The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Georgia

Ripley: Check in the pool, too. She lost a few things there today.

My face burns as I stare at his text. The audacity.

I start and erase ten responses before I throw my phone on the couch. There are a thousand versions of You’re an asshole that I want to put into words, but none of them feel sufficient. Besides, ignoring him will get under his skin worse than me repeating something he already knows.

Do Jeremiah and Sutton know what happened? Are they aware that Ripley saw me topless? Has he been making jokes to them all afternoon, and now I’ll be teased about it until the end of time?

I fake cry as I get up and head into the kitchen.

Only one sliver of satisfaction came from my mishap this afternoon, and that’s Ripley’s face as I surfaced. It’s seared into my mind.

Wide eyes, the color of the pool water.

Brows arched to the sky.

A smile ghosted his lips, as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

For the briefest moment, Ripley Brewer was speechless. I hope I made enough of an impression that he can’t stop thinking about it while simultaneously realizing he’ll never get the opportunity to see me topless again.

I make an iced coffee and settle back on the sofa with my computer. My inbox is empty. Aside from newsletters announcing sales that I can’t afford, every avenue of contact is void of communications. No job offers hang in the interwebs waiting for a reply. No alerts demand my attention with the promise of a new beginning. There are no open doors to lead me out of my current state of unemployment.

The emptiness of my inbox transmits into my soul.

I sigh.

I’m unsure how much longer I can go without finding work. My savings are sparse. There’s enough in my account to last a few more weeks, and then it’ll be as dry as my sex life. I can’t ask Mom for help, as she can barely keep herself financially solvent. And there’s no way in the world that I’ll ask Dad for a hand. I’d rather eat dirt.

“The way things are going, I might resort to that soon,” I mutter, closing the computer.

My phone rings, and I dig it out from under me. Sutton’s name and a silly picture of her from a trip we took last summer light up the screen.

“Hey,” I say. “Did you find my sunglasses?”

“Sunglasses? What? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says in a rush.

I set my coffee on the side table and sit up, an uneasiness sweeping through me. “Hey, Sutton. Are you okay?”

“I’m trying very hard not to panic here, Georgia, but I’m panicking.”

“Whoa. Okay. Slow down. Where’s Jeremiah?”

“Downstairs. He’s fine,” she says dismissively. “This is not about him.”

“Then what is it about?” My words are careful—measured. Sutton doesn’t get panicked often, and when she does, it’s warranted.

“I just got a call from Myla—she’s directing The Invitation,” she says. “A huge issue popped up, and everything is temporarily on hold.”

“What? Why?” I hop to my feet as panic rises in me, too. I know how much this means to her, and if this show is held indefinitely, it would derail her. “How did this happen?”

“Apparently, Callum Worthington, the football player who signed on to the project, decided to get arrested last night. He can’t leave Illinois for the foreseeable future. In the meantime, he started dating the beauty influencer we hired, and now she won’t do it without him.” She moans sadly. “We already have letters from both of their camps pulling out of the contract, and now we don’t have anyone attached to the project, and we’re scheduled to start shooting on Monday … and I’m going to lose everything.”

The last six words are barely a whisper.

Soft sobs ricochet through the phone, breaking my heart for my best friend. Tears well in the corners of my eyes. I put her on speakerphone and set the device on the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” I say, my voice clouded with emotion. “You haven’t lost everything. And even if this doesn’t go through, you still won’t have lost everything.”

“I know.” She clears her throat. “I know this is me being dramatic, but this project was everything to me. It was my big break. It would give me credibility—prove that I belong in this world. These opportunities are like lightning strikes, and it may never happen again for me.”

“Yeah, well, a better one might strike now. Maybe that project would’ve held you back. You don’t know. Aren’t you the one who says to trust the universe?”

“Fuck the universe.” She laughs through a new set of tears.

I giggle. “That’s my girl.”

She takes a moment to get herself together. It gives me a minute to gather myself and step back into the Best Friend Role. I have to be strong and rational because she can’t be either right now.

“Do you know the part that’s bothering me just as much?” she asks. “It’s that I’ve already told Jeremiah’s family about the show. They weren’t amazing about it. They acted like I was living with delusions of grandeur and was possibly making it up or exaggerating. And now they’ll think they were right all along.”

And there goes me being rational.

I stand tall. “First of all, Sutton, who cares what they think? I know you do because they’re his family, but their opinion of you comes from a very biased background that we’ll never understand. All that matters is what Jeremiah thinks of you, and he’s made that clear.”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“And second, you, my friend, are brilliant. You’re a problem solver. You’ve gotten this far on your grit and grace, and there’s no reason in the world why you should stop remembering that.” I take a deep breath, letting that sink in. “Now, get a glass of wine if you need it to calm down, but you’re going to figure this out.”

“I don’t know how.”

I roll my eyes and dump my coffee down the drain. Then I pull out a wineglass and a bottle of red.

“Yes, you do know what to do,” I say. “Let’s talk through it. What do you need to make this work?”

“Well, at a base level, I need two people to film who would be a draw and available on Monday morning. If they understood the filming process, that would be all the better.”

Yikes. I down a huge gulp of wine.

“I had a few leads before Callum and Gia, but I could never reach them, let alone get them to sign contracts by Monday.” She laughs sadly. “I’m so screwed. When production halts, the crew signs onto other projects, and we’ll lose our teams. I’ll never get this back.”

The wine warms my insides and makes me slightly ill as it mixes with the coffee in my stomach, but I try to ignore that.

“You don’t have to get it back if you don’t lose it,” I say. “Does anyone in your office know of anyone that could do this? You’re all in the industry. None of you know a starving artist who’s desperate for a job? And we’re in Nashville. There are loads of famous people here.”

Sutton pauses, hopefully mulling over my impromptu speech.

“Check out the college campuses,” I say after another quick drink. “This city is filled with gorgeous co-eds looking to make it big. Ask your coworkers. Oh! Call Mason Music. Are you still friends with that girl who works there? Ask her.”

“Yeah, I could ask someone I know,” she says slowly.

“That’s the spirit!”

“Now that I think about it, I know someone who fits the bill perfectly.”

“See? I told you this was possible.”

“I could ask my best friend.”

“Yes, you could—whoa, wait.” I set my glass on the counter and flinch. “I’m your best friend.”

Her voice lightens. “Yes, you are. And you’re beautiful and definitely entertaining.” She takes a quick breath. “Look, I’ve been listening to what you’re saying, and you’re right—and you’re also the perfect candidate.”

The room spins—I don’t think it’s from the wine—and I also don’t think she heard me correctly. “You’re also the perfect candidate.” Sutton has lost a few marbles if she thinks I’m the perfect candidate.

I pace the length of the kitchen, trying to make sense of what Sutton is saying. She wants me to go on her fake-dating reality show? Does she even know me? I’m not the type of person you put on television. I speak without thinking. I forget to put mascara on one eye. I’m easily triggered by assholes.

I’d rather be home in bed with a book. And snacks.

“Think about it,” she says. “You’re looking for a job, and you want something on camera. Hell, you applied for a weatherwoman job.”

“That’s forecasting moisture in a whole different way.”

She laughs. “Come on, Georgia. You’re perfect. You know how to work a camera. You’re hilarious. And you could use the money. This could even be a big break for you, too. You’d be helping me out of a huge hole I’m desperate to escape. You’re my only hope.”

“Sutton …” I laugh warily. “You need to think about this.”

“No, you need to think about this. Filming is set for a month. We have a list of scenarios that need to be filmed. It’s nothing wild, just a getting-to-know-you scene, a first date, an adventure—things like that. And, of course, we’re footing the bill. Just reframe it in your brain. You’re fake-dating a mystery man on someone else’s dime and getting paid for it.”

Oof. I down the rest of the wine and refill the glass. I have so many questions, and so many more reasons not to do this. But her “you’re my only hope” line is doing exactly what it was intended to do—guilt me.

“But what if I don’t like the guy?” I ask, my body temperature rising. “What if there’s no chemistry? And this is going to be filmed, right? Who will see it?”

“It’s just a pilot. So yes, people will see it, but it won’t be on television. This is just used to test audiences on the show’s viability.”

I groan, not sure what to make of this. I don’t want to pretend to fall in love with someone. I don’t know how. I’ve never been in love. And I need to look for a real job to keep me from eating dirt.

Yet I’m not getting any callbacks.

“What do you have to lose?” Sutton asks, hope thick in her tone.

“My dignity.”

“I think you lost that in the pool today.”

I groan again, making her laugh. The sound is more playful and less stressed than before. Does she really feel that confident in me being such a good fit?

“We might not even have a guy, and the whole thing might be a no-go anyway,” she says. “But if we can find a guy, will you do it? Please?”

I close my eyes, ignoring the little voice in the back of my mind that says I’m going to regret this. Instead, I follow the louder voice in my heart that says I must be there for my best friend just like she would for me.

I take a long, deep breath. “If you can’t find another woman, and you do happen to find a man, then … yeah. I’ll do it.”

“You are the best friend ever.” She squeals. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Let me make some calls, and I’ll call you back.”

“Yippee.” I try to sound excited but fall flat on my face. “I can’t wait.”

“Love the enthusiasm. Just remember that you might have just saved my career.”

“That’s me.” I swallow hard, smiling weakly. “Career saver.”

With each of Sutton’s footsteps echoing through the phone as she probably races to Jeremiah to share the news, my grip on the situation slips further away. My heart pounds wildly. My palms sweat around the wineglass that I can’t seem to set down.

I want to shout at her and tell her to slow down. The words are on the tip of my tongue. But the thought of doing that and dampening her joy has me biting back my request.

I can’t do it. I can’t take this away from her despite the irony of me being on a show about finding true love.

Breathe, Georgia. It’s only a pilot. The public won’t ever see it.

“I love you,” Sutton says. “So much.”

“You better.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“Fantastic,” I say. “Talk to you later, then.”

“Byeeeeee.”

She yells for Jeremiah as the line disconnects. I start to shut off my screen when the text thread from earlier catches my attention.

Ripley: Check in the pool, too. She lost a few things there today.

For once, I’m too bothered with someone else to argue with him.

That’s a first.