YEAH, I HATE-ATE YOUR CUPCAKE!

Chapter 1

Karlie

“And so now we’re engaged!”

My twin sister gave me a big cheerleader smile. 

My ex-boyfriend took her hand. The large diamond ring sparkled on her ring finger, and Roberta looked up at him adoringly.

It should have been me.

Two weeks ago Marcus and I had still been together.

Two weeks ago I had been dreaming about that heirloom diamond ring on my hand.

Two weeks ago I had been deliriously happy. 

“Aren’t you thrilled for us?” my sister gushed. She kissed Marcus’s cheek.

Not a bit.

But I kept it together. The fancy cocktail I had ordered hadn’t arrived yet, and I really needed alcohol at a time like this.

“For the wedding I was thinking we should do a Great Gatsby theme,” Roberta chattered on, “so when you organize my bachelorette party—”

“Excuse me?” I said sharply.

Marcus jumped, and my sister huffed.

The server set the too-expensive cocktail in front of me. I took a generous sip of the honey-pale drink, my anger and heartbreak spiraling.

Roberta had invited me to the restaurant for what she had claimed would be a twin sister lunch. When I saw Marcus, she acted like it was such a coincidence! She probably thought if we were in a public place when she told me that she was engaged to the man I had been in love with since I was five years old, that it would keep me from making a scene.

As if.

I was the queen of awkward situations.

I would always manage to humiliate myself in a public setting.

In a fancy restaurant I couldn’t afford while my future was literally crumbling around me and I had to find out that the man of my dreams had decided to choose the pretty twin instead of plain, too-tall me? You honestly think I wasn’t going to completely lose it?

Bring. It. On.

“You think I’m going to be your maid of honor,” I said, my voice sounding screechy, “After you stole my boyfriend!”

“You’re the maid of honor for Tosha and Bently,” my sister whined.

My twin was the exact opposite of me. She was a petite dancer with big eyes and glossy hair. Men fell all over themselves to cater to her.

I was immune.

“I’m not helping you,” I declared and tightened the scrunchie on my own frizzy ponytail.

“You’re just jealous,” she said hotly. “You’re jealous because I found the love of my life and you’re the only person in our friend group who is still single. You’re almost thirty, and soon you’ll be too old to have a big wedding.” Her smile turned sly. “You’ll have to burn your dream wedding scrapbook. All those collages. Not to mention the shrine.”

Fuck. I did not need Marcus to hear about the shrine.

“Okay,” I said, surrendering. “I’ll be your maid of honor.”

My twin was smug.

God, she annoyed me. When we were little, she was my best friend in the entire world. But over the years, we had progressively grown apart. She was the pretty twin. I should have been the smart twin, but I couldn’t even do that right, and my French literature master’s degree languished under my bed while I worked for peanuts at a small commercial bakery.

“Maybe you’ll catch the bouquet,” Roberta said and took a sip of her skinny-girl martini.

I vowed then and there to have a boyfriend by her wedding.

I’ll show them. It’s what, eighteen months away? That’s possible. Right?

“I need you on your wedding planning game,” Roberta insisted.  “The wedding is in three months, so I need you to quit your job at that sad little cupcake factory and plan my wedding.” She clapped her hands at me.

“Three months?”

“Marcus and I are in love!” My twin leaned over and gave my boyfriend a steamy kiss.

Ex-boyfriend. Because my sister is a homewrecker.  

“You wouldn’t understand.” She tossed her perfect hair. “You’ve never been in love. You just waste your energy making fan art about Chris Evans.”

Marcus snorted a laugh. “Did you really, Karlie? I don’t think he’s going to be at the wedding, and even if he is, there’s no way a guy like him would get with a girl like you.”

My face burned.

“I have a boyfriend,” I blurted out.

Lies. All lies.

“You were cheating on me?” Marcus demanded.

Something something pots and kettles.

“No, you don’t,” Roberta scoffed. “Mom said you’ve been wallowing at home.”

“She’s not there all the time,” I said hotly, fully prepared to go down with the fake-boyfriend Titanic.

“I don’t believe you!”

“Believe it,” I said, trying to calculate if I had enough money in my savings account to hire a desperate actor to pretend to be my boyfriend and come to family dinners.

“He’s a hot guy,” I insisted. “Tall. Like really tall.”

Aaaand you’re just making it harder for yourself. Good call.

“Show me his picture,” my twin snapped.

Fuck.

I fumbled out my phone.

My sister took another sip of her martini.

Marcus put his arm around her.

“I don’t have a picture,” I said, stalling. “We were so in love that I just didn’t take photos.”

Roberta rolled her eyes.

“Then call him,” she goaded.

Double fuck.

Was there a man in my phone I could call who would pretend to be my fake boyfriend?

There’s the delivery guy’s number, but actually I think DoorDash uses fake numbers now so that you can’t stalk the delivery dude like I am trying to justify doing.

Could I just call, like, a random lawyer’s office?

My heart was pounding.

“Do you not have his number?” Roberta drawled.

Fuck my life.

Why do you do this to yourself, Karlie?

Roberta was going to call all the girls in our little upper-class friend circle and laugh about her pathetic twin sister who still lived at home, and then they were all going to tell their friends, and I was going to be the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. Again.

I felt like crying.

Buck up and go down with the ship.

“My phone is about to die,” I said weakly.

“Uh-huh.”

Marcus was clearly trying not to laugh.

Please, universe, I will do anything if you save me. I will eat salad for the next week, and no, I won’t cheat by cutting up pizza and putting it in a bowl with lettuce like I did that one time.

The door to the restaurant opened, and a man walked in. A tall man—handsome, dark suit, no tie, dirty-blond hair a little too long for one of the finance bros that usually roamed the New York streets like pasty rats.

He slipped off his sunglasses.

Go big or go home.

“There he is!” I blurted, pointing.

Roberta turned to follow my index finger, and her eyes widened.

“No.”

“Yes!”

I stood up, smoothed down my skirt, and trotted up to the man.

“Hi, babe!” I said through clenched teeth, the panic starting to hit me. 

What the hell was I doing?

My fake boyfriend pulled his sunglasses down to peer at me over the rims.

“Do I know you?” he asked in a deep voice that made me shiver.

“No,” I said in a rushed whisper, “but my twin sister is marrying my ex, and I kind of sort of want to impress her, so if you could pretty please go along with my harebrained idea and pretend to be the love of my life, I’ll—” I blanked.

The man took off his sunglasses and hooked them over the open collar of his crisp white dress shirt.

“I’ll make you a cupcake?” I offered weakly.

And this was the adorable meet cute before the two of us fell madly in love and had all sorts of fun romantic shenanigans in Manhattan until he proposed to me in front of the Statue of Liberty.

Not!

“Lady, you are fucking insane,” he said loudly.

“Shhh!” I begged.

My sister’s laughter rang out from across the restaurant.

“Could you please help out a stranger?” I stepped toward him.

He backed away from me, shaking his head.

“Absolutely not. You need to get away from me.”

I’m literally going to die of humiliation.

My face was bright red. I blinked. My eyes felt puffy, like I was on the verge of tears.

I grabbed the guy’s sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m just desperate.”

“Oh my god!” a woman shrieked. “Liam, are you cheating on me?”

Shiiiitttt.

I wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor as a woman with model-perfect posture wearing impossibly tall heels and a chic dress accosted me.

“Why are you trying to steal my future husband? Liam, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t—” I began hastily.

The woman started sobbing. “We were going to get married.”

Oh my god, you ruined this poor woman’s life.

“She’s just a weirdo,” Liam consoled his fiancée.

Diners were gaping at us.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head. “I’m just going to leave.”

I walked out the door. The sounds of the Manhattan streets barely covered the rushing noise in my ears. I took two steps to the subway then froze.

Fuck. My purse was inside.

Did I need my purse?

It has your ID, phone, and keys. And the last of your cash.

I let out a breath then grabbed the copper handle and pulled the door back open.

Liam, his fiancée, and the rest of the restaurant watched as I hurried into the restaurant, grabbed my purse, and scuttled back outside.

I blinked rapidly, trying not to cry in the middle of the sidewalk as people streamed around me, oblivious that I had just experienced the worst moment of my entire life.

Chapter 2

Liam

Sparklepanda34, who I had met on a dating app four hours prior, sobbed even louder after the frizzy-haired girl had run off.

I let out a sigh. My date’s theatrical crying was earning us annoyed looks from the restaurant patrons. 

“Look,” I told the aspiring model. “Clearly this wasn’t meant to be.”

“I had a tarot reading,” she wailed. “You were going to be my husband.”

“You know,” I said, ushering her out of the restaurant, “you have to be careful with who you hire to do those tarot readings. Lots of scammers out there.”

Sparklepanda34 sniffled. “Can we try again?”

“I have to get back to the office,” I said, hailing her a cab. I handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill. “Take her wherever she wants to go.”

“I want to go back to your penthouse!” she yelled out of the open window as the cab pulled away.

That is a no from me, dawg.

I blocked her number on my phone then headed back toward Midtown and to the Platinum Provisions tower.

Who doesn’t love having their own tower in Manhattan?

I saluted the security guard and stepped into the elevator, which whooshed me up to the top floors. Our company designed, engineered, and fabricated high-precision metal and machine parts.

Better than being some social media company?

Totally.

Lucrative?

I had the billions to prove it.

“I thought you were going on your lunch date?” Jack Frost, my best friend and CEO, asked when I walked into his office and grabbed half of his sandwich.

“You would not fucking believe what happened to me today.”

“Did you strike out again?” Jack teased, grabbing his sandwich back before I could take another bite.

“It’s so difficult to find a quality woman on dating apps anymore. Maybe I should just start a social media company so I can find a decent girl.”

“You couldn’t have burned through all the women in this city already,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.

“They’re just not—”

“Not what?” Jack asked, taking another bite of his lunch.

I wasn’t sure.

Sparklepanda34 was exactly the type of woman I would have gone for a few months ago—pretty, liked to stroke my ego, practically worshiped the text messages I sent her.

But...

“They’re not wife material,” Jack said knowingly.

“Now hold on,” I complained, stealing some of his kale salad. “This is gross, by the way.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to eat something green.”

“My body is a temple.” I pressed a hand to my chest.

“Your body is a run-down traveling circus.”

“Which is why I’m not looking to get married.”

“I bet you’ve raised your standards subconsciously because of Kiki,” Jack countered.

My little sister.

She lived with me in my condo and was obsessed with horses and Little House on the Prairie. She had also just left a pretty gnarly living situation, to put it mildly.

I certainly couldn’t bring someone like Sparklepanda34 into her life. Hence the lunch date that was supposed to turn into a casual hookup.

“Sir!”

Jack’s secretary practically ran into his office. He looked up expectantly.

I used the opportunity to steal the rest of the CEO’s lunch.

“Greg Svensson is here,” the secretary announced.

“Ah, shit!”

“Really, Liam?” my older brother sneered, appearing behind the secretary, who jumped.

My younger brother, Carl, flanked him.

“We are in a time of crisis, and that’s how you choose to conduct yourself?” Greg continued.

“What is it this time?” I asked, trailing my older brother to the conference room with the rest of Jack’s lunch. “Did Carl finally realize that the woman he’s been chatting with online is actually a bot?”

“Who are you talking with?” Greg turned on Carl.

“No one!” Carl protested.

I snickered. I lived to stir up my brothers.

I pulled out one of the leather chairs in the conference room, spun around, and put my feet up on the conference table.

Greg gave me an annoyed look.

“This is my conference table in my company’s tower,” I reminded him.

“That I invested heavily in and that is about to suffer a massive loss if you don’t buy JetCut before Belle and Artemis Investment do,” Greg retorted.

“Why does my sister want that company?” Jack frowned.

“Because,” Greg growled, slamming his hand down on the table, “she’s out to get me.”

“She did win the last two projects you two went after,” Jack said with a smirk.

I felt obligated to jump to my older brother’s defense.

“Greg was just playing. Those were bullshit projects. This is Platinum Provisions. JetCut supplies the software system and technology that allows us to do high-precision cutting at micro scales. If we own that company,” I said, “we can cut out the middleman and integrate their software with ours. We could save a fuckton of money, to use the technical term.”

“Sold,” Jack said. “Call up Joseph and tell him we want to send him a bid.”

I grimaced. “Easier said than done. The dude is an honest-to-god recluse. I think I spoke to him on the phone like twice, and he said maybe five words.”

“Not just Artemis, but other companies and investment firms are going to be pushing hard to buy JetCut, especially since they know you all rely on his tech,” Carl warned.

I worked my jaw and stared out the large window that looked out over a manicured city park. My brain whirred. I was already calculating how to best integrate the JetCut systems. But first I needed to buy the company.

“I’ll fly out to California,” I stated.

“And then what?” Jack asked. “You said this guy rarely leaves his house. You can’t just show up.”

“We need to get in there before he officially announces the business is for sale and looking for offers,” I stated, “because by that point it will be too late.”

I rubbed my chin. “Maybe I can pretend to be a gardener or a chef and sneak in that way.”

“Sounds like a good way to get arrested,” Jack remarked.

“I’d still pay to see Liam try and cook something.” Carl snickered.

“Gentleman,” Greg said smoothly, “fortunately, there is someone here who is far more intelligent than you all.”

“Barf.”

“Shut up, Liam.”

“What’s your grand plan?” I scoffed. “Stand out in front of Belle’s apartment with a boom box, apologize for your lackluster behavior, and beg her pretty please not to JetCut your balls?”

Greg scowled and gripped his pen.

I smirked. I loved nothing more than pushing my older brother’s buttons.

“No,” he said, relaxing the death squeeze on his Mont Blanc. “You are going to a wedding.”

“Sweet,” I said. “I love wedding cake.”

“Not to eat cake,” Greg warned. “Joshua will be in town for a series of wedding events for childhood friends. You will be there casually and make his acquaintance.”

“When’s the ceremony? You know I love crashing weddings. I’ll be in and out with a signed contract before you can say, ‘Kiss the bride.’”

“You don’t understand,” Carl said. “These are high-society weddings. Old blue blood families. There will be guest lists and security and rich mothers who want to keep the riffraff from spoiling their daughters’ big day. Nope, you’re going as the date of one of the female attendees.”

“To all the weddings?” Jack sounded skeptical. “Liam’s longest relationship was what, a couple weeks?”

“Only because the email to break up with her was stuck in my outbox.”

“Greg,” Jack said, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Trust me,” Greg said, “Liam was not my first choice nor my second nor even my third. Unfortunately, the men who are up to the task are already in committed relationships. Therefore, Liam will have to do.”

“And, of course, you don’t want to go because you’re afraid Belle will be there,” I said, laughing.

“You’re really skating on thin ice,” Carl whispered.

“Belle will not be there.” The corners of Greg’s mouth turned down. “Men are intimidated by her. There is no universe where she has a date.”

“Unlike yours truly,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “I have no problems getting dates.”

Chapter 3

Karlie

“This is the worst day of my life.” I sniffled as I slumped on a stool in Sophie’s kitchen.

My friend poured me a glass of wine.

“I have extra wedding cake from this morning’s tasting.”  She slid a mini wedding cake with chocolate frosting in front of me.

I took a small bite but still felt nauseated.

“I ruined that guy’s relationship,” I said in horror. “I’m just like Roberta.”

“You were put on the ledge,” Sophie said, nudging my wine glass toward me. “You were a woman wronged.”

“The nerve of that bitch. And Marcus. What the hell? I told him I loved him!”

“Did he ever say it back?”

I opened my mouth and closed it.

“No,” I said, twisting the wine glass in my hand. “But I know he probably could have gotten there eventually if Roberta hadn’t swooped in and stolen him.”

“You know that Roberta’s only marrying him so quickly to lock him down. She wants her share of his ten-million-dollar trust fund. I can’t believe he doesn’t see through her. I knew he was dumb. I just never realized he was this dense,” Sophie said, pouring her own glass of wine.

“It’s not his fault,” I said, cringing at Sophie’s incredulous look. “That’s how Roberta is. She always has to be better than me. She hates it when I have something she doesn’t. She wants to be the better twin, the perfect twin, and that means I have to be the loser twin.”

“You’re better off without Marcus in your life,” Sophie insisted. “She did you a favor.”

“I’m not,” I said sadly. “The happiest time of my life was when I was with him. I’ve loved him since we were kids. And now I did the same thing to Liam’s fiancé that Roberta did to me.” I started crying.

“This dude’s name is Liam?” Sophie asked, handing me a wad of Kleenex.

“Yes.” I blew my nose. “God, I’m such a horrible person!”

“You made a mistake,” Sophie assured me, “and from your description it sounds like everyone in lower Manhattan realized that he had no idea who you were. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I should find him and apologize,” I said.

Sophie made a face. “Please don’t show up at his house.”

“How about his office? I’ll bring him a cupcake!”

“Marginally less creepy.”

Now that we had a plan, I was feeling better. I would apologize to Liam and give him a cupcake, and everything would be fine. Well, mostly. My twin would still be marrying the love of my life.

Sophie set her laptop in front of me on the counter and typed in Liam’s name. “Lots of Liams in Manhattan.”

“Try ‘hot,’” I suggested.

“Oh, he’s hot!” Sophie waggled her eyebrows. “Only Liam Neeson is coming up. To be fair, he is hot.”

“Try ‘Liam hot’ plus ‘rich.’”

“Oh my god!” Sophie exclaimed when the photos came up. “Is this him?”

The familiar strong jaw, bespoke suit, and dirty-blond hair were arrayed over the Google images results.

“This dude is a billionaire,” Sophie stated reading Liam Svensson’s bio. “It’s too bad he’s engaged. He would have been a great catch.”

“Not as great as Marcus.” I sighed.

“You need to get out more,” Sophie stated as she rummaged around one of the cabinets. “How about you try online dating and meet some new people who aren’t weak assholes who will cheat on you with your own sister?” She set a small powder-blue cupcake box on the counter.

“I’ll never get over Marcus,” I said sadly. “I’ll love him forever.”

Sophie snorted.

“I live in my childhood bedroom, and I have no job,” I said flatly. “Pining over my childhood crush is all I have left.”

“And I hope you and your shrine to Marcus will be very happy together.”

***

The glass and steel Platinum Provisions tower loomed up above me as I climbed up the steps of the subway. I had decided to wait until it was dark to minimize the number of people that might witness my apology.

Not that that decision was helping. My anxiety was starting to kick in. I wished I was back home in my bedroom, watching Gilmore Girls reruns in my pajamas. Liam was in a whole other league compared to the types of men I usually interacted with. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He’s probably not here. You can leave the cupcake and the apology note and run.

But I at least needed to put it in Liam’s office. Otherwise he may never see it.

You should have brought another cupcake to bribe the security guard.

I pulled on the steel front door handle. The dead bolt rattled. Next to the door, a key card access pad flashed red at me.

“Shoot.” I knocked on the glass.

No one was inside the lobby; the reception desk was empty.

Maybe I can just come back tomorrow.

But it had taken a lot of wine and mental anguish to even talk myself into coming here tonight. Coming again tomorrow, when a ton of people would be around?

Fat chance.

I walked around the building, hoping to run into the security guard. I tried another side door, found it also locked, and walked into the loading dock. A heavy steel door was half propped open, maybe for the cleaning crews. I slipped inside and down the marble and mahogany hallway with its brass sconces to the bank of elevators in the lobby.

Liam’s a billionaire, right? His office is probably at the very top of the tower.

I was sweating and nervous when the elevator let me off at the ninety-third floor.

The elevator lobby was dark. I roamed around the open office, heart pounding as I looked for Liam’s desk.

I finally found a glass-enclosed office with the name Liam Svensson in steel letters on the glass wall.

“He’s not here. That’s great,” I whispered to myself as I arranged the cupcake box nicely on his large desk.

“What are you doing in my office?” a deep voice said behind me.

I screamed and turned around.

Liam Svensson stood there, glaring down at me.

Here, alone with him in the dark, he seemed even taller, his shoulders broader. The billionaire advanced on me.

I scuttled back, pressing against the desk

“I’m just—” I swallowed. My brain was spinning. The whole apology speech I had practiced on the train had flown out of my head.

Liam narrowed his eyes. “Holy shit! You’re that crazy girl from the restaurant. Are you stalking me?”

“Stalking? No!” I squawked.

“Trying to be a billionaire’s wife?” he sneered.

“Of course not,” I said defensively. “You’re not my type. I’ve already found my perfect man.”

And he’s marrying my sister, but who’s counting...

“Not your type?” Liam looked offended. “I’m every woman’s type.”

“Not mine,” I said firmly.

“Admit it,” he insisted. “The minute you saw me walk into that restaurant, you wanted to fall to your knees in worship then beg me to throw you over my shoulder and take you back to my penthouse.”

I was irritated.

“No, I literally didn’t, and if you’re trying to get me to repeat what I said in the restaurant and humiliate myself for your own amusement, you have another thing coming, buddy.”

“Then why did you cockblock me if not out of jealousy?” Liam demanded.

“Cockblock?” I sputtered. “You were out on a date with your fiancée. Surely you weren’t going to have... you know... in a restaurant.”

“I’ve definitely hooked up with girls I met online at that place before,” Liam said with a smirk. “They have the family restrooms, and they’re big enough that you can really get a good angle.”

“So that girl thought you were there to hook up with me?” I asked, my face warm at the thought of hooking up with Liam in a public place.

“No, I was there to hook up with her,” Liam said slowly, looking at me like I was dense.

Which I guessed I was.

As if he would hook up with, let alone date, someone like you. He probably would rather have your sister. Just like every other man.

I felt angry and embarrassed.

“I can’t believe I brought you a cupcake,” I fumed.

Liam barked out a laugh and reached around me to pick up the powder-blue box with its silver ribbon.

“You broke into my tower to bring me a cupcake? You totally are a stalker.”

Boot steps sounded in the corridor.

“Mr. Svensson, are you all right?”

A bright flashlight shone in my face, and I winced, holding up a hand to block the glare.

“Police! Hands up!”

“Police? Oh my god!” I raised my hands and looked at Liam helplessly.

He pulled the end of the ribbon. The bow unraveled and fluttered to the floor.

“Tell them I’m not a thief,” I begged as several police officers, their radios crackling, rushed into the office.

“You broke into my tower,” Liam drawled. “You’re probably a spy from a rival company.”

A uniformed officer grabbed my hands and forced them behind my back.

Oh my god, was I getting arrested? I didn’t even like to go out late. How was this happening to me?

“I brought you a cupcake!” I shrieked at Liam.

“This a friend of yours?” the security guard asked him. “I saw her sneak into the building.”

“Good thing you caught her before she did some real damage,” Liam said as he took the top off the box and pulled out the cupcake.

“Don’t you dare eat that!” I threatened. “You can’t have me arrested then eat my cupcake.”

“Don’t worry.” He winked. “I won’t enjoy it.”

Chapter 4

Liam

“You ate a cupcake without me?” Kiki glared up at me when she opened the door to Greg’s condo.

I bent down and mimicked my little sister’s angry expression.

“How do you know I ate a cupcake?”

“You smell like frosting.”

I swung my little sister up, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. Little House on the Prairie seemed to be old hat, and now she was rocking a serious Anne of Green Gables vibe. The puffy sleeves on her dress tickled my chin.

“Lies and baseless rumors.”

“Liam has blue frosting on his shirt,” Kiki said loudly.

That’s what I get for eating a cupcake in the dark.

I had watched from my office window as the police loaded the weird stalker cupcake girl into the back of the cruiser.

I mean, honestly. Who breaks into someone’s office and leaves them a cupcake?

The cupcake was excellent. I wish I had another.

“Liam ate his dessert before dinner,” Kiki complained to Greg.

“You are setting a bad example for our sisters,” Beck said with a scowl, looking up from where he was loading salad into bowls.

Normally I tended to breeze in and out of family time at my own discretion. I had a lot of siblings. My father had been a busy asshole. Now, thankfully, he was an asshole in jail.

My M.O. pre-Kiki had been to show up to the occasional holiday get-together—late, of course—with tons of sugary treats and noisy obnoxious toys, bestow them on my little brothers like the favors of a Greek god, and let my older brothers deal with the chaos after I peaced out.

But now?

When our sisters had arrived in Manhattan, my eldest brother instituted mandatory family time several evenings a week.

And it was... a lot.

My whole family was a lot.

Along with my little sisters, who were crowding around the island like hungry kittens, my brothers prowled around the kitchen. The oldest, Greg, managed Svensson Investment and seemed to think that having hundreds of billions of dollars under management somehow made him better than everyone else. The next oldest was Beck, who was constantly yelling at me to stop spending money so recklessly and asking why I needed to buy an alpaca farm. Mike, cofounder of Greyson Hotel Group with our half brother, Archer, was almost as bad as Greg, though his hotels always had snacks, and I made sure to stop by there and grab free samples, even if it meant I had to listen to Mike complain and call me a thief. After him came Walker, who was probably higher up on the spectrum of brothers I liked to spend my free time with. Then came yours truly, the best Svensson brother. The youngest was Carl, who worked as an account manager at Svensson Investment and was the most useless of the bunch. 

The rest of my younger half brothers lived with my older half brother Hunter in the small town of Harrogate. Their group birthday parties were legendary. Speaking of cake...

“Liam’s going to eat extra salad to make up for all that cake,” Greg assured Kiki.

Carl handed me a large mixing bowl filled with carrot shavings, raw spinach, and other mixed greens.

I made a face.

“For someone whose sole purpose in life is to pick up women, you sure don’t seem all that concerned about making sure your most valuable asset is well taken care of,” Mike said meaningfully.

I picked up a lettuce leaf. “My most prized asset is sitting right here.” I patted Kiki on the head.

She brandished her fork at me.

Greg frowned. “You’ve been using our sister to pick up women?”

“And low-quality ones at that,” Carl said. “You should have seen this video posted from his restaurant hookup.”

“You were caught?” Greg was incensed.

“No! Obviously not. I’m way better than that. I do have some big news, though.” I paused dramatically.

“You better not have gotten one of those women pregnant,” Beck said. “Someone, punch him.”

My sister Enola threw a tomato at me.

“No!” I inspected my suit and brushed off a red speck. “I now have a stalker.”

Chapter 5

Karlie

Scratch what I had said earlier. The scene in the restaurant was not, in fact, the most humiliating moment of my life. Being bailed out by my mom after spending a night in jail was.

“Oh, honestly, Karlie.” My mother wore a large fur coat, a hat, and sunglasses.

I supposed she was trying to remain inconspicuous in the unlikely event that someone else from our upper class social circle was also at the Manhattan detention complex at ten in the morning.

“Look at your hair.” My mother clucked.

“It always looks like that,” Roberta said snidely. She held up her phone and snapped a photo.

“Did you get in a prison fight?” my grandmother demanded. She zoomed her power chair around me. “You’re a big girl. Solidly built. I bet you knocked their lights out.” She swung a punch into the air in front of her.

“You weren’t fighting, were you, Karlie? I feel faint. I need a drink, Frank. Frank!”

My father, on the heavier side like I was, patted my mom gently on the arm. “I’ll grab you a water out of the vending machine.”

“I need a martini,” Mom said dramatically.

“She’s already had two this morning,” Gran whispered to me.

“I wasn’t fighting,” I promised my family. “There was only one other person in the jail cell, a college girl with an unpaid parking ticket who kept repeating, ‘I can’t believe I’m in jail’ the entire time. It was a Tuesday night. Not much going on.”

“Everyone is talking about it,” my mother said, adjusting her large sunglasses. “You’re never going to find a boyfriend now that you have a criminal record.”

“Fuck the criminal record,” Gran said. “Karlie’s not going to find a boyfriend if Hoe-berta over here keeps stealing them.”

“Mom!” Roberta screamed as I bit back a laugh. “Did you hear what she called me?”

“Frank,” my mother chastised, swatting my father, “do something about your mother. I will not have her living with us if she continues to insult my daughter.”

“Let’s all just calm down,” Dad pleaded.

I felt sorry for him. It could not be easy for him to live with four women.

“Karlie’s not going to have a criminal record. I called in a favor with one of my contacts in the TV production world, and he just emailed me and said Platinum Provisions is going to drop the charge. But no more breaking and entering,” Dad begged me.

“And here I thought your grandmother would be the one to get arrested this year,” my mother said. She fixed her hat then turned on the heel of her Jimmy Choo shoe and headed to the jail’s front door.

“You hungry?” Dad asked, patting me gingerly on the shoulder.

“You just had an eighteen-hour fast,” my sister said snidely. “Don’t ruin it.”

“She’s not about to get married to a cheating scumbag,” Gran hollered as she zipped down the wheelchair ramp and almost ran over two lawyers heading into the building. “She can eat whatever she wants.”

“How about pancakes and bacon?” Dad suggested. “There’s a diner a block over.”

“I refuse to eat in a diner,” my mother snapped.

“We can’t take Karlie to a nice restaurant,” Roberta argued. “She looks like she rolled in a gutter. The diner is more her style.”

“Don’t be so glum,” Gran said as I walked beside her wheelchair. “All the cool people have been to jail. Martha Stewart was in prison, and now she’s friends with Snoop Dogg. You should write a book like that gal who wrote Orange is the New Black. You have street cred now. You could get a job as a consultant helping pep talk people who are about to get sent away. You need to work on your swagger, though. Stand up straight, tits out.”

I shrank more into myself. I did not want to write a book. I just wanted to forget the whole humiliating incident. God, Liam’s fucking face as he let me get arrested. I was never going to recover.

“No, not like that.” Gran whirled her wheelchair in front of me, blocking my path. “Let me see that girl power. I am female! Hear me roar!”

People on the New York sidewalk, usually content to mind their own business, were blatantly staring at us. Guess it wasn’t every day that a woman in a wheelchair was leading female empowerment exercises.

“Hit your Wonder Woman pose.”

“Gran...”

“Girl power!” my grandmother chanted.

I sighed and struck a lackluster Wonder Woman pose.

“Girl power,” I said dully.

Gran shook her head. “We’re going to work on it.”

I needed that French toast. I was going to order hash browns and gravy too. I had been too nervous to eat last night, and of course, I hadn’t had breakfast. I was starving. The diner’s familiar fried-food scent wafted through the air.

“I’m not eating anything here,” my mother complained. “Not even a salad.”

A few feet away, a car pulled up, and Sophie got out of it! I breathed a sigh of relief. My phone had run out of battery, and I was dying to talk to my friend.

Spurred by my grandmother’s pep talk, I channeled my inner badass cool girl and yelled out, “Hey, bitch!”

My family froze.

“Fight! Fight!” Gran chanted, pumping a fist.

The brown-haired girl turned around slowly.

It was not Sophie.

She stared at me for what felt like five minutes then said slowly, “I don’t know you.”

“I...my mistake,” I stammered and practically ran inside the diner.

Like I said, Queen of Awkward.

Fortunately, my strawberry French toast platter with bacon and smothered hash browns arrived quickly. I scarfed it down while Roberta sipped a cup of coffee.

My mom drank a mug of wine that she had bribed one of the cooks to give her.

Roberta made a face as I cut into one of the golden fried triangles.

“You’re just a Venn diagram of sadness.”

***

“This is the most humiliating day of my life.”

Sophie was carefully making sugar flowers when I walked into the commercial kitchen. I had showered and changed out of clothes that didn’t smell like mop water.

“Awww.” Sophie set down the icing tool she was using to intricately form each petal and wrapped me in a hug. “It can’t have been as bad as the time Bently pulled your top up in middle school and showed everyone you were stuffing your bra with newspaper, can it?”

“Worse,” I said. “Way worse.” I washed my hands then scooped out fondant to help Sophie make the hundreds of flowers meant to decorate a towering wedding cake.

“And there was a hot guy there to witness my demise, which made it a thousand times more awful,” I continued, measuring out the fondant needed for each petal.

“Jail, hot guy, glad we have our priorities straight.”

“You should have seen him. He was so...” I stabbed the fondant. “So...”

“Hot?” Sophie teased.

“No!” My face burned. To be fair, Liam was hot. “He was so smug. And then he ate the cupcake.”

“That was the point; it was an apology cupcake.”

“He didn’t accept my apology—he had me arrested.”

“Maybe this is progress. You’re noticing that other men in the world exist besides Marcus.”

“Marcus is perfect. Well...” I amended, thinking guiltily about Liam, who was probably closer to perfect status than any man had the right to be. I mean, billionaire, his own tower, that body... “Marcus is perfect for me. He has a modest trust fund, introverted hobbies—”

“A weak jaw and is a spineless creep. Karlie, he cheated on you with your twin, remember? I know a lot has happened, but you cannot forgive him.”

“Roberta stole him,” I protested. “It’s not his fault.”

“You can’t just steal another person,” Sophie said flatly. “Marcus went willingly over to the dark side.”

“Maybe he’ll wake up and realize that he regrets it and wants to be with me.”

“Clean house. Kick him to the curb,” Sophie ordered.

“He was going to invest in our book café,” I reminded Sophie.

“He also told you he wanted to marry you, and yet here we are.”

“He was so supportive,” I pleaded. 

“He was telling you what you wanted to hear because he wanted to get in your pants.” My friend scooped out another cup of fondant onto the worktable. 

“Maybe,” I said quietly. But I wasn’t ready to give up hope.

“You need to branch out,” Sophie said, “and redeem yourself after that debacle. I made you a Tinder profile. No, I don’t want to hear any protesting.”

“I can’t—”

“You’re welcome,” she said, squirting green food coloring onto the fondant and attacking it with a rolling pin. “You’re going to show up at all those weddings of the bitches-getting-hitched parade and show those mean girls that you can score a banging guy. There’s more to mankind than Marcus.”

“He is very sexy,” I said, leaping to Marcus’s defense.

But why was I thinking about Liam?