“What? What did he say?” She stands up so quickly that some of her wine splashes out of the glass. “Oh, sorry,” she says, looking down at the mess.

“Whatever.” I wave a hand. “It’s dorm furniture.” I am barely focused on my words as I reread the text.

“You don’t care about a mess?” she asks. “What the hell does that message say?”

I look up and smile. “He just texted me to put on a fancy dress and heels—we’re going on a date.”

“Yay!” She squeals. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” I say. “If that’s okay with you—it is supposed to be girls’ night.”

“Are you kidding?” she says. “We hang out every week—this is huge.”

“It’s not huge.” I roll my eyes as I stand and walk toward my room. Although I’m not sure my words are believable, considering I’m blushing and smiling so big that I’m practically giggling.

I pull open my closet door and put my hair up in the ponytail holder that was on my wrist, so that I can concentrate better. I examine my wardrobe.

“Dude!” Yaz yells from the other room. “He sent you another text.”

“What does it say?” I lean through the doorway.

Instead of reading it, she walks toward me with the phone in one hand and my wineglass in another.

“Can I have the rest of your wine?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say, taking the phone from her. “I don’t have a password. You could’ve just opened it—” I freeze, reading the rest of what he’s said to me.

Braden: Don’t bother to do your hair though, chopper will mess it up in seconds

“What?” Yaz asks.

I look up at her, speechless. I shove the phone in her general direction.

“Oh my god, a helicopter, dude this is just like Season 7 with Grace and Chad omigod omigod!” She paces up and down my room and rambles on about how much this resembles The Bachelor and her favorite rom-com and every glamorous romance she’s ever read or watched.

I nod along and head back to my closet to see if I have anything that even vaguely resembles what you’re supposed to wear on a date with the heir to a multibillion-dollar fortune. I flip through my dresses from H&M and Forever 21, and start to think there’s nothing of that particular description in my closet.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Braden

Fuck, I think I really like this girl.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. All it does is make me realize how shaky I am, my exhale rattling. I look at the flowers I got. Lilies, per the hipster shopkeeper’s recommendations.

Stupid, so stupid. Should’ve gone with roses. Long-stem red roses would have been perfect. Nothing beats classic elegance.