Chapter Twenty-Eight – Verity
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
VERITY
I groan into my pillow for the thirtieth time since waking up.
Memories of last night play on a loop in my mind, and I have absolutely zero control over my emotions. One minute I’m frustrated, then ashamed, and then turned on. I can’t seem to settle down, spiraling into a mental abyss of confusion.
In the moment, it had seemed like a great idea. In the light of day, I’m second-guessing myself. Kind of. I don’t regret what happened, but my fear is still bubbling below the surface.
The door to my bedroom flings open, scaring me half to death.
“Jesus, Hannah.”
Her eyes dart around the room. “You’re alone?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“BestieTrack shows you came home at like ten. So, I thought maybe y’all came back here for some bow-chicka-wow-wow, knowing I’d be gone.” She places a hand on her hip. As per usual, she’s still in the outfit she left in last night.
“What’re you on about?”
“You went to the ballet, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And?” She waves her hand in a forward motion, gesturing me for more.
More of what, I have no clue.
“And it was great?”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
She lets out a sigh. “Fine. Fine. We’ll talk about this later. Get ready, we have brunch plans.”
“What? Since when? With whom?”
“My new friend.”
“Seriously, Han. Since when do you drag me out of the house on Sundays?”
“Since I felt like it.”
We walk arm in arm down the street, her energy at full charge while mine is barely at fifty percent.
She’s been this way since we met in college—running on zero sleep and somehow still a functioning human.
I’ve never met anyone quite like her, someone who can seemingly juggle ten things at once and not drop a single ball.
There are times when I’ve been worried that she might crack, when I’ve thought that maybe the steel skin she wears isn’t as bulletproof as I’d assumed.
There was one time our junior year when she shut down, but even then, she bounced back like nothing had happened.
Hannah’s always looked out for me, and I just hope that she will let me do the same.
“Here’s the place.”
She swings us into a busy restaurant. I recognize it as one of the ones we pass all the time but never bothered trying because the wait times are always atrocious.
It’s supposedly where the who’s who of society goes for weekend brunch, which has me a little on edge because the prices are on the higher side.
“You never said who we were meeting.”
Hannah continues to tug me into the restaurant before bypassing the hostess stand and weaving through the tables to the door that leads to the outdoor seating we passed.
“There she is.”
I follow her finger to a blonde girl wearing large sunglasses sitting at the farthest table. Something about her prickles my brain.
We get closer and the blonde looks up from her phone, a glossy smile spreading across her face as she lifts her sunglasses onto the top of her head.
My feet falter.
What on earth was the Bridget Vaughn doing here?
“Hey, Hannah.” She stands up and shuffles around the table to give my best friend a giant hug.
I am literally so confused right now.
“Hey. Sorry, hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Not at all! I did pop in an order of oysters, though.”
“Love! And thanks. This one took forever to get ready.” She tosses a hand back to me, as though I wasn’t the one waiting for her to get her eyeliner into the perfect wing.
I ignore my desire to call her out and instead hold my hand out to Bridget, which I retroactively realize is a little weird. Should I hug her? I mean, she’s Bridget Vaughn .
“Hi, I’m Verity.”
“Bridget.” Her palm is warm as she shakes my hand.
“How do you two know each other?”
Hannah shrugs. “We met the other day.”
Not helpful.
“I had Hannah help me with something, and we got to chatting when she DMed me later.” Bridget offers me a softer smile.
I met Bridget for all of three seconds the other week at the Kelton event. We didn’t even exchange words. I’d just seen her with her hands looped around Cullen’s arm before I dragged Celine away.
She’d never come up in conversation, but they’d given the impression of being close.
Either that or she’d been hitting on Cullen.
Considering she is engaged to Frankie Jones, I doubt the second scenario.
Except Bridget is known for being notoriously messy in the media and branded as an airhead.
I grew up seeing the most outlandish articles about her doing stuff only rich kids could get away with.
There was a time when I’d idolized her, wanted a life of freedom and opulence like hers, but as I got older, I realized just how sad her story really was.
I’m still not sure what’s going on here but decide to put my questions on the back burner.
Hannah and I take our seats at the square table, sitting opposite Bridget, who has her giant designer handbag perched on the seat beside her. The table is set for six people, which seems a little odd.
“You’re working with Frankie, right?” Bridget grabs the two champagne flutes in front of Hannah and me and starts filling them up with what at first looks like orange juice, but I assume is mimosa, from a large carafe at the end of the table.
“Yeah, my team is in charge of his merch branding. My coworker is leading it, but I’m joining the meeting next week.”
“I hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble. I know he can be a little bit chaotic at times.” She slides the full flute across the table.
“Thanks, and no, it’s been going fine.”
Lie.
But I’m not going to tell Bridget that her fiancé is, in fact, one of the most chaotic clients I’ve seen in a hot minute.
He changes his mind every five seconds but also takes forever to respond to any of our emails.
Anne is constantly on the phone with his manager to follow up on things, and I suspect she is slowly coming to regret taking on the project.
Which is how I have finally been dragged into it so I can help control some of the chaos that seems to be swirling.
Frankie is one of those influencers who thinks he is hot shit because of the number of followers he has and that it means everyone else will bend to his every whim, no matter how ridiculous it is.
I personally have no clue what Bridget could possibly see in him, but I guess she is also a child of chaos.
“I’ll leave him in your care then, babes.” She clinks her glass to mine and takes a decent sip. “What about your nonwork life, how’s that going? Do anything fun recently?”
“My life is pretty boring.” I let out an awkward laugh.
Compared to her, I probably seem like a total stick in the mud. The most exciting part of my week was Hannah coming home with a new pint of mint chocolate ice cream that I proceeded to devour while watching our real estate reality show.
“Really? You haven’t done anything fun lately?” Bridget’s gaze flicks to Hannah, and there’s something off about it.
Hannah tosses a wry grin and slaps her hand on my shoulder. “You went to the ballet last night, right?”
“Yeah.”
Although, the ballet doesn’t seem like something Bridget Vaughn would find exciting.
“The ballet? Tell me more!”
Okay, maybe I’m wrong, because the level of enthusiasm she just injected into her voice was like I told her I went to an amusement park.
I can’t help this off feeling that continues to poke the back of my skull.
“Hannah scored a free ticket to Swan Lake, so I went and saw it last night.”
The waitress comes by and drops a large assortment of oysters on the center of the table, complete with little dipping sauces, lemon slices, and fresh herbs. I’ve never tried them before, and they look intimidating.
“And?” Bridget’s eyes flutter expectantly as she downs one of the oysters with practiced ease.
It gives me a weird sense of déjà vu; she’s acting the same as Han did this morning.
“And it was a good time.” I take a tentative sip of my mimosa, bouncing my gaze between the two of them.
“That’s it? Nothing fun or scandalous happened? No hot man sweeping you off your feet?”
Dread sinks into my gut.
That was oddly on the nose.
Oh God. Does she know?
Do they both know?
How would they know?
Was it the employee?
Do other people know?
Is there some sort of viral post circulating about it?
Bridget knows Cullen, but would he have said something? That doesn’t seem like him.
Calm down, Verity. Breathe.
“Scandalous? Come on, it was a ballet.” That same awkward laugh leaves my lips again, but this time it is paired with a very strained smile.
I’m not ashamed about what happened with Cullen, but that doesn’t mean I have any desire to air it out. I put up such a stink the last two weeks, complaining about Cullen every five seconds to Hannah, that I am going to seem like such a hypocrite for caving.
It is totally out of character for me. Having sex in a public place has never been on my bucket list, let alone getting fingered.
If you’d told me a month ago that I would let a man give me an orgasm at the opera house, I’d have laughed till I turned blue and asked if you’d gotten me confused with someone else.
But here I am, extremely confused with all the emotions coursing through me. I have no idea what the hell I am doing about Cullen. Every fiber of my being wants to be with him, but my head still holds onto a sliver of rationality that it is a dangerous risk.
“Your cheeks are red.” Hannah narrows her eyes. “Come on, spill.”
“My cheeks are not red.”
“Verity.”
“Hannah.” I take another sip of my mimosa, realizing that I’ve now finished the entire thing in my attempt at avoiding this conversation.
“Ohmigod, this is torture. I can’t.” Bridget briefly tosses her head back in exasperation. She lets out a small huff through her pert nose and rests her elbows on the table, leaning as close as she can across the marble tabletop. “Did you see Cullen last night or not?”
The metaphorical bandage is ripped off.
The teeny spark of hope I’d been holding that maybe she didn’t know snuffs out.
“Bridget,” Hannah admonishes.
“What? She was just going to keep avoiding it, and I’m impatient.”
Hannah sighs and proceeds to grab an oyster, topping it with a red sauce before eating it. My words are still stuck in my throat, jaw locked tight. Hannah’s heel kicks me sideways under the table with more force than necessary. I glare at her, and she glares back.
“Fine.” I huff. “Yes, I saw him.”
“Now, was that so hard?” Bridget refills my champagne flute and hands it back to me, her Cartier bracelets shining in the sun.
“How the hell did you two even know?”
“Cullen didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I take a much-needed sip of alcohol.
“He bought your ticket.”
I choke on the alcohol.
“What?” I whip my head to Hannah. “I thought your boss…”
“You really thought my boss, the supertech finance bro who makes us do a company-wide mini golf tournament once a month, had a spare ballet ticket?”
“I don’t know his life!”
“Well, let me tell you, he gives zero fucks about the ballet, hon.”
“Most men don’t, including Cullen. Unless there is a certain girl involved piquing that interest.” Bridget chimes in. “Kinda cute, no?”
God, this is just another thing for me to tack onto the never-ending list of stuff this frustratingly attractive man has done to win me over.
It was one thing for him to go to the ballet because he remembered it was something I love, but it was an entirely different story that he’d gone out of his way to get me a ticket as well—and a damn great ticket at that, one that I told him I’d never splurge on for myself.
I shouldn’t be melting over something as simple as a man listening to me, but the bar society has set is pretty low.
“So that’s how you two met? In your conspiratorial quest to get me to meet with Cullen?”
“The two of them cornered me on my lunch break. The dedication was sweet.” Hannah shrugs.
“Wait, you saw him?”
“Yup.” She gives me one of her feline grins. “He’s hot. Older than what I’d go for, but I get why he’s got you all flustered.”
I groan, rubbing my temples.
“So, what happened? Did you two make up? Did the magic of the ballet weave your souls back together?”
I peek at Hannah through my fingers. “Maybe I gave him more of the silent treatment and the night was a failed stalemate. Did you ever consider that in your grand plan?”
She snorts. “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t be avoiding the topic this much unless you had something to hide.”
This is the downside to knowing someone for six years.
“We talked a little.”
Hannah says nothing. She just gives me a pointed up-and-down appraisal with her judgmental side-eye and slightly raised brow.
Damn her.
“Fine. We kissed. Okay?”
Bridget squeals, clasping her hands together.
“Knew it.” Hannah’s lips melt into a gloating grin. “Hot make-out sesh, right?”
“I am not going into details.”
“Oh my God. Did you do more than kiss?”
“W-what?” The word stutters out of me.
“Oh, you totally did. You’re still acting all cagey. What aren’t you telling me? Come on, Vee. Gimme the juicy details. I doubt it’s anything I haven’t done before.”
“There are no juicy details.” I take a desperate sip of my mimosa to busy my mouth.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” She pokes me in the shoulder. “Did y’all do it in the bathroom? The taxi?”
“Ew, do you know how unsanitary that would be?”
“You had sex with him?” Bridget’s doe eyes bounce between us, like she’s watching some entertaining show play out before her.
“I did not say that.”
In the midst of all our bickering, a shadow falls across the table.
“And here I thought you didn’t kiss and tell, angel.”