I got carried away this morning mixing the perfect shade of fuchsia, and left it in a mess, so I get stuck in cleaning up and wiping down so the workspace is sparkling, when my phone vibrates across the table.

It’s from Lorelei.

‘Phineas Dashford IV??!!!???’

I blink. Who the what now?

‘Those words mean nothing to me,’ I text back.

Her reply pings, this time with a video link.

I click through… And promptly freeze in place.

It’s me.

Me, having my massive epic meltdown on the subway platform, just a couple of hours ago. Someone must have had their cellphone handy to record, because there I am, in all my shaky close-up glory.

“Are you serious right now?” I watch myself in horror on the tiny screen as I point my finger accusingly at Hot Guy, my face practically glowing with rage—or the new highlighter I swiped on before work. “Do you even know how long I’ve scrimped, and saved, and slathered anti-aging foundation on blue-rinsed ladies to afford to make those lipsticks?”

Nooo… The sight of my red cheeks and flailing arms is cringe-worthy enough without hearing my voice ratcheting up in volume. By the end, I’m screeching louder than Brando. Meanwhile, McDoucheyPants stands there, cool as a mouth wateringly attractive cucumber. His unruffled demeanor only serves to make me look more unhinged.

I check the number of views and choke. “What the…”

“Fuck! What the fuck!” Brando helpfully fills in as I trail off with my mouth hanging open.

Half a million views and counting.

I call Lorelei. “Why are so many strangers rejoicing in my momentary lapse of self-control?” I wail the instant she picks up. “Please, make it stop!”

Lorelei snickers. “Sorry, but even if I could, I think that train has already left the station.”

“That’s not funny!” I groan as I slump onto Aunt Celia’s burgundy Oriental rug. “I can’t believe this is happening. A pox on cell phones everywhere.”

“Look on the bright side—you might have just stumbled onto the perfect pitch for your brand.”

She pauses for dramatic effect, and even though I know I’m going to regret it, I can’t seem to stop myself from asking. “What’s that?”

“Callie D. The only lipstick worth jumping in front of a train for.”

I can’t help laughing—so loud, I startle Marlon Brando, who shrieks and flaps his wings before resettling on his perch. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re evil?”

“Loads of times, each of which I cherish.” Despite everything, her cheerful tone makes me smile. “In all seriousness, there’s got to be a way for you to leverage popping up in a viral video with a guy like that.”

“A guy like what?”

“Please tell me you’ve heard of Dash Dashford before.”

“Is he a character in a Twenties screwball movie?” I quip. “Because he should be, with a name like that.”

“No, his real name is Phineas, hence the nickname,” Lorelei explains. “He’s one of city’s most eligible bachelors, according to the Post, anyways. Dude is a total trifecta: single, hot, and loaded.”