I know Mary would never kick me out of this apartment, but the idea of telling her I couldn’t hack it in the city, considering she gave me every possible advantage, makes me sick to my stomach. After Bree looked so astonished by my address, I researched the building’s history. Turns out I should be paying nearly four grand for this tiny room, which is NONSENSE, but it means Mary’s more generous than I realized; if I can’t cobble together the monthly rent at 70 percent off, I don’t deserve to live here. Let someone who knows what the hell they’re doing take it over from me.

Because bad news always comes in threes, now Clifford is threatening to renege on my pay for what I thought had been a slam-dunk ghosting job! I need to find out what happened. Voice mails and IMs aren’t working, so I decide to log in to Bree’s account with Game, Set, Match and search for answers on my own. She hasn’t given me permission to do that since I last saw her, but she hasn’t NOT given me permission, either.

Maybe it’s good news I haven’t heard from her. Maybe she and Jude are so loved up they don’t have time for anything else. I’ll hop in, skim a bunch of gooey missives—I bet Jude gives great gooey—and invoice Clifford for another success story.

Username: TheDuchessB

Password: 1374552x9992080

The login or password you entered is incorrect.

I roll my eyes. That’s because it’s a bunch of random numbers that correspond to some type of Undersea map coordinates. I double-check it and type again, slowly and carefully.

The login or password you entered is incorrect.

I grit my teeth and make a third attempt.

The moment I hit enter, the screen goes black and a single yellow tennis ball smashes into a cartoon player’s face. His eye swells up and a few of his teeth fall out. Charming.

Then a message in white text appears:

Please contact an Admin to restore your access. Bye!

Oh shit! How long will she be locked out?

I’m reeling from the implications when my e-mail inbox dings. The message is from Clifford and it’s a video. Just what I fucking need! At least I’m at home where no one can witness this lunacy. I click on it and cover my eyes, watching through the sliver of space allowed by my fingers. When does he have time to make these?

Oh, he had fun with this one.