Southern Charm Read Online Free PDF Page B

What I’m trying to say is . . . couldn’t he have found you some other way? It just feels cheap to me. I say you make him wait.”
    â€œOf course I will make him wait.”
    â€œOne week, Minty.”
    â€œOne week ?”
    â€œOne week.”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œI mean it.”
    â€œFine! One week.”

    I accepted the request approximately twenty-four hours later. I wrote him a quick, cute message about how I thought I’d spotted him at the Saks luncheon, how he looked nice and I hoped all was well.
    I didn’t disagree with my mother, but the thought of waiting an entire week was overwhelming. I figured that a day would be enough. It would seem as if I were simply busy, nonchalant, running around town with so many things to do that I hadn’t had a moment to check my Facebook profile. A week just screamed “overthinking it” to me. I didn’t want him to think I’d spent the last seven years dwelling on what happened between us.
    Of course I liked the thought of his sweating it out even if just for twenty-four hours. I pictured him sitting by his computer, clicking the “refresh” button over and over again, pounding his fist onto his desk in frustration. So when I finally, officially accepted, I figured he might jump at the chance to perhaps drop me a line and, I don’t know, ask me to dinner.
    But there was silence.
    A day later, Saturday morning to be exact, I was still waiting for a response when Emily called.
    â€œWake up,” she said. “We’re going to Swifty’s for brunch. It’s, like, a crime you’ve been in New York for almost two months now and you haven’t been to brunch at Swifty’s. Also, someone is coming who you need to meet, so we’re doing it. We’re going to brunch.”
    â€œEmily,” I groaned. “The last thing I need right now is to be set up.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, this is not a setup. It’s more of a . . . networking opportunity. And this person is rarely available, so I’d get my act together if I were you.”
    â€œOn a Saturday morning?”
    â€œMinty, this is New York.”
    â€œ Right .”
    I’d mentioned my desire to break into the fashion world to Emily at the Saks luncheon and she seemed to think it would be easy to find me something (which was surprising, seeing as I’d been on more interviews than I could remember in the last month). She said a friend of hers owned a PR firm and that she would check with her to see if they were hiring. I never thought she might actually make something happen.
    â€œGosh, Emily,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
    â€œGive me a break, Minty,” she said, “I have been up since six A.M . for hot yoga and I’m currently alphabetizing my fall wardrobe by designer.”
    Her voice echoed like she was speaking through a bullhorn into a microphone. She must have had me on speakerphone.
    â€œHot yoga?” I said. “That sounds like torture!”
    â€œIt’s a necessary evil, Minty,” she explained. “Size two isn’t small enough anymore. Just the other day, Marchesa sent me some samples for the Whitney Art Party, and—hand to God—they were size double zero. What am I supposed to do, send them back and tell them that nothing worked?”
    â€œI think my left pinkie might be a size double zero,” I sighed.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Anyway, this networking opportunity . . . well, I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want you to get all nervous and overthink as you tend to do, but it could lead to an actual job.”
    At that point, my idea of a “job” had nothing to do with the reality of an actual entry-level position: twelve-hour days filled with constant coffee runs and standing in front of the paper shredder so long you go to bed with a buzzing noise in