Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Recording had taken longer than Vivian hoped. Given that her morning began with Athena splitting her skull open to emerge fully armored and screaming, it was a miracle they’d finished at all.
If she hadn’t needed to stop so often to breathe through the nausea and chug water, they’d have finished by six. But of course, working on the weekend wasn’t the only rule she’d put herself in a position to break.
It was nearly nine when Bryn popped open the booth door to let in a rush of cool air. Vivian stayed at her laptop, eyes fixed on the progress bar while she sent Harvey the remaining files. For the second time, she’d finished Magpies.
Part of Vivian was annoyed that it felt different this time. That Bryn had been a perfect Maggie. That she’d brought a magic to the project that defied explanation. Brought that intangible it Vivian begrudgingly felt like gravity pressing down on her, slowly, incessantly, undeniably.
“Here,” Bryn said while Vivian was still at the computer ensuring the file transfer finished.
When Vivian glanced at the door, there was Bryn, eyes bright and features soft and expression expectant. Vivian was all but ensnared by the shape of Bryn’s mouth. A mouth made for effortless smiles and nervous chatter. She forced her attention to the small plate Bryn carried.
“What’s that?”
Bryn’s gaze shot down and quickly back to Vivian.
Wry grin firmly in place, she replied, “Well, in some cultures they represent beauty, in others knowledge, and”—she quirked an unplucked brow—“we can’t forget temptation.
” She moistened her lips, aura glowing with self-satisfaction.
“Here, we just call them apples.” She stepped into the sound booth, offering her the plate of sliced fruit.
“It’ll hydrate your mouth.” Bryn’s cheeks flushed pink, igniting her freckles when she tossed Vivian’s words from a lifetime ago back at her. “Quiets your stomach, too.”
God, Bryn was pleased with herself. The display should’ve been irritating, but it triggered a foreign chemical reaction. A flutter. A squeeze.
“Cute,” Vivian replied because thank you sounded so small. Too small to convey the pathetic truth that Vivian couldn’t remember the last time anyone fed her without being contractually obligated to do so. Bryn had done it three times now.
It was such a stupid, small thing. Sliced fruit on a salad plate. But Vivian couldn’t stop staring at it. The kindness was unbearable. A move she couldn’t counter. And yet, she couldn’t help but lament that there wouldn’t be a fourth time.
An unnerving, aching heat bloomed in Vivian’s chest and clawed toward her throat. She was going to reach for the plate when her phone, mercifully, rang. Whatever had made her want to accept Bryn’s offer, it couldn’t happen again.
“Harvey?” she muttered before answering.
“I know, I know. We’re outside business hours, but I figure if you’re emailing me while working overtime, I can repay the favor.”
Vivian turned immediately dubious. A more familiar emotion than whatever the fuck had just taken over her body. “Favor?”
Harvey chuckled like a little kid trying and failing to conceal himself during hide-and-go-seek. “Call the poor schlub working the security gate and tell ’em you’re ready for the delivery.”
“Harvey, what are you—”
“Oh, humor me, will you?” His good mood was irrepressible. “Before you punt poor Bryn over the castle wall, accept my gift. My congratulations on a job well done.”
Vivian rolled her eyes and reached for an apple slice. She kept her attention on a curious-looking Bryn when she spoke into the phone.
“Fine,” she said, relenting, before she crunched.
Two minutes later, Vivian was staring at the monstrosity waiting at her front door. The cellophane-wrapped behemoth was less of a basket and more of a wicker monument to gaudiness.
She hoisted it onto her hip like a chubby toddler and carried it out to where Bryn was sitting cross-legged on the patio sofa.
“Oh my God. What the hell is that?” Bryn’s wide-eyed expression was equal parts curiosity and awe.
“A minuscule token of congratulations,” Vivian said dryly before setting the heavy thing down on the coffee table across from the sofa.
Bryn reached for the gold tag hanging from the gold bow holding the gathered plastic together. She flipped it over and read, “‘To the only Maggie and Jo. Good work. — Harvey.’”
“All this for us?” Bryn scanned the tacky horn of plenty. “What the heck is in here?”
“Only one way to find out,” Vivian heard herself say when she should have replied with a flat, obviously.
Bryn tore through cellophane like the secret to world peace was waiting at the center. Vivian leaned back, arm resting across the back of the couch.
A bottle of Dom Pérignon reigned over a plethora of jars and pouches and boxes.
At its ostentatious side, two Baccarat flutes with Magpies engraved in the crystal.
Probably delirious, Vivian imagined the small-batch cheeses, cured meats, handcrafted chocolates, imported olives, and gourmet popcorn were the subjects in Dom’s kingdom.
Jesus. She needed some fucking sleep.
“What, no caviar? What a cheapskate,” Bryn said with a laugh while she poked through the offerings. She pulled the bottle free to look at it. “I bet you have one of those fancy things that immediately chills stuff to the perfect temperature for optimal enjoyment.”
She did, but there was no way she was consuming another drop of alcohol for a few months. Not with the aura of a headache still looming.
“You take it,” Vivian said with a tilt of her chin. And then, as if she needed confirmation that exhaustion had taken all her brain cells hostage, she added. “Share it with someone special.”
Bryn’s responding high-pitched laugh made Vivian raise both brows. But the unexpected sound wasn’t responsible for the electric buzz in her fingertips warming her blood better than the steamy night.
“Oh, yeah. One of my three roommates would love—” Bryn stopped abruptly and this time the flush on her face made Vivian want to shift in her seat. Made her want to banish the unnecessary embarrassment.
“I once stayed in a decommissioned taco truck for an entire summer,” Vivian said without elaborating on how dark her days had gotten before she clawed herself back to stability.
“So, if you have a private bathroom, you’re doing all right.
Take the damn Dom.” She couldn’t absorb the way Bryn’s eyes softened. “And hand me those truffle crackers.”
Bryn beamed her gratitude like a spotlight. There was nowhere to hide from attention like that. It singed her edges anyway and Vivian fought the instinct to fold in on herself as the heat crawled up her neck.
“Sure you don’t want something a little more exciting?
” Bryn shifted to the edge of her seat and looked through the basket.
“Jeez, is everything truffle-infused?” she muttered before pulling out a sleeve of beautiful macaroons.
She laughed. “Found one thing. I think even the freaking olives are dipped in truffles.”
“The crackers are fine,” she replied before adding, “and some cheese.”
Bryn’s delight was blinding when she held up two options. “Truffle brie or something that’s absolutely going to stink when we open it?”
“The one without living bacteria.” Vivian bit back her smile. “I only take my botulism by injection.”
Bryn laughed before passing the brie. “You could knock out Colonel Mustard in the library with this thing,” she said, hefting a silver cheese knife before handing it over.
While Vivian sliced the brie on a small board, Bryn went back to the basket.
“Hand-picked olives from France,” Bryn said before Vivian popped a perfect cheese and cracker bite. “Oh, tuna belly in oil.” She lifted a tin. “No cartoon fish on the box? Classless.”
Tearing through a bag of gourmet popcorn, Bryn leaned back to meet Vivian’s gaze. “What is the absolute fanciest meal you’ve ever eaten?”
Vivian finished another bite while she considered the question. She should send Bryn home with the basket and go to bed. She was tired and should have been at the end of her social battery, but she couldn’t make herself get up. Couldn’t force herself to say goodnight.
“There was a supper club in Napa,” Vivian heard herself say. “The chef’s identity was this big secret.” She rolled her eyes at herself, remembering how badly she’d wanted to be seen walking into the hyper-exclusive restaurant. “Reservations were impossible to get.”
“But you got one,” Bryn said, like she wanted Vivian to tell the story faster.
Vivian tipped her head to the side in silent agreement. For once, a memory of her former life arrived without teeth clamped around her larynx. The rare, uncomplicated pleasure of having flown in a private jet for the first time with people much further up on the Hollywood food chain.
“Was the food incredible?” Bryn’s eyes were the blue of a flame looking for oxygen to consume and Vivian’s lungs were stupid enough to burn. “Tell me everything.”
It was indulgent to draw out such a simple story. An excess Vivian shouldn’t allow herself. But the night was warm and Bryn was leaning toward her like there was nowhere else she wanted to be than in her company.
“We were swept from a private airport in a limo...” She paused, tilting her head to one side. “Do you know what a limo—”
“Jesus, Vivian. I know what the hell a limo is.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t hold back her smile, lopsided and amused. “I’ve watched plenty of old movies.” Bryn’s emphasis on the word old was so over-the-top Vivian almost laughed.