m not going to tell you all of the reasons that your assessment is offensive and completely backward since, short of a time machine, there’s nothing you can do about it. So why don’t we try watching something a little less Kardashian and more—”
She reached for the remote again but I wasn’t letting it go. “I know there’s nothing I can do to change the past, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something about my future. As my mom said—”
Holly groaned. “Why didn’t you just start this conversation with that bit? You’re always a little crazy after talking to her.”
“This time, something she said resonated with me. It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich guy as it is a poor guy. I just need to be around a lot of rich guys and find someone that I connect with, someone who, with time, I could fall in love with. I mean, let’s be honest, my love life has been nonexistent since Eddie anyhow, and if I want to get married and have a family, I have to get moving. So I’ve been doing some digging.” I opened up my laptop, clicked to the right page, and handed it over to her. “See that? That’s a list of eligible bachelors under fifty and each worth a minimum of one billion dollars that I’ve put together.”
She reached her hand out and felt my forehead instead. “You don’t have a fever. Maybe you’re in the middle of a complete mental breakdown.”
“Oh, definitely. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“You’re selecting these guys based on how much money they have in their bank account. Don’t you see anything wrong with that?”
“And how many men choose their partners based on the size of their bra? Or their rating on a scale of one to ten? I caught this matchmaker show earlier that was so informative. These people put the qualities they want in their spouse on a list, things ranging from their looks, their height, to what they do for a living, even how much money they have, and they send it to a matchmaker, who finds them a match. And these people meet, sometimes only one time, to be sure they would be compatible and bam. They’re married. You know what that means?”
“That you had waaayyy too much time on your hands today and fell far too deep into a rabbit hole that you’re having a hard time seeing out of? To reality?”
“No, it means that I have just as much of a chance of making something work with a guy if I prioritize what I want.”
“And since when has money been a priority for you?”
“Since my entire life has gone down the crapper and I’m sinking because I don’t have any.”
She paused and looked at me with sympathy—or pity, who could tell? “Okay. So what are you planning on doing? Stalking every guy with the little check mark next to the name until they either date you or have you institutionalized?”
“Not quite. You remember my friend Penelope Ferrara? My best friend since fifth grade? She got her degree in hotel management and recently landed a management position at a premier five-star resort in Hawaii. A resort where I know at least four of the guys on that list have stayed every year to attend some fancy-schmancy golf tournament that just happens to be next weekend. Leaving me a little over a week to get everything in order.”
“Not to be a total buzzkill here, but you’re flat broke. How are you going to afford the flight to Hawaii let alone the cost of a hotel room and food?”
This part of the plan was tricky, but I’d done some calculations and it was entirely doable. “I’m cashing out my 401k. Go big or go home, right? I figure we could swing two weeks at the Kop’aa Hala Beach Resort and Spa, thanks in no small part to Penny, who told me she could comp us a room.”
Holly finally was at a loss for words, her mouth opening and closing two separate times as she processed what I said. “We?” she finally asked. “There’s no way I’m tagging along on this utterly harebrained idea. I have work, my research. I can’t get away for a week, let alone two.”
Work and a major crush on the biggest player in the world, who’d been using her as a doorstop for too long. But that didn’t need to be said. “You’ve copped enough vacation time to take two weeks off if you wanted to. Come on. I need you to be my wingman.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked.