Clarissa Lincoln is a martini glass half full type. Heck, even when she slurps the last bits of icy vodka from the glass, she'll tell you it's plumb full!
Until a disaster of a night on New Year's Eve sends the daydreaming, serial dater spiraling as...
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"I think I need you." The words hang between us, rendering us motionless as our eyes meet. There's a flicker, a small one in those eyes of hers, which, for the first time, I notice are a soft shade of honey brown.
The moment doesn't last long before she's glaring at me again. Which looks pretty ridiculous, considering she's only got one eyelash on.
"Need me?" The loud girl, Rissa, repeats my words as her blonde friend looks at me curiously.
"For what?" The friend, I think her name is Melanie, asks.
"Uh... not sure yet, but some kind of muse..." I mutter. The meeting from this morning and all those "helpful" notes are swirling in my head, even as I doubt this idea.
"Muse?" Melanie questions as Rissa's eyes perk up with interest.
"My team thinks I should be talking more to normal daters," I can't help but stumble over the word normal as my eyes fall to Rissa, who is staring at me all wide-eyed, with one eye looking like a spider is attached to it. "They even suggested someone who struggles with dating...and–"
"Holy shit, Riss is perfect for that. She's a total dating failure!" Melanie says oddly cheerfully, causing Rissa to shoot her an annoyed look.
"Girl, we need to fix your face," Melanie says with a dry laugh, and then she looks at me. "You get us a fresh round of coffees. We will be right back."
She then drags a grumbling Rissa towards the bathroom, who denies being a failure and calls herself the MVT of dating, and yes, she said T. I head up to the counter and reorder all three of our coffees, although part of me considers ducking out before they return.
This girl is loud, obnoxious, delusional, and so angry at me for some unknown reason. All I did was ask her to keep it down.
I should leave. I want to leave, but when life hands you a lemon on a day you desperately need lemonade, tossing the fruit away, isn't a smart move. Even if it is a little damaged.
The Zoom meeting from earlier still haunts me as I stand and absent-mindedly watch the barista at work. The thing about succeeding is they expect you to do it again, and I'm still trying to figure out how I did it the first time.
The book did better than either of us had ever imagined. But I didn't write it alone; the person who helped me was a literal expert in her field. Not that I want to think about her today. Or any day, but every time book number two comes up, so does she.
Apparently, she is already working on her next best seller, and it's already creating a buzz. I won't let her win. I can't.
As great as Dating with a Purpose did and for all the kudos we received, even getting interviewed on Good Morning, America. I am starting to get backlash, especially now that time has passed.
