Chapter 7
Liam
How’s Iris?” I ask Jasmine, handing her an iced latte from the office building’s lobby cafe.
She looks up from the document on her computer screen outlining an article.
“Iris is great. We’re going out again tonight.
I do love it when you ask about my life without any ulterior motives.
It makes me feel loved, cared for, and not used at all.
” She swivels in her chair to face me and smirks, taking a long sip of the coffee, draining it a quarter of the way in one go. “The bribe is a nice touch, though.”
“I just haven’t heard back from Henri about the article,” I say. “And I’m worried that I messed up. The only reason she’d ignore me is that she’s mad, right?”
I’ve played back that night a thousand times, both in my head and relistening to the recording.
She has a sultry scratchiness to her voice that seems to come from constant use, and I can’t get enough of it.
As someone who listens to a lot of recordings, I’d like to think I know a thing or two about a good voice.
But my favorite part?
About halfway through, she changed, just relaxed.
Juliet is put together with clean-cut professionalism.
Henri? Oh, Henri is just a touch weird—the best type that draws you in and entices you to be yourself.
Laughing and saying whatever’s on her mind.
Dancing around her room barefoot in an evening gown at two in the morning.
So why haven’t I heard back from her yet? It’s been three days since the article, but a week since I sent her the pre-print.
“The article? That’s the only thing you want to talk to her about?” Jasmine cocks a brow.
“I—”
“Liam, would you come meet me in my office?” Fallon asks as she strides by us, heading toward her glass-walled office.
“What do you think that’s about?” Iris asks. “Cause the article about Henri? Whoo.” She fans herself with a copy of last month’s issue.
“I guess I’m about to find out.”
I shrug, then follow Fallon, not wanting to keep her waiting.
The response to the article has been great. It’s the most traction I’ve gotten on anything really. It feels like a punch in the gut that my career seems to be taking off just before it ends. At least I’ll have this high note to reflect back on.
I close the door behind me as I enter Fallon’s office. The space is chic with mid century modern leather furniture, warm wood finishes, and a few strategically placed plants that provide pops of color.
“Go ahead and take a seat,” Fallon says from behind her desk as she flicks open her silver laptop.
I do as she instructs. “What did you need to talk about?”
“You’re single, right?” she asks so casually that it takes me a moment to register her words.
She can’t mean . . .
“Um . . . I . . . I’m sorry, but I think I’m missing something?” I stammer.
Fallon types something quickly then lowers the screen most of the way.
“Just making sure there wouldn’t be any complications for a follow-up piece.
We have the opportunity to push your initial article further.
Instead of just an interview about what it’s like to be a professional plus-one, why not go out with her and get the real experience.
You’ve had a viral moment and we need to capitalize on it.
I know I’m asking even more of you but our site traffic doubled and those numbers will really help us close the quarter on a high note and help me justify increasing our budget to the board. ”
“I can reach out, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to book something—she’s a busy person,” I rush to say. A week, that’s an appropriate amount of time for a follow-up email, right? There’s always a chance my first one got buried in her inbox.
Yeah, Liam, stay delusional. This is the girl who only invited you over because you got sexiled.
She didn’t even want to be around me when I offered to buy her food.
Still . . . By the end of the night there was something between us.
Time felt like it had stood still. I could have watched her try on clothes until the sun came up.
I can’t make myself delete the pictures of her on my phone even though I don’t need them anymore.
I could have just read the whole thing wrong; I’m not exactly great with people.
Growing up, kids my age were always my competitors and I was encouraged to never get too friendly with them.
I was trained to distrust and be sceptical of people’s motives.
In some ways, the mentality has helped me during interviews, allowing me to understand that people are often hiding something that’s worth finding, not to use against them as my father would urge us to do, but to understand.
But Henri, she’s a master of shapeshifting. She gave me scraps, answers that she knew I’d want to hear, but there were moments of more when she’d accidentally let something real slip out. I can’t quite nail her down, no matter how much I want to.
“Make sure she knows we’ll pay for her services. Ideally, we can do something for Christmas or New Years.” Fallon cocks her head as she weighs the possibilities. “If you can’t do it, I could see if someone else would be available.”
“No,” I say a bit too loudly, prompting Fallon to raise a brow. “I’ve got it, and she took a while to open up so I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to repeat that process now that I have a connection.” Really smooth, Liam. Not suspicious or desperate at all.
At least I now have an official excuse to send a second email, and I’ll be damned if she goes out with someone else.
“Great.” Fallon nods. “Thank you for stepping up. Know you'll always have a place here with us, if what you have back home doesn't work out.”
She opens her laptop again, and taking her dismissal, I head back to my desk.
That afternoon, I send Henri a follow up email with Fallon’s proposal.
I find myself clicking between my inbox and the tabs I have open for various top-selling colognes and men’s self-care items for a piece I’ve been asked to consult on.
From what Henri explained, she works evenings and does admin during the day.
She has to have seen my email. Is she ignoring me? Did she read the article and hate it?
When an argument breaks out about the sexiest Christmas movies, the entire office starts a voting poll and I welcome the distraction. The top contenders are Eyes Wide Shut and The Holiday—a battle between raw sensuality and Jude Law in glasses showing emotional vulnerability.
After work, I head back with Iris to our apartment, but she only sticks around long enough to change and touch up her lipstick.
I get food delivered and try to keep busy so I won’t check my email.
Around seven my phone lights up, pinging with a rapid influx of notifications.
Mom
Starting to build a list of snacks to have in the house when you visit. Send me ideas!
Pen
I don’t know what I want to eat tonight. How will I know what I want to eat in three weeks?
Me
Just make Pen get it when she comes back from Chamonix
June
Yeah, great idea if you want her to get crushed tomatoes instead of salsa
Pen
That was one time!
June
And there was a blizzard so we had nothing else.
Mom
Liam?
Me
I’m fine with whatever.
I hesitate for a moment, before typing.
Me
What if I brought someone home with me this year?
I’m just testing the water, laying the groundwork. I’m not saying I will bring someone home—if Henri says no, or I can’t get ahold of her, then I’ll just say plans have changed.
Pen
Shut the fuck up!!!
Mom
Language
Pen
FUCK
June
That would be great
Me
Not a sure thing, we’re still figuring out plans. Will let you know.
Mom messages me separately and there’s no avoiding answering her.
Mom
Your father’s had a hard time getting a hold of you. Please try to find some time to call him back.
Me
I’ll try.
I barely have time to press send before a Pen’s contact photo floods my screen with a FaceTime call. In her contact picture, she’s asleep in one of the lodge’s overstuffed chairs, hot chocolate staining her mouth, her honey-brown hair plastered to her head from wearing her helmet all day.
“You’re dating someone! Please tell me she’s cool and really into galleries or something so I can visit and do something interesting,” she chimes. “And why is this the first I’ve heard of this?
It’s late in Chamonix, but Pen is one of those people who sleeps at odd hours, crashing for naps between incredible bursts of high energy.
I think part of it is that she’s never in the same time zone for long.
She’s sponsored by the energy drink company BLITZ, and is in a constant cycle of being the subject of their high octane extreme sports content.
She also competes at national and international levels, but her one true love is adrenaline.
“It’s new. I’m only bringing it up to help with planning.
” And if by some miracle Henri replies, I want to start hinting at the relationship now.
It’s one of the things she mentioned during the interview, creating some sort of believable history to sell the date.
I also like talking about her with someone other than Jasmine.
“Have you told June already?” Pen hates being left out, always has. When we were younger, she always insisted on coming with us to the more challenging runs, which has led to Mom now blaming us for Pen’s extreme sports career.
June and I always have been the closest because we both specialized in Alpine Skiing and are only a year apart in age.
And with Pen being five years younger than me and primarily snowboarding, I rarely trained with her before I quit entirely.
Plus, there’s something about going through life with someone, experiencing nearly the same things as them, that creates an undeniable bond.
Still, after I quit skiing and moved away for college, that bond has been tested constantly.
“This is the first time I’m talking about it with any of you.”
“Good. Send me a picture. I want to see what she looks like.”
“Fine. Just don’t be weird about it. She’s private. Doesn’t have social media or anything,” I say.
Scrolling back through the photos from the other night, I select one of Henri in the red formal dress, draping limbs dramatically over a clothing rack.
From a technical standpoint, the lighting is terrible, all coming from dim floor lamps that cast diffuse shadows.
But Henri makes the photo phenomenal. Her blonde bob is messy from a long day, chocolate brown eyes rimmed with smudged mascara locked on me, and a casual smile teases her lips as she talks.
It’s the type of photo you find in a shoe box decades later and remember what it was like to be young.
Pen lets out a whistle of appreciation. “Shit. She’s hot. Does she smoke? She looks like she smokes skinny cigarettes and tells people they’re pretty in bar bathrooms.”
“She doesn’t smoke.” I have no idea but it’s a safe bet after not seeing any evidence of it.
But the question tugs at a part of me that wants to know.
Wants to see if after a night out she’ll take a cigarette if offered.
“And she’s nice. She really likes to understand people—cares about strangers more than most people do. ” This I know for sure.
“You have to bring her. I’m going to teach her to snowboard, since you’re out of practice and June is too uptight to teach her how to ski without scaring her off.”
I wince at the reminder. I haven’t been on the slopes much since my ACL tear at sixteen, only going out once or twice each time I visit to scratch an itch.
Before then I was on track with June to go pro, I practically lived in the snow.
Sportscasters ate it up—siblings destined for greatness to keep your eye on. Rising stars.
A new call from Jasmine comes onto my phone and I release a sigh of relief. “I bet she’d love that. Pen, I have to go. My roommate is trying to get a hold of me.”
I hang up and switch calls.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
But it’s not Jasmine who answers. Instead, Iris’s voice comes through the speaker. “I need you to go get Henri. She’s with a client right now and texted me she needs help.”
“Are you sure I should?” I ask, but I’m already on my feet, heading to the door.
“You’re closer than we are. Jas said the address is a block away from your place. And don’t you dare say no. It’s your fault she took this last minute job in the first place.”
Shoving my feet into my shoes, I balance my phone, pressing it between my cheek and shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m almost out the door. What do you mean it’s my fault?”
Iris sighs. “She doesn’t like talking about money, so she won’t tell me outright.
But after the article dropped she keeps getting these calls that I’m pretty sure are cancellations.
She told me about her date tonight at the last minute, which she never does.
So I’m assuming she’s only doing it because she needs to. ”
Shit. Well, at least I know why she’s not talking to me. I hate the idea that I might have pressured her into something that ended up hurting her.
“All right, send me the address.”