3. Leah
Chapter three
Leah
Five years later
“Jesus Christ, I think she’s doing this on purpose to taunt me,” I mutter to myself as I shake my head.
I’m convinced Penny is trying to set a world record for the loudest orgasm. Or maybe she’s just showing off. Either way, I’m about one moan away from going into her room with a glass of water and politely suggesting she rehydrate.
Instead, I turn my attention back to my laptop, scrolling through job listings with all the enthusiasm of someone looking for a dentist appointment. Rent is due next week—the notice on the fridge is a constant reminder of that. Not to mention, my bank account is a cruel joke, and I haven’t had sex in, well, longer than Penny’s been in there, that’s for sure.
God, I need money.
And maybe some sex. But mostly money.
Some sex wouldn’t hurt too.
There’s a specific kind of hell where your best friend is having sex with a guy while you’re trying to find a job. And the only thing louder than their moaning is the reminder that you haven’t had sex in five years.
“God, Penny,” I grumble, looking toward her door. “Is he killing her in there?”
Just as I’m considering what would happen if I sold one of my kidneys to pay rent, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. The screen lights up with a picture of my dad. Well, the image of him from the Internet because heaven forbids we take actual family photos. My finger hovers over the decline button for a second before I move my hand away.
Nope. Not today.
I let the call go to voicemail. The last thing I need right now is a lecture on how I should just come work for him at Grayson Studios. No, thank you. I’m determined to make it on my own, even if that means crashing in a shoebox apartment with thin walls and enduring Penny’s enthusiastic sex life.
I look out the window at the bustling city. “At least the view’s nice,” I mutter. We recently just moved to New York from Los Angeles. Penny got a gig in New York, and I had nothing solid in L.A., so I moved with her.
I hate being in the same city as my dad. But hey, I don’t plan on meeting up with him.
I shut my laptop with a sigh and rub my eyes, glancing toward Penny’s bedroom door. The noises have stopped, which means the guy’s either done or spent. I make a mental note to check on that.
A minute later, the door swings open, and Penny struts out like she’s just conquered the world. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt—one of mine, of course—and her blonde curls are piled on top of her head in a messy bun that somehow looks Instagram-worthy. She's grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Or, in her case, the guy from Bumble.
Everything about Penny screams effortless . If I tried that look, I’d resemble a troll who got lost on her way to the bridge.
“Wow, you’re glowing,” I say, not even looking up from my phone as she saunters past me.
She escorts the guy to the front door with a grin that says she’s already forgotten his name, gives his butt a playful smack, and sends him on his way with a wink.
“I’ll call you,” the guy says with a hopeful smile.
“Don’t bother,” Penny replies sweetly. “It was fun, though! Thanks for the workout, champ!”
She shuts the door behind him and turns to me with the smuggest expression I’ve ever seen. “What’s up, prude? Hear anything interesting?”
“Only that you’ve developed a remarkable lung capacity,” I quip, tossing a pillow at her from the couch. “What happened to the whole ‘no strings attached’ thing? It sounded like you were signing up for a relationship in there.”
Penny stretches lazily, arching her back like a cat. “Yeah, well, fun is fun. But the guy’s got a thing for calling out his own name in bed. Kinda kills the mood.”
I choke on my laughter, clutching my stomach as I fall back on the couch. “Wait, what? He called his own name?”
“Yup.” She plops down next to me, her legs crossed. “Like he was some kind of pro wrestler. ‘Yeah, Brent, yeah! You’re doing so good, Brent!’ I felt like I was third-wheeling his love affair with himself.”
I burst out laughing, holding my closed laptop for a moment. Penny always has a way of making me forget how much everything sucks: joblessness, rent, my total lack of sex life, the works.
“I can’t.” I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “I’m dead. You’re a saint for sticking it out as long as you did.”
“Girl, what he lacks in brains, he makes up for in, you know what. ” She winks at me. “But yeah, hearing his name got old very quickly. You should’ve seen his face when I told him not to call me. Looked like a kicked puppy.”
I shake my head, grinning. Penny is . . . well, Penny. We’ve been roommates for two years and best friends for five. She’s a software designer who could pass an Armani model without much of an effort.
She’s got this perfect blend of sass, sex appeal, and zero tolerance for bullshit that I wish I could bottle up and sell. Today, she’s rocking the post-sex glow like she just stepped off the set of some rom-com while I’m sitting here in my ratty yoga pants, a tank top that’s seen better days, and my hair piled in a lopsided bun.
“At least one of us is having some fun.”
Penny rolls her eyes. “It wouldn’t kill you to get a date every once in a while,” Penny says, nudging me with her elbow. “When was the last time, again? Oh, right. Mr. I-Only-Wanted-You-As-My-Beard.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t remind me.”
Penny laughs, tugging at my bun. “You’ve got the worst luck, babe. I mean, who dates a guy for six months only to find out he’s using you as cover?”
“It was eight months,” I mutter through my fingers, “and he’s a good guy. Just . . . not into women, apparently.”
“Well, at least you didn’t catch feelings.”
I drop my hands and stare at her. “Oh, but I did. Stupid, heart-eye-emoji feelings. And now, I’m officially retired from the dating scene.”
Penny arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh, please. You’re not retired. You’re just, what’s the word: Bored. Distracted. Horny.”
“Uh-huh. Discovering you're a beard really takes dating out of you.”
Penny laughs, tipping her head back. “Hey, in his defense, you are gorgeous. I can see why he’d want you on his arm. Even if it’s just to distract from the fact that he’s really into Brad from accounting.”
Her words have me laughing too. But then, like a reflex, the memory of him slides into my mind. Silas. The way he looked at me—touched me—the way he tossed me aside like I meant nothing.
I laugh again. But it’s half-hearted this time. It’s been five years since Rome, and Silas still haunts me, creeping into my thoughts at the worst possible moments. Penny notices the change immediately.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow.
I shrug, trying to shake it off. “Nothing. I’m just done with the whole dating scene for now. Right now, I just need a job. Something that doesn’t involve taking my clothes off or selling organs.”
“Leah—”
I raise a hand. “I need rent. Not romance.”
“Jesus, our rent’s due in next week, isn’t it?” She looks over at the fridge where the pinned notice hangs. “I can cover for you, and you can pay me—”
I shake my head. “No, Penny. You’ve been covering for me for the last few months.” I reopen my laptop, and the screen lights up with job listings. “I gotta get a job as soon as possible.”
“I mean, you could just call your—”
I shut her down with a look. Penny knows I’m on the outs with my father. But it doesn’t stop her from suggesting that I make up with him every other week. And like clockwork, I always shut her down.
“I’d rather live in a carton under the bridge.” I squint at my screen, a stray hair falling onto my face.
“Maybe then you’d finally get laid.” Her blue eyes crinkle.
“Penny!” I burst into laughter.
Penny’s about to reply when my laptop dings with a notification. I open it and squint at the screen. My heart lurches in my chest as I read through the email.
“Oh my God,” I mouth, my eyes rereading the words on my screen.
“What?”
It’s a last-minute job listing from a recruitment agency I sometimes freelance for. My eyes widen. Shit. They need someone to fill in as a temporary personal assistant for a tech CEO.
Shit shit shit! This might be it.
I sit up, excitement buzzing through me. “Holy crap, this could be it!”
Penny glances over my shoulder. “What is it? Did you finally swipe right on someone?”
“It’s a job. And it pays!”
“What?”
“See this.” I tilt my laptop so she can read the email. “A personal assistant for Monarch Tech.”
“Monarch Tech?” Penny reads the email. “Oh, I know it. Shit, that’s a pretty big company, Leah!” She exclaims excitedly. “I read that the CEO, Waverly, just created a new film studio. And he’s in the process of releasing the studio’s debut movie.”
“So, is it a movie studio or a tech company?” I ask.
“Both?” She raises a brow. “I don’t think that matters, to be honest. All that matters is you have a job!” She squeals.
“I mean, it’s only temporary, but it pays well. And I need to get over there, like, now. This is rent!”
“This is many months’ rent!”
“Right?”
Penny claps her hands together, jumping off the couch. “Well, don’t just sit there! Let’s get you looking the part.”
We whoop as we scramble to throw something together, Penny rifling through my closet while I try to fix my hair in the bathroom mirror. I settle on a simple but chic black dress that hugs my curves just enough without making me look like I’m headed to a cocktail party. Penny insists I pair it with a cropped blazer and some ankle boots. It’s raining outside, so I grab my umbrella and toss a quick glance in the mirror.
Not bad for short notice.
“You look hot,” Penny declares as I step back into the living room. She gives me a once-over, nodding approvingly. “You’re gonna nail it. And hey, maybe the CEO’s hot. So, you can nail him, too.”
I roll my eyes, snatching my purse off the couch. “I’m not trying to sleep with my soon-to-be boss, Penny. I just want to get paid.”
“Sure, sure,” she teases. “But if he’s into weird fetishes, you know who to call.”
We both laugh as I head out the door, flying down the stairs of the old building as Penny cheers me on. Our neighbors, an old Korean family, yell in Korean that we should keep our fucking voices down. They’ve said it so much that we now know what it means.
By the sidewalk, I put up my umbrella, hailing a cab in the pouring rain. Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to get one. As the cab speeds through the city, I pull out my phone, intending to do a quick search on the company before I show up.
Monarch Tech. I’ve never heard of it. I type it out, hoping the CEO isn’t a piece of shit.
But, of course, my phone chooses to die as I was typing.
“Of course,” I mutter, tucking it back into my purse and staring out at the rain-soaked streets. My heart is pounding. I gotta nail the interview. This is the best opportunity I’ve had in months! And I can’t afford to fuck it up.
I pay for the cab and leave. And by the time I arrive at the lobby, according to the sleek glass wall, I’m soaked from the dash between the cab and the entrance, despite my umbrella. Great first impression.
The building is massive, all sharp edges and glass, the kind of place that screams money. I swallow my nerves as I approach the receptionist. She, then, leads me to the elevator to go to the penthouse floor. My is heart hammering in my chest.
This is it. Please don’t let the CEO be a total creep.
“Usually, you should be meeting with H.R. for your interview,” the redhead receptionist with round glasses starts, “but since you’ll be working directly with Mr. Waverly, he wants to meet you immediately.”
Mr. Waverly. I nod, flashing the lady a smile. I hope Mr. Waverly likes what he sees. Okay, I know how that sounds, but I didn’t mean that in a creepy way. I just want to get hired. Shit.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and I enter the sprawling office. It’s sleek, modern, and exactly the kind of place that makes you feel underdressed no matter what you’re wearing. My heels click against the polished floor as I’m led to a large set of double doors.
The receptionist opens the door for me, and I step inside, my breath catching in my throat. The office is expansive, with sofas, a large glass desk, and glass windows that overlook the city’s skyline. A man is facing away from me with his phone to his ear.
I stand there, shifting on my feet, as he speaks softly into the phone. I can’t make out what he’s saying. He has broad shoulders that his fitted black suit accentuates, and his graying locks are full and shiny. There’s something about him that is—
He cuts the call. I gather myself and plaster a smile on my face as he turns around. “Hello, I am—” All thoughts dry up in my head. I take a sharp step back and a sharp breath simultaneously. “What the fuck?”
Silas.
The man who broke my heart in Rome five years ago. The man I swore I’d never see again. There he is. In the flesh.
I stand frozen, my mouth dry, my brain short-circuiting as his eyes lift from the phone in his hand and meet mine. His expression shifts—shock, recognition, and then something else. Something darker.
“Leah,” he says my name like he never forgot it.