Chapter 25

The moment I see the words hi, Sticky, I forget how to breathe. Which is rude, because I was doing such a great job of panicking over Ashley the skank and the picture that could end her little engagement.

But now?

Now my body does this completely involuntary shimmy, like my soul just put on a feather boa and twirled.

Pathetic really.

Theo. It has to be him. It’s the worst possible moment, obviously. I'm mid-revenge fantasy, robe askew, heart full of righteous fury.

And yet… my traitorous fingers want to text back immediately. Something chill. Something hot-but-unbothered, like “who’s this?” even though we both know damn well who it is.

Instead, I pace.

Robe slipping, flip-flops slapping, wet hair clinging to the back of my neck. I stare at the message again like it might change. Hi, Sticky. Three little words, and suddenly my brain is playing bingo with me.

God, what’s the etiquette for this?

Is there a girl code rulebook for flirting with the hot helicopter guy while you’re halfway through planning a takedown of your arch nemesis?

Do I text him back now? Would that make me look desperate? Or worse, available?

“Focus,” I whisper to myself, pacing the length of the pool like a politician about to give a speech. “You’re emotionally unstable. You’ve been using hotel eye cream as moisturizer. You cannot text him back right now.”

I’m about to explode from indecision when I hear a group of drunk tourists laughing somewhere above me, and just like that, I snap out of it.

Nope. I’m not doing this. Not tonight. Not when I'm still clutching a metaphorical dagger meant for Miss Ashley and her boyfriend stealing ways.

I retie my robe with the force of a woman preparing for battle and march up to my room like I’m going for war.

I’ll deal with Theo tomorrow. But tonight, I’m going to sleep. Or spiral. Or both.

It’s the next day, and my phone is propped on a skincare mini fridge. My ring light is too bright. And my friends are yelling in my ear.

“Wait, what did the message say?” Callie squeals, practically vibrating through the video call. “Word for word, say it again. I want to hear it in his accent.”

“Callie, she can’t send a voice memo of a text message,” Emily deadpans. She’s lounging on her studio floor in a paint-splattered tank top, sipping black coffee.

I dab concealer under my eyes, trying to hide the remnants of last night’s emotional whiplash. “It said hi, Sticky. That’s it.”

Callie clutches her chest like I just proposed to her. “Stop. That’s love. That’s, like, Bridgerton coded. That’s—”

“I’m just gonna say it,” Emily cuts her off, blowing on her mug. “I don’t think you should text him.”

“Are you serious?” Callie snaps. “Why not? He’s hot. He’s British. He didn’t send a d*ck pic. That’s, like, rare in this economy.”

“Because,” Emily says, sitting up now, “Charlotte’s in a fragile state and falling for Theo is just going to complicate everything. She needs to breathe. Touch grass. Go to therapy.”

“Touch grass?” I blink. “Where, Emily? We’re in London. There’s no grass. There’s just expensive moss and sad pigeons.”

Emily ignores me and stares pointedly at the screen. “I’m saying maybe don’t dive headfirst into a new guy right after your ex cheated and your one-night-stand is engaged to the she devil you’ve got literal revenge plans to execute. Take a minute.”

“Well, when you say it like that,” I start but Callie cuts in with a shriek.

“Did you get his last name? His Instagram? Has he posted anything shirtless? More importantly, what’s the color of his boxers? We need intel, babe.”

“I—Jesus Christ I haven’t seen his underwear,” I mutter, blotting highlighter across my cheekbones. “And he said his name is Theo, but no last name yet. Just Theo.”

Emily raises a perfectly skeptical brow. “That sounds healthy.”

Callie groans so loud it startles me. “But he called her Sticky! You don’t just let that kind of cute nickname go.”

“Okay, pause,” Emily says, glancing off-screen. “I have to go. Some guy’s here to drop off a frame and I swear to God if he dents it, I will commit murder. Charlotte, don’t do anything horny or stupid until I call you back. That means no texting Theo, no running into Axton, and definitely no double-booking and no threesome idea.”

She’s gone before I can argue. Or lie.

“Rude.” I mutter.

Callie waves cheerily. “You’re gonna ignore that, right?”

“I mean, probably,” I say, blotting my lip gloss.

“Perfect. Okay, work updates. I’ve moved your brunch to noon tomorrow. You’ve got your garden party event in, like, two hours. Remember it’s sponsored, so please post at least one pic that is on brand. The theme is ‘orchid chic,’ so maybe don’t wear black like your soul. Also, the hotel sent a gift to your room. I told them you were emotionally fragile and needed macaroons.”

“I love you,” I say, clutching my chest dramatically.

“I know,” she grins, “Now. Text. Theo. Back. I’m serious. Keep it chill, keep it flirty, maybe a little dangerous.”

“Now?”

“Duh.”

I pick up my phone again, thumb hovering. Deep breath. Screw it.

Hi captain.

I hit send.

The second it delivers, I clutch my heart like I’ve just performed a death-defying stunt.

Callie squeals through the screen. “Yes! And don’t forget, Phase Two of the plan begins tonight.”

And just like that, the game is back on.