Girl Gone Viral

by Alisha Rai

  Dedication

  For those who have fought for a place to call home.

  And those who are still seeking theirs.

  It’s out there. I’m sure of it.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Also by Alisha Rai

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  KATRINA KING LOVED love. Even when it didn’t love her.

  The concept of love, the stories, how it was and how it should be. She loved giving it, receiving it. She cherished the rich platonic love her friends and roommates brought into her life, the generous kindness of the love her late husband had shown her. Though she’d spent much of her adolescence and early adulthood starved for it, she was comfortable with the emotion. Or, at least, forms of it.

  Still a mystery to her was the kind of sweeping love she’d started to crave fairly recently, along with everything that went with it: sex and kisses and mutual consideration and respect and the zing of romance. Occasionally getting to big-spoon someone.

  Those things seemed far away. Especially when she was aimlessly swiping on her dating app of choice.

  “Walk me through this again.” Andy squinted at Katrina’s phone, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “You swipe left if you like someone, right if you don’t?”

  Katrina settled into the comfortable leather armchair across from Andy’s. The office they were in was cramped, dominated by a large desk and two bookshelves lining the walls. It was a little musty and windowless, but Katrina only needed privacy for her therapy sessions, not luxury. “Switch those around. Swipe right if you like someone.”

  “My God, has the world changed in ten years. I met my wife online but on Matchmaker, and I thought filling out that long questionnaire was difficult then.” Andy turned the phone around to face Katrina. “What about this one? He’s an entrepreneur and CEO.”

  “This close to Los Angeles, every guy is an entrepreneur and CEO if they’re not a music producer.” Katrina dutifully looked at the profile and scrolled through the photos. “I do like this photo of him shirtless holding two puppies, though.”

  “You know he’s not allergic, at least. Important, since you aspire to own a menagerie someday.”

  “Someday.” Katrina only had a cat so far, but she was working her roommates up to a dog. Or three. “Let’s give him a chance.” She swiped right, and another man filled the screen.

  Andy swiveled the phone around and perused this one carefully as well, taking much longer than the average 0.6 seconds the average app user spent on a profile. “Oh look, this one answered one of the question prompts, put a little work into it. Two truths and a lie: I’ve been to Guatemala, I have a twin, and I think women should be barefoot and pregnant.” Andy paused, eyes widening. “Um, I really hope the first two are the truths.”

  “Yeah, some people are really bad at playing two truths and a lie.”

  Andy tapped her finger on her chin. “Are you a misogynist, or have you never been to Guatemala, sir?”

  “The eternal question. Left on him.”

  Andy paused. “But what if he has been to Guatemala?”

  “My rule of thumb for two truths is, if we have to play the did you really visit that country or do you think I’m a second-class citizen game, it’s a left.”

  “Fair enough.” Andy swiped confidently, with the kind of ease only a happily coupled-off person could display, when swiping was a novelty and not a way of life. A minute later, she turned the phone around. “This guy mentions his height four times in his profile.”

  Katrina glanced at the bare-chested stud. She didn’t need to read his bio. “Is he six-foot-four?”

  “How did you know?”

  “People who are six-foot-four really like to tell the world they’re six-foot-four.”

  Andy chuckled. “Yea or nay?”

  Katrina considered the gentleman. She wasn’t a height snob, but she wouldn’t kick the extra inches out of her bed. “Yea.”

  Andy swiped right and a little ding sounded. The high-pitched squeal of victory that came from her lips might have surprised a person who made a snap judgment based on Andy’s all-black leather ensemble, heavy eyeliner, visible tattoos, and septum, ear, and eyebrow piercings. “It’s a match. That’s exciting.”

  Katrina tried to work up the same degree of eagerness. “Yes. So cool.”

  Andy placed the phone on the arm of Katrina’s chair and regarded her with kind eyes. Katrina had run through . . . well, she couldn’t count how many therapists she’d run through at this point in her life. But Andy had been around longer than most, a few years now. “Thank you for letting me see what it’s like. It feels like a game, but I can see how this must get exhausting after a time.”

  Katrina spun the phone around. “I don’t think it helps that I know how the sausage is made, so to speak.”

  “Yes, of course, your equity in Crush.”

  Katrina’s investment in Crush was a fact not many people knew. She was a fairly silent partner, even if she took on a more active role than in her other investments.

  Andy steepled her fingers under her chin. “I’m sure you know the numbers and all, but you seem pretty savvy on the ins and outs of people’s profiles. You’ve been spending time on here.”

  “I told you I was going to.” When she’d decided she wanted a romantic partner, she’d made a deal with herself, one she hadn’t really shared with anyone but her best friend and roommate, Rhiannon.

  If she could make it out of her house to ten places, ten places where she felt comfortable and cozy and safe, then she could date.

  She’d hit ten last month. Had managed road trips to ever-farther destinations. And then she’d had no excuse, right? She had to start going after the thing she wanted.

  The thing you said you wanted.

  Crush had seemed like the easiest way to go about that. Beyond the fact that it was as woman-friendly as a dating app could get, with Rhiannon as CEO and herself as a minority shareholder, she’d felt safe in creating a profile there. Her roommates had helped her take some blurry, unidentifiable photos—her looks had changed since she’d been a model, but she was cautious—and she’d drafted a short bio after much agonizing.

  Looking for a partner in mostly legal activities. Enjoy cooking, gardening, the outdoors, romance, art, reading, and animals. Please be kind and have more emotional intelligence than a turnip.

  Rhiannon had written the last part, and it had made Katrina laugh, so she’d kept it in.

  Andy leaned back. “How many people have
you messaged since we last spoke?”

  “Two.”

  “How many messages did you exchange with them?”

  She winced. “Um . . . two.”

  “Each?”

  “No. I said hi and ghosted when they replied. Which I’m not proud of,” she hurried to tack on. Ghosting wasn’t a good thing to do to people, even if it was digitally. “But I did message, so I technically did my homework.”

  Andy cocked her head. “I suggested you try talking to some of your matches. It wasn’t homework.”

  If I do this thing my therapist says, then she will give me an A-plus, was a thought process she was trying to shake. The people-pleaser in her made life rough. “Right, of course.”

  “What are you looking to get out of this app, Katrina?”

  “I want to meet someone.” Katrina looked down at her hands. “Feel that . . . zing.”

  “Zing?”

  “Yeah. You know? That little zing, when you talk to someone or touch someone that you’re attracted to and like? That’s a thing, right?”

  The lines around Andy’s eyes crinkled. “I think we all call the zing something different, but yes. How long has it been since you’ve felt that zing?”

  Since about an hour ago. Katrina carefully avoided glancing in the direction of the office door. Or more accurately, at the man who was waiting for her outside it. She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet with Andy. She kind of hoped she’d never need to. “I don’t know. I’ve always been a romantic, but . . . I didn’t think it was for me, and I was at peace with that. These urges are kinda new.”

  “Not wanting sex and romance is totally natural. So is wanting sex and romance. Going back and forth between those wants, depending on where you are in your life, that’s also fine.”

  “I’m not doing this because I feel pressured or anything, don’t worry.” She lifted her shoulders. I want to figure out if these things I’ve started feeling for this one particular man will translate over to other men, because I can’t . . . with him.

  Later. She’d discuss him with Andy later. She needed to process him first.

  “I might be scared to actually meet someone face-to-face.”

  “You fear you won’t be able to mask?”

  “That’s part of it.” Masking was a nice word Katrina had learned from Andy. It covered what she did when she went out in the world and pretended she wasn’t sweating over what her brain and body might do to her.

  Fear of fear. That was what her very first therapist had called her panic disorder, and it was accurate.

  “It’s always an option to tell someone up front that you may have a panic attack, if you feel comfortable doing so.”

  She inwardly shuddered. That was an option, but only a select few people knew about her panic attacks. They made her vulnerable, and she knew how vulnerability could be used against her. “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

  “You don’t have to be. Only do as much or as little as you feel comfortable doing.” Andy grinned. “I’m not telling you to be a serial ghoster, but don’t beat yourself up.”

  Katrina picked at her cuticles, then stopped when she noticed the quick glance Andy shot her hands. “Got it.” Andy’s nonjudgmental face was calming, but Katrina didn’t know if she’d ever be at a point in her life where she’d stop judging herself.

  “It’s one step in front of another. Downloading the app, texting, talking, having a coffee. You’re in charge.”

  Find someone else. Anyone else. “Okay.”

  They spoke for a few minutes about other, more casual matters, until Andy discreetly checked her watch. “Is there anything else going on that you want to talk about?”

  Katrina kept her face placid. When she exerted a small amount of effort, she was a stellar actress. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Same time next week?”

  “Absolutely. Thanks as always for meeting me here.” She politely stood when Andy did and walked her to the door. Andy’s leather jacket creaked when she grabbed the helmet from the coatrack. She and Andy had started meeting in person relatively recently. Before this, they’d conducted most of their weekly sessions via video.

  “No thanks necessary.” Andy embraced her and patted her on the back gently. “I can see myself out. Text or call if you need anything.”

  “I will.” Katrina waited for Andy to make her way down the hallway to the back door of the building before heading in the other direction, toward the café’s dining area.

  The large place was usually filled with sun, but the blinds were still closed, giving it an intimate, quiet air. This street didn’t get much foot traffic in the early morning, so the owner opened late and focused on brunch and lunch.

  Katrina went straight to the counter. She avoided looking in the mirror behind the register that reflected the whole café.

  And the tall, dark, and handsome man sitting motionless near the door.

  Instead, she visually traced the sign hung above the mirror, made up of driftwood and rope, the kind of thing you could get at a stall on the beach.

  Happiness is a radical act.

  She mouthed the words to herself, as she had since the first time she’d come in here, pushing them into her soul.

  A slight silver-haired woman bustled out of the kitchen and beamed at Katrina. Her face was wrinkled from sun, weathered by wind and the ocean. The eighty-year-old café owner remained an avid surfer. Every morning before she came to this shop, she hit the beach. “How was your visit with your little friend?”

  “Lovely, thank you.” Mona Rodriguez knew Andy was her therapist. For a year now, every Thursday morning, Mona had graciously provided the use of her back office before the business opened. She treated Katrina like her granddaughter and the sessions like they were playdates.

  “Are you staying for a bit? Can I get you more coffee?”

  Katrina nodded. Sometimes she left before Mona opened, but today she’d like to be around other people. “Yes, please. Two, actually, and a croissant.” She handed over her mug and tapped her smart watch to pull up her credit card.

  Mona shook her head firmly as she poured the coffee. “No charge on refills.”

  Katrina raised an eyebrow, not swayed by this new tactic. “We both know that’s not your policy, and one of those isn’t a refill. Well, two of those, since a croissant can’t be refilled.”

  Mona smiled. “It’s my policy for investors, especially when those investors are friends.”

  Warmth filled her heart and Katrina couldn’t help but smile back, though her sigh was exasperated. “We’ve been over this. That wasn’t an investment, I want no equity.”

  “When someone saves my business from a big shitty corporation trying to steal it from me, and tells me they don’t want to be paid back”—Mona scooped a croissant from the display case onto a plate—“I consider them investors, and they get a free cup of fucking coffee every now and then.”

  Katrina’s cheeks turned hot. The situation hadn’t been nearly as dramatic as Mona made it sound. A few months ago, Katrina had learned that French Coast had been served notice of a sky-high rent increase. It was a common ploy to force older mom-and-pop shops out in favor of big-chain money.

  Mona had started this business with her husband forty years ago. Her spouse and son were gone. She needed the café and not only for the money it provided.

  Katrina didn’t lack for money. It hadn’t pained her to give Mona a cash infusion to make up the difference in the higher rent and float her through a couple years. She’d earned that money back easily on her actual investments.

  Her gift had been partially made out of sentiment. This had been the first place she’d managed to step inside of, after almost five years, where her PTSD and panic disorder had narrowed her range of activity to her own home and the grounds around it. The coffee shop was a simple place, but coming here had given her the confidence to try to go to another place, and then another.

  “Instead of the free coffee, of course, I
could set you up with my neighbor as thanks.” Mona beamed at her. “He’s beautiful. Has a nice head of hair, always has a lady wandering in and out of his house. I talked to one of them once, when she stepped on my petunias. He’s got a huge—”

  “Mona.”

  The older woman widened her eyes in faux-innocence. “Bird. Also, his prison conviction was just expunged.”

  Katrina stifled her grin. She might have to start dating somewhere, but she felt like she had to aim a little higher than “has hair follicles” and “prison record clear,” big . . . bird or not. “I’ll take the coffee.”

  There was a savvy glint in Mona’s eye as she pushed the order forward. “That’s what I thought.”

  Once Mona’s back was turned, Katrina slipped a fifty-dollar bill out of her pocket and dropped it in the tip jar, burying it under the dollar bills Mona filled it with in the morning to stage the thing.

  When Katrina was in her early teens and starting to model, her father had made her spend an hour every day in the living room, smiling. Constant, unceasing smiling. Different kinds of smiles, big smiles, small smiles, smiling with her eyes, smiling as she sat motionless, smiling while talking.

  Yes, her dad had been quite the prince.

  It had been the worst hour of her day. The only possible upside was that she was now excellent at smiling, even when her stomach was roiling in the throes of an impossible crush.

  She balanced the tray and pasted a cheerful smile on her face as she made her way to the occupied table.

  Jasvinder Singh was many things: her friend, her bodyguard, her medical contact, her shadow.

  He was also beautiful. Today he was dressed casually but fashionably, his tall, lean frame displayed in camel-colored slacks and a red sweater. His beard was sharply trimmed to showcase the line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek, and he carried himself with the ease of someone who was utterly comfortable with their own body.

  She’d met him almost a decade ago, when she’d married his wealthy boss, international jeweler and investor Hardeep Arora. Hardeep had kept a whole security team on their toes, and Jas had been in charge of it.

  He’d been in her life for so long; she’d always been objectively aware of his beauty. She’d only recently started taking it personally, tracing his bold features repeatedly with her gaze. She’d become especially obsessed with his eyebrows. They were slashing and black and thick and prominent, and she didn’t understand why her sexual awakening was tied to a man’s eyebrows of all things, but here she was.