Chapter 10
Megan
Iknock on Nicole’s apartment door, my sad suitcase, once again held together by bungee cords and a prayer, at my feet.
She just buzzed me into the building, which is, as she’d described it, just off South Granville’s “Art Gallery Row,” near the Granville Street Bridge, where a steady stream of Friday night traffic glides in and out of downtown. Nicole’s street is surprisingly quiet, just one block off the main drag. Her building isn’t the newest on the block, but it has security, and the glass lobby looks renovated.
The elevator brings me up to her floor, and when she throws her door open, I hear the comforting voices of women inside, the throb of music, and the hiss of something cooking, like vegetables sizzling in a wok.
“Yes!” My old friend lights up at the sight of me and practically shouts the greeting, and I have to laugh. Nicole was the one who dubbed this my Summer of Yes, after all.
Minutes after I quit my gardening job today, I called to tell her that I needed a new place to stay; she immediately invited me to come stay with her. I said yes, and here we are.
She throws her arms around me. “I can’t believe it’s been so long since I saw you!”
“I know!” Nicole and I grew up together in Crooks Creek, right next door. We’ve kept in touch over the years, and I’ve seen her every few years when she comes home for Christmas or a wedding or a funeral. But it’s been a while. “It never feels like any time has passed at all when I see you, though,” I marvel.
“Girl, same.” She grabs my suitcase without a comment on its sorry state and whisks it inside. “Come in!”
Inside the apartment, I’m immediately greeted by the comfy chaos of too many people living together in a small space. Personal belongings are strewn everywhere. The living room features an unmade futon bed, and the open kitchen is a sea of groceries and dishes.
Two twenty-something women are in the living room, one painting her toenails, the other one lacing up her tall Doc Martens boots. Another one is in the kitchen, making a stir fry that I can now smell: oil, hoisin, and broccoli. That hip-hop song “Stir Fry” thumps through the apartment, kinda loud, but not so loud it’ll annoy the neighbors, maybe.
They all wave at me when Nicole introduces us, rattling off their names. I already know all three of them live here with her.
I do the math. Nicole said there were two bedrooms. She’s in one; that means one roommate on the futon and the other two in the second bedroom?
“Welcome to big-city living, my friend,” she says, maybe reading my overwhelm.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay for a bit?” I follow her as she rolls my suitcase up the short hall to her bedroom. “Your roommates won’t mind?”
“Nope.” She pushes open the door to her room, which is at least a lot tidier than the shared space beyond, though it’s smallish. There’s only one bed, a double. “My name is one of the two on the lease. We have more people than we’re supposed to in here, but it makes the rent cheap. They wanna charge three grand, to start, for a decent apartment around here? The modern girl makes it work.”
I blanch as she shuts the door behind us, and the music fades out a bit. Three grand…?
“We’re all busy girls, so everyone just comes and goes. We’re rarely all here at once.” She takes my backpack and purse from me and puts them on her bed.
“This is so generous of you, really. I’m sure you don’t need one more to add to the chaos.”
“It’s no problem. I’m undaunted by chaos.” She smiles at me.
I remember that about her. Love that about her, really.
With her wild brown hair and good-time vibes, Nicole Lalonde is the energy I want to become. Where I’m careful and overly cautious, she never lets anything get in her way. When we were kids, I’d be hovering on the edge of the river, weighing the dangers of jumping in, and Nicole would already have dived right in, without pause or regret.
And our whole lives have rolled out just like that.
Sadly, as cautious as I’ve been, it hasn’t saved me from getting hurt. Nicole went to the big city to expand her life. I stayed put, stayed safe—in theory—and suffered for it.
She slides open a drawer in her dresser. “I cleared out two drawers for you, and I’ll make room in the closet.”
“Nicole…” I sigh. “You’re amazing. I’m sorry this is happening.”
“Hey.” She catches my arm and gives it a squeeze. “It’s all good. You’re welcome here. As long as you need.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” It’s not ideal. As I look around, I know that. I’m not Nicole. Living like this will be stressful for me. I need a bit of my own space, to think, to write, but I can’t afford that yet. “And I’m happy to sleep on the floor. I don’t want to bother you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re sleeping right in the bed with me. It’s way more comfy, there’s room for both of us, and I won’t snuggle or snore, I promise.”
I smile because she’s trying to cheer me up.
“I know you won’t be here long anyway. You’ve always taken care of yourself. You’ll find a way. And who knows.” She shrugs. “Maybe you stay more permanently, we get bunk beds.”
I laugh a little. “You’re not serious.”
“Hey, I’m not here forever either. Only until I meet my Prince Charming and he sweeps me away from all this.” She swoons her way into the en suite bathroom, flicks on a light and rummages around. “I’m making room for you in here too!”
“Thank you!”
I find a spot on the floor to untie my suitcase and lay it open. I open my backpack, too, and start gathering my toiletries and cosmetics. The least I can do is unpack and get my things stowed out of her way. Settle in.
Commit to this.
Not just for her, but for me, too.
It cost me a lot to take the taxi here. I’m terrified by the minuscule remaining balance in my bank account. But I know this is for the best.
My first few impressions of my brother’s best friend, overall, did not bode well. Besides his overwhelming good looks, which are a whole problem of another kind… I’m not sure I like him much.
I threw myself into gardening today, optimistic. But then I found out from a couple of the other staff that Jameson had fired Romeo. I couldn’t live with that; I couldn’t take that man’s job from him. He needs it more than I do, and he definitely earned it more than I did.
“So, what happened at your brother’s?” Nicole eyes me as I bring my things into the bathroom, to put in the drawer she’s cleared out for me. She places a folded towel on the counter for me, too. “You guys weren’t bonding? Enjoying catching up? You were always so close.”
We were. When we were younger. Nicole was Cole’s age, but she was always closer to me. We were Team Girl.
“Would’ve loved to, but there was this growly homeowner in the way.” I shut the drawer and head back into the bedroom. “Because get this. Cole is living with his billionaire best friend while his new house is renovated.”
Nicole leans in the bathroom doorway. “Billionaire?”
“Yup.”
“And he’s not over fifty?”
“His name is Jameson Vance. He’s the youngest sibling of the Vance family. You can look him up.” I know I did. “You know, that Vance family? The one who owns the hockey team?”
Nicole doesn’t answer because she’s suddenly nose-down in her phone. “The hockey team, and the arena… Black Mountain ski resort…” She scrolls, reading the same list of properties owned by Vance Industries that I’d found online.
I start organizing my clothes into the dresser as she rattles them off.
“There’s an endless list of upscale bars here. Liquor companies, wineries, high-end restaurants, luxury hotels. They own, like, everything on Bayshore Drive downtown, in Coal Harbour. The whole several-block waterfront. Including the posh new resort hotel, which they’re calling the Vance Bayshore resort. And endless surrounding properties.”
“I know.”
She goes silent for a moment, then: “Holy shit. He’s beautiful.”
“I know.”
She laughs. “You sound disgusted.”
I grimace. “It’s been a crazy week. I’m not really in the headspace to admire any man’s beauty right now or, you know, think of him that way.” Bullshit. My eyes have admired him plenty.
So did my dreams last night.
“Okay. Sure. But how often do you meet that.” She shoves the phone in my face, where a shirtless photo of Jameson accosts my eyeballs. He’s ripped to hell and goddamn stunning.
I try to downplay it.
“Um, often enough, actually. My brother plays hockey. They’re all ripped like that.” Though they aren’t all that pretty.
I try to focus on Nicole instead of the pecs in my face.
She blinks at me. “I am hating you right now, just a small amount. It’ll pass.”
I laugh under my breath. “Believe me. Most of them aren’t half as charming as they look. In my limited experience, hockey players are bratty jocks, total sluts, and/or players. And the ones who are actually a great catch, because yes, they do exist, are already married.”
“Okay, clearly, you’re not in your right mind right now. When you’re feeling more optimistic about life in general, we’ll circle back to the idea of you introducing me to Cole’s hot hockey friends.”
I sigh again, but smile. “You have a way, Nikki. I’m sure I can introduce you to some hockey players if you really want.”
“Oh, I want.” Her eyes go big and round. She reminds me of a meme I once saw of a cartoon cat with huge eyes that simply said WANTY.
I snicker and gesture at her phone. “Where did you find that anyway?”
“It’s on his Instagram.”
“Jameson Vance, billionaire, has an Instagram?”
“Yup. Blue check mark and all. It’s all charity gala red carpets and thirst traps. He’s at the gym or the beach or by a pool, half-naked. With friends, but still. He’s in a suit or his birthday suit and nothing in between.”
“Can you imagine the DMs he gets?” My mind wanders, trying to picture even a glimpse of the life he leads. Kinda like my brother’s, but just… more. “I wonder what it would be like to be that… eligible.”
“Is he seriously single?”
“I believe so. No one introduced me to Mrs. Vance during my brief stay at his palace.”
Nicole swallows, looking like that hungry cartoon cat again. “Palace?”
I laugh. I haven’t laughed this much in… ages. “Are we that into a man’s net worth?”
She shakes her head as if trying to come back to her senses. “Maybe?” She flashes me another photo—Jameson with sweat pouring down his naked chest, holding a basketball and smiling a smile that could melt the freaking sun. “Either way, how can you not want to climb that?”
“Well. First of all, I just broke up with—no. I just fled from a man who has serious psychological issues. I might need a little detoxing period. Also, he’s kind of?—”
“Lickable? Suckable? Fuckable? Do you need more adjectives?”
“I was going to say aloof or something. Stuck up? I don’t know.” I think about the way I melted when he shook my hand. The way everything else washed out around me and I found it so hard just to breathe. The man is beautiful, for sure. But. “He’s also overbearing. Bossy, in the worst way. He fired his gardener to give me the job.”
Nicole looks confused. “And that’s bad?”
“Yes. It’s very bad. The man worked for him for years. And then the little sister of his best friend shows up and boom, goodbye, Romeo.”
“Who’s Romeo?”
“The gardener.”
“So, you’re his gardener now?”
“Hell to the fucking no. I quit. That’s why I couldn’t stay there anymore. I don’t want his charity. Not if it’s evil.”
“Evil might be a stretch,” she suggests. “He gave you a job. He wanted to help his best friend’s sister. I consider myself fortunate that I only work two waitressing jobs these days to stay afloat. If I had a brother and he had a rich best friend, I’d suck his cock for a job. On the regular.”
I give her a disapproving look, really trying not to laugh. She shrugs and pokes her fingers into my open backpack. “And by the way, why do you have so many bungee cords?”
“Survival. You never know when your cheap-ass suitcase is gonna fall apart. Like right in front of a billionaire.” I cringe. “I hate to be caught unprepared. It’s a thing.”
“Ah.” Nicole sits on the edge of her bed, near me. “Look. If Cole is that close to this guy, maybe he’s a great guy. You just caught him on a bad day or something.”
I groan. “Why do I get the feeling you’re already mentally picking out your bridesmaid dress and flirting with his groomsmen?”
“Because I envision my girlfriends marrying every potential husband they meet. It’s a side effect of being a hopeless romantic and a pathological optimist. Honestly, though, I was envisioning you screwing him.”
I laugh abruptly, which was maybe why she said that last bit. “You seriously want to picture that?”
“Uh-huh. But now I’m picturing you marrying him.”
I shake my head as I toss underwear into the drawer.
Nicole snatches up a red lace thong that I ordered online for too much money last Christmas as a surprise for Troy that he obviously didn’t deserve. I don’t even know why I brought it with me. It was just such a waste of money otherwise.
“You would look great in this,” she says seriously.
“Thanks for noticing. Troy didn’t.”
She gives me a well-he’s-a-dick look, hands me the panties, and announces, “We’re going out tonight.”
“We are?”
“Yes. You get a proper ladies’ night to welcome you to Vancouver. I’ve already alerted the troops. And by troops, I mean Dani.”
“The sister-in-law to the hot rock stars?” I’ve heard of this girl, a lot, from Nicole, and I’m not sure I’m ready for Nicole’s version of a “proper ladies’ night.” Apparently, this Dani girl’s twin sister has two rock star husbands (though only one legally), and Nicole seems eternally in awe of what she imagines to be the “absolute kinkfest” of their three-way marriage. “Is this some scheme to introduce me to hot, sexually adventurous men?”
“Quite definitely. And may I remind you, you can’t say no.”
“I will live to regret the day I let you dub this the Summer of Yes, won’t I.”
“Probably.”
“Maybe we should preagree on the fact that every guy who crosses my path does not get a yes, though.”
“If they look like this and they’re a billionaire…” She flashes me another photo of Jameson—this time wearing a sharp suit—that I don’t need to see. “They most definitely do. Tell me you have anything higher on your wish list.”
“Hot and has money? Yeah, I can think of a few more important characteristics that I might want in a man.”
“Such as?”
“Let’s see. Warm. Generous. Fun. Smart. Handy with tools. But at this point, I’d settle for not emotionally abusive.”
Nicole softens with sympathy. “You left him behind, babe,” she reminds me gently. “That chapter is done. The book is firmly closed. Time to write yourself a new beginning.”
“Yeah.”
“And we know what a good writer you are.”
“Thank you.” Nicole is one of the very few people I’ve told, besides Mom and my brother, about my books.
Well, and Jameson.
“Also, you left out good in bed from your checklist,” she says.
“Great in bed would be better.”
She grins. “Now there’s the girl I know and love.” She hops to her feet and opens the closet. “Put on that thong, and let’s find something hot for you to wear tonight. The sexually adventurous men of Vancouver are just waiting to meet you.”
I give in—Summer of Yes and all—and admit, “There’s a matching bra,” and pluck it from the drawer.
“Perfect.” She’s rifling through her clothes, tugging out pieces and tossing them on the bed. “One question. What if it turns out that this Jameson guy checks off all the boxes on your list?”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Can I just focus on getting a job, some plates, and a way to pay rent, and then we’ll see about a guy fitting into the picture?”
“Sure, sure. I’m just saying, a man like that won’t be on the market forever. Don’t move too slowly if you see something you like.”
“Oh, Nikki.”
* * *
That evening, when Nicole’s friend Dani rolls up in an Uber to pick us up, we rally down to the lobby and push through the heavy glass doors, laughing.
It’s strange; I haven’t heard myself laugh like this in so long.
As we got ready for ladies’ night, we drank a couple of shots of Nicole’s favorite alcohol, Sambuca, while she told me all about the rock stars she’s met by now, because I asked. The list included the ones who own the nightclub she works at, the ones who come into the nightclub, and of course, Dani’s connections. Though, despite her best efforts, Nicole’s only ever managed to hook up with one of them.
A few years back, through Dani and her twin sister, Nicole met drummer Xander Rush, and screwed him, twice. But then, according to her, he ghosted her because she asked him to put her over his knee and spank her and he said, “I don’t know you well enough for that.”
For some reason we thought that was crazy funny, and I demanded, “How can a rock star be such a prude?” Because the two (giant) shots were already going to my head and I was getting lippy.
And I thought, This is what I never had.
I never, ever had this period in my life when I lived wild and free with my girlfriends, got dressed in sexy clothes and put loud music on and did shots and went barhopping and flirted with men I’d never see again.
Or hooked up with them for the night.
I lived in a town where everyone knew everyone, and there was only one bar, and anyway, I hadn’t been truly single since I was seventeen, but still.
When I told Nicole about this sad lack in my life, she said soberly, “You just described every night of my life,” and I laughed my way right out her front door.
When Dani’s Uber honks at us from the street, Nicole heads toward it along the sidewalk, but I stop in my tracks. I stumble a little as my attention is seized by the view across the street.
The laughter dies in my throat.
Parked at the curb directly across from Nicole’s building is a gleaming black limo, and a man stands next to it, staring at me.
A tall, strikingly gorgeous man with wavy, sun-kissed hair and light-blue eyes. He wears tight, deep-blue dress pants that showcase his long, muscular legs and a fitted button-up shirt the same color as his eyes. And a tie.
His clothes look like they might split open if he flexes.
Jameson Vance has the body of a superhero and the face of an angel, and how the hell he’s single, I’ll never know. There are stunningly beautiful women out there, too, and there’s no way they aren’t all over this man every time he leaves his house.
And there he is, staring at me.
I suddenly feel ridiculously sex-forward in the black velvet leggings, glittery, sleeveless T-shirt, and heels that Nicole talked me into. I grip my purse tight to my ribs and try to remember how to breathe as his eyes move over me.
“Megan?” Nicole calls to me from the open back door of the Uber.
I barely hear her.
I’m in that tunnel again, where the world turns blurry and unreal around me, like a watercolor painting, leaving nothing but the man in front of me.
“Um… just a minute,” I say hoarsely.
Nicole must see what I’m seeing, because she doesn’t say another word as I wander to the curb and dangle there, uncertain.
Jameson crosses the street, strolling toward me. He slides his hands into his pockets and stops a couple of feet in front of me.
“Megan,” he says in that low, rough-velvet voice.
“Jameson,” I breathe. It’s nonsensical the way my heartbeat speeds up when he’s near. My body responds to his presence in a way that is, in a word, unnerving.
I’m supposed to be taking care of myself right now. Which means putting myself first for once. Which definitely means staying away from toxic men. And despite the fact that my brother is friends with him… What he did to Romeo, how cold he was to me when I confronted him about it, and how he acted like I was an unwelcome imposition in his giant, empty house… none of it bodes well.
For all I know, he’s just another selfish, careless narcissist.
But whatever he’s come here to say, I should hear him out. I tell myself I’ll do it for my brother’s sake.
It’s not for me.
I don’t really need this man’s mansion or his pity job. Or this distracting inability to breathe normally whenever his attention is focused on me.
“You left.”
“I quit,” I remind him, my voice soft and breathless, even as I try to give it substance. He’s caught me off guard. What is he doing here?
“I heard you. You flung mud on my sofa.”
Did I? Shit. “I’ll pay for that. I’m sure it can be cleaned?—”
“I didn’t come here about that. I’d never accept your money, Megan.”
“Then what do you want?”
He studies me, a crease forming between his brows. “I want you to come back.”
Yes.
The word flits through the back of my mind. I can hear Nicole’s voice in there. It’s the Summer of Yes, Megan.
But fear paralyzes me.
Memories of Troy and his self-serving manipulations hold me hostage, and I can’t seem to force the word from my mouth.