Chapter 15
fifteen
“Alley Cat!”
Tris’s nickname fills my mind with images of mangy, begging felines living in dumpsters. I roll my eyes as I fluff out my curls, checking the reflection in our bathroom mirror. Damien was so right; my hair seems to prefer the curls.
I haven’t gone through the whole process of re-styling it yet, but I feel inspired to at least try. The loose spirals create volume that makes my features seem more delicate and actually complements my round eyes and nose.
It’s still exhilarating, looking in the mirror and realizing that I like what I see.
Yesterday, a random man did a double-take when I walked down the block for a bottle of dish soap—and I actually felt good.
Though, Tris claims that probably had less to do with my hair and more to do with my “sweet ass” being “an absolute dump truck.”
As if I’d conjured her, my best friend appears in the doorway to our tiny bathroom, leaning leisurely against the jamb as she drinks her coffee.
“I have the hot goss for you, baby cakes. Guess who got engaged last week?”
Tris loves celebrity gossip. I feel my eyes skirt skyward again. “Uh… Khloe Kardashian? Ariana… Gigante?”
“It’s Grande,” she smirks. “And no. This is a couple you actually have a shot at styling for. Someone we know.”
I rack my brain before shrugging. “Who?”
Her smile takes on a wicked gleam. “Graham Everett proposed to Juliet Rivera.”
I gape in disbelief. Tris tried to tell me that she thought there was something going on between Mr. Stryker’s lawyer and his broker, but I didn’t believe her. I should have known better; Tris can pick up on sexual tension from three blocks away.
“What a bad bitch, right? She met Graham Everett—the biggest man whore in Manhattan—six weeks ago and already wore that motherfucker down. Five-carat diamond from Tiffany’s and everything.” She shakes her head in awe. “A legend. I’ve gotta ask her for blow job tips.”
I snort as I brush powder over my nose. “I’m sure that won’t be weird at all. Next time you guys have a boardroom meeting, fire away.”
Tris chortles. “I don’t know why you don’t make more jokes. You are hilarious, Alley Cat.”
“Probably too busy trying to adult,” I muse, mulling over her new-client suggestion… and recalling the voicemail I found on my phone this morning. I need to call Mama back… I’ve been avoiding her all week.
“Uh-oh,” Tris chirps, reading me easily. “You have your Mommy Dearest face on.”
I groan into my perfectly prepared cup of coffee. “She wants to visit. She says that the wait from Christmas to Easter is too long.”
Tris scoffs. “Tell her to enjoy the Marriott.”
Ah, yes. Last time Mama visited, I believe Tris’s exact words were, “If she thinks she’s staying under my roof while she calls me a ho, that Southern Belle Bitch can bite me.”
I don’t realize I’ve started nervous-humming until Tris begins singing along. Apparently, I was halfway through the second verse from a Madonna song. She hits a high note, and I glare from across the living room.
“Okay, okay,” she giggles. “Where are you off to today?”
I think about my favorite little bookstore and its tiny coffee corner and smile. “I have some calls to make for Ella and reading to catch up on. I’ll be at Book Club.”
Tris shoots me a look as close to scolding as she’s capable of. “Remember, you’re out of shelves. And money. And for fuck’s sake—do not get on the subway.”
By the time I get to Book Club, my cheeks are wind-burned, and I don’t even want to know what my curls look like. I avoid looking in the mirrored wall along the front of the shop as I step off the pavement, entering through the wide glass door.
Inside, the long, narrow space is blessedly quiet, apart from an espresso machine whirring on the bar along the right-hand wall.
Beyond that, shelves cover every inch of the space, laden with books of every color and size.
A single stained-glass window with mismatched panes shines with morning sun at the back of the shop, illuminating a small circle of vacant leather club chairs.
“Alice,” Amber, the barista, grunts. She isn’t friendly, but she does remember me. Usually. “What do you want?”
I bite the corner of my lip, debating. I only have ten dollars budgeted for today. But is it rude to sit and work without ordering something? Ordinarily, I’d get a pot of their oolong tea… and I am thirsty after walking twenty blocks.
While I try to decide, the door opens again, sending a burst of fresh air into the space behind me. “Whatever she’s having,” a familiar voice says, followed by heavy footsteps. “Double it.”