Chapter 7
SEVEN
HANNAH
“She didn’t save my life.”
“It sure looks like she did,” Ember says through the car speaker, not helping the situation.
“I know,” I groan, my foot heavy on the gas of my pink Mini. It matches my oversized blazer and blush Chanel purse. The ensemble I’m hoping helps land my interview. “Now everyone’s asking about The Hill’s new heroine.”
The first thing I saw when I woke up this morning was the photos from last night. Me in Krystal’s arms all over social media from varying angles. Everyone on campus is talking about it. Well, talking about her.
“At least you didn’t burn down their house,” Ember says.
Right now, I wish I did.
Glancing at the clock on the white display, I’m way behind schedule.
Nightmares kept me tossing and turning all night.
Images of me in a roaring fire with he-who-shall-not-be-named.
What’s worse? We were having sex in that fire.
His body melting into mine, his sweaty hands all over my skin.
What’s even worse than that? He had a glass shard in his hand, and he pressed it against some places I’d rather not say.
I woke up sweaty and bothered and won’t admit to anyone how I eventually got back to sleep.
Hooooonk!
Someone’s horn blasts me back to reality as I grip the wheel, swerving back into my lane. Chill, Hannah. There's no way I'm dominating this interview if I don’t focus.
“Uh, should I let you go?” Ember asks.
“You’re not nearly as distracting as he is.” With a breath, I turn onto the main street of Paradise Hill. Smooth pavement guides my drive between manicured hedges and curated flowerbeds.
"I thought you weren't gonna retaliate," Ember says, annoyingly.
"He tried to steal my friends," I argue. "By the way, thanks for your help last night." This only reminds me that none of the posse have even called to check in. No texts. No voice notes. Nothing in the group chat.
His words play in my head.
What friends?
And that knot in my stomach twists.
"I'm sorry, Hannah,” Ember says. “You’re right, I didn’t have your back. To be honest, I didn't expect you to show up. Give me a heads up next time, and I promise I’ll be by your side.”
"Well, that’s more than Chloe, Marisol, or Zurie can say,” I sigh. “Wait, Ember?" I can’t believe I’m asking her this, but at this point, I need backup. “Do you want to be part of the Posse?” It’s hard not to wince when I ask, as if she can see me.
A pause, then a loud laugh takes over. Enough for me to turn down the volume. “Respectfully, no. I don’t think I have the wardrobe to keep up, but that’s a kind offer.”
My shoulders fall. “It's just... I thought my posse would have my back. They’re meant to be my friends.” Pulling into a parking space in front of a modern glass building, I put my car in park and check my makeup in the mirror. "But they've been such a bummer."
“I can still be your friend without being part of your posse.”
“You sure about that?” I remember the way she looked at me when I snapped at Mac. She’s loyal to him. Not me. Everyone in The Hill is loyal to whoever gets them ahead.
“Would a friend call to check in on you when your face is plastered all over social media in tattered Versace?”
“So you do know your brands.”
“Believe it or not, I’m still dating Malcolm McKinsley.”
A smile tickles my face, but it vanishes when I remember why my dress was tattered.
My cheeks heat, thinking about the way he handled me.
The way he stared at me. The way he made me turn to complete mush.
Fucking embarrassing. Standing in a fire with the enemy shouldn’t have turned me on.
Ryung Rowen shouldn’t have made me feel that way.
"Break a leg, Hannah.” Ember pulls me out of my thoughts. "You got this." She sends me more luck before ending the call, but I won’t need it.
I’m built for this world.
Stepping out of my car in my Prada sling-backs, I make my way to the entrance and do my best to push all the feels from last night aside. “I own this. I own this town. And I own this internship.”
Once through the concrete and gold lobby, I ride the elevator to the top floor.
To Nam Atelier, my dream. Lifting my head high, all the drama from last night rolls off my shoulders as I stare at one of Michelle’s designs framed on the elevator wall.
It's a spin on a wedding dress, using red and gold instead of the traditional white. I’ve waited for this moment since I was a kid.
Landing this internship as a Junior will be iconic.
I’m iconic.
Ding!
The elevator chimes. The doors open.
My jaw tightens.
It’s hard to think about the future when something’s blocking your path. Make that someone.
“Marisol?” The name is quick out of my mouth, confusion and disbelief coming with it.
Marisol looks more and more like me every day. Instead of champagne pink, her almost identical suit is a powder blue. Hers is much less fitted to her stick-thin frame thanks to a certain pharmaceutical trend. Marisol smirks as she stands right next to Michelle Nam, my future boss.
This doesn’t look good.
My eyes move to the phone in Marisol’s hand, the screen tilted to Michelle. And when Michelle looks up, it’s not the look I dreamed of. I’m not sure what to address first. Marisol’s presence or Michelle’s death glare.
“I didn’t realize this was a group interview.” I choose to address them both, my hand gripping tight on my bag. “I understood the position was only open to the most qualified.”
“It is,” Michelle says. She looks amazing for her age, even as she scowls at me, her makeup minimal.
“And from the looks of it, I was mistaken about who meets those qualifications. Nam Atelier is more than fabric. It’s a lifestyle.
I’m looking for someone to match our integrity, our elegance. Our poise.”
“Then what’s Marisol doing here?”
“Marisol is here showing initiative and care for the brand.” Michelle takes Marisol’s phone and aims it at me.
Oh, fuck.
My knees literally shake when my eyes zero in on the photo from last night, Krystal cradling me in her arms like some sapphic love story. Now I have a death glare. And it’s pointed at Marisol.
How could she?
“Miss Nam, I can explain.” My heart races as quickly as I speak. “If you’ll just give me a moment, we can sit down and talk about this.”
“Did you or did you not start this fire in my home?”
“Is there proof that I did?” Was there a video? Is this photo all they have?
“I have enough reason to believe it's true,” Michelle says, and I feel sick. “You should be grateful my daughter was there to save you.”
“I’d never want to tarnish the Nam brand. I’ve been following you since I was a little girl. I made my mother buy my first Nam ribbon bow tie. I—”
“That’s very sweet, but in this industry, we don’t have time for mistakes and inviting you here today was that.
A mistake. My home studio is precious.” My mind flashes back to last night.
Rye’s body pressed against mine, his mother’s letter opener against my body.
Why does he make me freeze up like that?
“It was precious. You've ruined my pieces. Every dollar that I bleed affects my brand.” I should be listening to her, but my mind is on whatever’s gotten into her son.
I’ve never seen him this involved in anything.
Not even hockey. “The damages and fees I have to pay to get that place together are horrendous.” Remembering his skin on mine, his piercing eyes, makes my skin tingle all over again.
“It’ll take months to recover from the work I lost.”
I zone back in on her last words. “I can help!”
“You’ve done enough. You’re lucky I don’t charge you or your parents, but I would rather not humiliate the Alfonsos. Your father is on our board.”
“Michelle—”
She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Thank you for your time, but your candidacy ends here. Consider yourself lucky, Hannah.” She turns to Marisol. “I’ll see you in June.” And with that, she turns towards a long hallway, disappearing out of sight.
With a smug fucking smile, Marisol walks last year’s Jimmy Choos to the elevator.
I slip in behind her. “You have some nerve.” Stepping to her, my fists clench. Marisol doesn’t look afraid of me. She’s not startled or bothered, and that’s new, but I want answers. “When did you apply for an internship at Nam Atelier? You’re not even studying fashion or art.”
“I am studying business.”
“And you’ll be studying how to cover up a scandal about you and the entire football team if you don’t tell me what’s really going on. You sold me out.”
“You sold yourself out when you threw Rye to the media.”
My nails dig into my palms. “You did this for him?”
“Rye and Krystal made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She pulls out her silver compact, checking her makeup like I’m boring her.
Ding!
The doors open before she pushes her chest against mine, backing me against the elevator rail. “Face it, your time is over, Hannah.” Then she turns towards the main lobby doors with a cunty smile.
“You don’t deserve to be in the Posse!” I call after her.
She shrugs, her keys dangling off her shitty manicure. “Turns out, you don’t deserve this internship.” She walks away as the elevator doors begin to close on me. I catch them, my body frozen.
Her words echo in my ears as I make my way to my car.
Rye and Krystal made me an offer I couldn’t refuse
Standing alone in the parking lot, the sun feels like a thousand degrees as I try to breathe. But his words in my head just won’t let up.
You’re mine to play with. Mine to torment. Mine to ruin.
I slam the door as I climb into my car. Reaching for my emergency pack of Cocktail Sobranie, I light a pink one as the last twenty-four hours swirl through my head. It’s all so humiliating. Infuriating.
Fuck turning over a new leaf.
This new Hannah isn’t cutting it.
Rye
“Rowen! You back on the team?”
Vince, one of our defensemen, greets me when I walk into Coach’s office, the smell of leather and sweat in the air. He sits in the large sofa in the middle of the oversized space, our logo embroidered into the leather.
“Coach around?” I ask, checking the clock on my phone to confirm I’m on time.
Vince shrugs, hockey highlights on the large flatscreen in front of him. Around him, glass cases hold trophies and medals from over the years, some older than our great-grandfathers. My eyes linger on a framed team photo. The Crowns stand in the middle, Gray and Mac on either side of me.
“Rowen, I got a question.” Vince appears by my side as my phone vibrates in my black denim.
“Bet you’re gonna ask it,” I respond, checking the notification.
Marisol: I got the job! Thank you :) Dinner later?
Ryung: can’t. busy.
“You and Hannah.” My eyes shoot up to him, my muscles tightening. “Are you guys a thing?”
Heat pricks my neck. “Why do you ask, Vince?” Stepping towards him, he takes a step back.
“I-I mean, I’ve been thinking about it. She hasn’t dated Mac in a while, and he’s with Ember now. B-but if you’re together then I-I swear I won’t.”
“Go for it, Vince.”
“You sure?” His brows knit. “‘Cause it sounds like I shouldn’t go for it.”
“Touch her,” I growl. “I dare you.”
“Rowen. You made it.” Coach’s voice comes from the door. “Vince, can you give us the room?”
Vince nods, heading towards the door. “We’ll circle back, Rowen!” He’s more annoying than usual today, but I don’t have the energy for that. Right now, it’s showtime.
“Coach. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with me.” I use the business voice my father taught me so well, following as he moves towards his desk.
“Well, your parents are legacy students,” he says, sitting in his big leather chair. “It’s the least I can do.” Coach fits the classic description of one. Bearded. Dad bod. SBU sportswear. Wrinkled and tired from the overwhelming disappointment of never going pro.
“Thank you.” I can’t believe I’m sitting here, taking this shit because of her. But if I want my life back, it’s worth it.
“So, you want back on the team after you fucked my wife and humiliated me in front of the entire town?” Coach always cuts to the chase.
So do I. “Correct,” I reply. “But first, I’m going to be a man and apologize for—”
“Oh, an apology?” A voice comes from the door.
A voice that makes the hairs on my arm stand on end.
Turning to that voice, Hannah stands at the door in nothing but an SBU hockey jersey. My old one.
“Perfect,” she says, those glossy lips upturning. “I’m just on time.”