“Nothing. It’s just interesting that the only time I see you get fired up about something is when you talk about him.”
I open and close my mouth. “Yeah, because I hate him!”
“Look, enjoy San Francisco. Ride a cable car, eat a penis cookie, go to Fisherman’s Tarf?—”
“It’s Fisherman’s Wharf,” I tell her.
“Whatever. You know what I’m trying to say. Only spend as much time with Doctor Devil as you need to, and then book it back to your hotel room. Tell him you have period cramps if you need to, or turn your phone off after six. If the devil needs anything, he’s a big boy and I’m sure he can figure it out.”
I giggle. “He can’t even remember the password to his email, Ari. I’m his literal lifeline.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is sad. And again, probably why he’s single.”
She sets her empty glass down on the coffee table and turns to face me. “I bet he smells good, though. All that money, that intense expression on his face, those thick eyebrows?—”
“Ugh, stop. I’m going to throw up.”
She laughs. “Okay, I’m going to order the enchiladas now.”
I roll my eyes. “Why are enchiladas your answer for everything?”
She feigns outrage. “That’s a stupid question, Frankie.”
Before I can reply, she’s calling her favorite restaurant and ordering us a late dinner. To distract myself, I read over Doctor Devil’s email one last time before responding with my usual reply.
Sounds good. See you Monday.
Easy-breezy… hate your fucking guts,I think.
I click over to my inbox and see the airline ticket. First class. Leaves at ten in the morning on Monday from San Diego airport. I sniff once and click out of it, still mad that he’s demanding I accompany him. One first-class ticket won’t make up for that, even if it does mean I can drink champagne in the sky.
I’m still fuming when Ari says goodbye and grabs a taxi home. By the time I climb into bed, I’ve created a list of distractions to help me mitigate Doctor Devil over the ten-day work trip. I’m going to need a lot of alcohol, and I’m for sure going to utilize my business credit card on some of the best food that San Francisco has to offer.
Maybe this trip won’t be so terrible after all.
I don’t look at the new fabric samples I’d ordered last week that would now sit in boxes for two weeks.
Everything will be fine.
All I have to do is survive ten days with the devil incarnate.
Handsome Devil
Frankie
As someonewho didn’t grow up with a lot of money, the notion of first class has always seemed silly to me. We’re all in the same tin canister flying through the air at five hundred miles an hour. No amount of crystal champagne flutes or wide, leather seats would change that. But as I’m whisked up the coastline of California, sipping fancy champagne and eating a delicious edamame salad with goat’s cheese and beets, I realize that I might have to change my mind about luxury travel. By the time we land a little over an hour later, I’m properly buzzed and smiling my way through baggage claim and the rest of SFO airport.
As I come down the escalator into the arrivals area, I’m surprised to find an older man in a suit carrying a sign with my name.
Francesca Bristow
I roll my eyes as I walk up. Despite two years of signing my emails off with ‘Frankie,’ Doctor Devil still insists on callingme by my full name—something only my mom does when she’s scolding me.
“Ms. Bristow?” the man asks, eyeing me as I approach him.
“That’s me.”
