Chapter 15 Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
“I hate to say it, sweetie, but I don’t think calligraphy is your calling.” I set the latest handwritten thank-you card aside. “I’m so sorry.”
Carina stared forlornly at the remaining stack of blank stationery in front of her. “I know. I had high hopes, but my writing is atrocious.”
Scarlett, Carina, and I were huddled around the coffee table in my flat. Carina wanted to open a greeting card shop on Etsy and was currently practicing her calligraphy. Spoiler: it wasn’t going well.
I loved the girl, but trying to decipher her handwriting was like trying to decode a Cold War cipher text.
“I thought you liked working at the art gallery,” Scarlett said. “What happened?”
“It folded. Turns out the owner was embezzling money and ran off to the Caribbean with his mistress. I went in last night and everything was cleared out except for a stained rug and a pile of Post-its.”
Scarlett winced. “Oof.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even get paid for my last two weeks of work.”
“Look on the bright side.” I aimed for cheerful optimism. “The story’s so absurd, you could totally turn the experience into a screenplay. Pitch it to Hollywood, and bam! Instant fame and fortune.”
“I don’t think it’s as easy as you make it sound,” Carina said dryly.
“No, but it’s possible.” I squinted at the thank-you card. Were those Ns or Rs? “More possible than creating a greeting card empire, I’m afraid.”
Being a good friend meant knowing when to support your girl’s delusions and when to dish out some tough love.
Carina blew a strand of hair out of her eye in silent agreement. “I swear, I must’ve pissed off the career gods or something because I have the worst luck when it comes to second jobs.”
I couldn’t disagree.
Her lifelong dream was to visit the penguins in Antarctica. She’d been saving for years, but trips to Antarctica were ridiculously expensive, and her executive assistant’s salary didn’t go far in London to begin with. That was why she was determined to find the perfect side gig.
So far, she’d worked as a tutor, a barista, a professional survey participant, a gallery receptionist, and most recently, an aspiring but failed Etsy seller. All of them had ended in disaster.
“You could try the barista gig again,” I said. “My local café is hiring, and your coffee’s gotten, um, better.”
Scarlett’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” she whispered when Carina was distracted with organizing the stationery. “She can’t make coffee. She’ll go to prison for murder!”
“I’m trying to help,” I whispered back. “You come up with ideas then.”
Scarlett was being dramatic, but Carina’s coffee probably could wake the dead (not in a good way). The memory of her attempt at a vanilla latte was still burned into my tongue.
“No. The only coffee-related activity I’m cut out for is drinking it.” Carina sighed while Scarlett and I released small, simultaneous exhales of relief. “I’ll find something, but thanks for looking out. Sorry I’m such a buzzkill tonight.”
“You’re not being a buzzkill. I’d much rather be here with you guys than at some shitty bar with overpriced drinks,” I said.
“Exactly.” Scarlett stretched her arms over her head. “Besides, if we went out, we wouldn’t be able to watch Carina butcher her calligraphy in—ah!” She squeaked with surprise when Carina crumpled a sheet of paper and tossed it at her. It hit her right on the nose.
“That’s not funny,” Carina said through a glimmer of laughter. “My cursive isn’t the best, but it’s legible.”
Scarlett lobbed the paper ball back at her. This time, it got stuck in Carina’s hair. “Your Ns look like Rs.”
“Those letters naturally look alike!”
“Then how do you explain your Ts and Js?” I jabbed a finger at the thank-you card.
Carina’s eyes narrowed. “Et tu, Brute?”
“I’m just telling the truth. Don’t kill the messenger.”
The three of us stared at each other. There was a moment of contemplation before we dove for the table at the same time, and our night exploded into a full-blown paper ball fight.
“My Ts. Do not. Look like Js!” Carina punctuated her words with surprisingly accurate lobs.
Forget Etsy. She should pitch for Major League Baseball.
“Yes, they do!”
“That’s slander!”
“It’s only slander if it’s not true!”
“Brooklyn, look behind you!”
I squealed and ran behind the couch, my stomach cramping with laughter. My hair was weighed down with what felt like a dozen pieces of paper, and I ducked right as a particularly large projectile went sailing over my head. Our screams and laughter filled the flat.
Thank God Vincent wasn’t here to see us acting like a bunch of children on a Monday night.
Honestly, even if he were, I wouldn’t care. I needed this. I’d been slammed with work, and I was stuck on the ISNA application, which was due in a month. A silly night in with my friends was just what the doctor ordered.
Our “fight” lasted until we ran out of paper. Our laughter gradually subsided, and we collapsed onto the couch in a happy, tired heap.
“Where’s Vincent?” Scarlett asked after we caught our breath. “Don’t tell me you killed him already.”
I snorted. “No. He went out to help Adil with holiday shopping or something.” It was only mid-November, but Adil was notoriously enthusiastic when it came to buying gifts. “Living with him hasn’t been so bad. At least he’s clean and does his chores.”
That was the upside. The downside was the number of times we inadvertently saw each other half-naked around the house.
Vincent’s sculpted abs flashed through my mind. Heat prickled my neck, and I firmly shoved the image aside.
“See? I knew it would work out!” Carina grinned.
“Mmhmm.” I avoided their eyes and plucked a stray paper ball out from between the couch cushions.
I hadn’t told them about my bet with Vincent yet. I felt bad about lying to them, but I was nervous about how Scarlett would take it. Sure, she was the one who’d suggested he move in, but I didn’t think she expected us to be anything other than platonic.
She also didn’t seem like the type who’d freak out if we kissed, but I couldn’t risk it. I valued her friendship too much.
I probably should’ve thought of that before agreeing to the bet. That was what my impulsiveness got me. Constantly trapped in sticky situations.
As for Carina, I didn’t want to tell her and make it so we were both keeping this secret from Scarlett. It was better for me to shoulder this alone.
“I’ve said this a dozen times, but thank you for letting him stay with you,” Scarlett said. “He likes to pretend he’s okay and that the obsessed fan stuff doesn’t bother him, but it does.”
“I know,” I said softly. I could tell whenever Vincent was putting on a brave face for the world because I did the exact same thing.
The clues were there if you knew what to look for—the too-bright smile, the overly casual tone, the air of forced nonchalance because wearing a mask was more palatable than making the people you love worry.
I tamped down my guilt and adopted a breezy tone. “Anyway, no need to thank me. He’s paying rent, so it’s not like I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I just wish the police weren’t so useless. They haven’t made a bit of progress since we found the photo on his car.”
“So what, they’re waiting until Vincent gets attacked before they do something? Not that he’s going to get attacked,” Carina said quickly when Scarlett’s face paled. “It’s a hypothetical.”
“I don’t know. Probably.” Great. Now I was the buzzkill for talking about potential murder. I pivoted to a lighter topic. “Also, I forgot to tell you guys, but I’m going with him to the Zenith dinner on Wednesday. He, um, needed a plus-one.”
Carina’s eyebrows winged up. “Like…a date?”
“No. It’s strictly business. He needed someone for appearances’ sake, and I wanted to eat at a nice restaurant. That’s all.” I snuck a peek at Scarlett. The dinner news was my way of gauging how she might react if I told her about the bet, but her expression was unreadable.
“Nice,” she said. “I’ve been to a few business dinners with Asher. The food’s usually good, but the conversations are so boring. They use the word ‘synergy’ way too much.”
“I told him he owes me twenty pounds if that word ever comes up during our meal.”
Scarlett grinned. “Genius.” If she was weirded out by me joining her brother for dinner, she didn’t show it.
Our conversation eventually shifted to our weekend plans, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Wednesday night.
It’s not a date, I repeated to myself. I’d said yes specifically because it wasn’t one.
But that didn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach from multiplying.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Vincent said. “I owe you one.”
“You’re welcome, and don’t worry,” I said as we followed our hostess to a private dining room. “I’m already thinking of all the ways you can pay me back.”
His mouth twitched up into a smile as his gaze ran over my outfit. “I forgot to tell you earlier, but you look great.” Perhaps I was imagining it, but his voice sounded a touch huskier than usual.
The praise sent an unwanted spark down my spine. “So do you.”
It was the night of the big Zenith dinner, and he looked better than great.
His blazer and jeans the other night were nice, but nothing beat seeing Vincent DuBois in a custom-tailored suit.
The soft Italian wool fit his six-foot-two frame like a dream while the rich navy color contrasted perfectly against his light brown skin.
He’d gotten a fresh haircut, and his Zenith sneakers were a smart but subtle nod to his potential sponsor.
No wonder every head turned to watch us pass.
I’d opted for a simple blue dress that accidentally matched his suit. It was more muted than my usual style, but tonight wasn’t about me. I was here for moral support only.
My heels sank into the carpet as the hostess led us into the private dining room of some fancy steakhouse. We were greeted with a flurry of warm welcomes the instant we stepped inside.
“Vincent! So great to finally meet you!”