Chapter 2
2
CARLEE
W hen the rideshare finally arrives outside my apartment, I lock my door and leave. Each step toward the car is filled with excitement. Lexi was right about the heavy coat, and I’m so damn glad I wore gloves because it’s in the upper thirties outside. Right now, I’m comfortable.
Once I’m inside the Lexus, I confirm the location with the driver, and we take off.
The Marquee is an exclusive club that the rich and famous frequent in the heart of the Theater District. A reservation is required to enter, and securing one without deep connections is impossible. I’m still not sure how Trever pulled it off, but the pop culture queen inside of me wants to know.
The establishment has kept detailed records of every person who has walked through its doors since it opened in the late 1800s. Being allowed to write my name inside the leather-bound guest book causes excitement to course through me. My signature will join the ranks of the world leaders and celebrities who have graced this space with their presence.
My phone vibrates in my deep coat pocket, and I pull it out. A smile spreads across my face when I see who it is .
Weston.
Since we met, he’s always texted me first. The last thing I want to do is seem needy, and I try to respect his boundaries, knowing how busy he is running a multibillion-dollar company. Anytime he reaches out, it’s a little reminder that I’m on his mind, and I cherish being there.
Weston
Too bad you won’t be joining us tonight.
Carlee
I’d ignore you per our secret friendship agreement.
Weston
I doubt you’d succeed, especially with Lexi trying to force us together. You weren’t kidding; she sucks at this.
I can’t help but chuckle as the plush leather of the car seat surrounds me in comfort. I’m glad I treated myself tonight and chose the luxury upgrade.
Carlee
Do NOT entertain her. It’s not her first attempt at hooking me up with her partner’s brother. Warning: it always ends horribly.
Weston
I’m aware. You were the topic of conversation before you interrupted our very interesting chat. But happy to learn I was your hall pass.
Carlee
Say a prayer for Lexi because she’s DEAD.
Weston
I actually feel pretty fucking special.
As we zoom down the street, I can’t shake the excitement that dances in my stomach.
Carlee
You were replaced. Sorry, friend. Don’t get jealous though. I’ve only ever done deep dives on you.
Weston
And you enjoyed every second.
I did.
Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean he hasn’t always been my dirty little secret.
Since I started LuxLeaks over a decade ago, I’ve had a soft spot for Weston, feeling an overwhelming urge to defend him against misinterpretations. His complexity often goes unnoticed by the masses, but I feel like I have him figured out. There’s an understanding between us.
Even after he learned I was behind LuxLeaks, he still allows me to peel back more layers of who he is.
Weston
Just so you know, I’ve never encouraged Lexi to talk about you.
Carlee
I bet you don’t encourage her to stop either.
Weston
Smart girl.
I read his text message and imagine his cute-as-hell smirk.
Carlee
I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Ask me.
Weston
Really?
Carlee
I don’t have anything to hide.
Weston
I might have to test this theory.
Carlee
Does it go both ways?
Weston
What you already know about me makes you dangerous.
Carlee
I prefer the word powerful.
Weston
And that’s why you’re dangerous. Because you know it gives you power.
Carlee
After I told you who I was, you still chose to be my friend. Kinda your fault.
Weston
And I’d do it again and again and a-fucking-gain. No regrets, Firefly.
Carlee
You mean that?
Weston
With everything I am.
Weston said I was a tiny ball of light in the darkness that had swallowed him whole, hence the nickname. When we officially met, I had already known how much he needed a friend and offered what I could—myself and my time. I hadn’t sought him out, but I had known exactly who he was when our eyes locked. Becoming Weston Calloway’s friend was a case of being at the right place at the right time.
When his divorce was made public over a year ago, ridiculous rumors about him were splashed across the internet. For months, he became a recluse and hid from the media. Amid the finely crafted smear campaign, I became his only friend and confidant, other than his brother. Our bond is unbreakable.
Carlee
Aww, thanks!
Weston
No prob, bestie.
I’m relieved he clarified.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m comfortable being friend-zoned, and I have been since we met. It allows me to slip into the role of being one of the boys. It’s safer for both of us.
Carlee
Don’t ever let Lexi find out you call me that. She gets super jealous.
Weston
What if I get jealous?
Carlee
Do you?
Weston
You have no fucking idea.
He’s not flirting.
It’s something I repeat to myself each time I speak to him.
Weston
LadyLux hasn’t posted this week.
Carlee
She extended her break.
Weston
Is she still on a three-month cruise, gang-banging those twenty-year-old rich kids?
Carlee
Yep!
It’s one of the absurd rumors bubbling up in gossip circles about my absence. I’ve posted weekly articles for twelve years—filling pages with intricate details of the exciting lives of Manhattan’s elite—but now my silence is deafening. People have noticed I’ve been MIA.
My blog has recently earned some money, but my main income is from working at the W—a lavish hotel in Manhattan, where I scrub the glittering surfaces for the filthy rich. In its luxurious setting, I’m overlooked, playing the role of a quiet housekeeper who doesn’t make eye contact. When I slip on that uniform, I become invisible to the guests. I navigate the marbled floors and three-story penthouses with purpose. Being a housekeeper is more than just a paycheck. It’s my access to the secrets of the wealthy.
Weston
Earlier, I wasn’t just giving you a compliment, like you thought. I meant what I said.
I hate that he can read my expressions so easily. He shouldn’t be able to do that.
Carlee
I meant what I said too. But thanks. Happy you approve, bestie. When will I see you again?
Weston
When you leave him and come to me.
I nearly melt into a puddle at the weight of his words.
Weston
Anyway, good luck tonight. Hope he’s the one.
Carlee
Me too .
I stare out the window, searching for a distraction as I replay how I became friends with Weston Calloway.
For years, he was nothing more than a public persona I analyzed and critiqued in my articles. That man was only a distant star I observed. Now, we secretly text and meet weekly, and our conversations are always lighthearted. Every day, Weston proves he’s exactly the man I’ve always believed him to be.
Before we became friends, I championed him from afar, my heart rallying for him. Now, it’s my mission to see him happy again. He deserves it after the hell he’s endured with his ex over the past year.
The car stops outside The Marquee, its iconic entrance illuminated in an inviting glow. I thank my driver and step out onto the red carpet that leads to the door. My heart gallops as I approach the entrance, the chiffon of my dress flowing behind me.
Once my identity is confirmed, my coat is taken. I sign my name across the next open line in the guest book. It feels surreal. I smooth my hand over the ivory paper, knowing I’m now a part of The Marquee’s records.
As the double wooden doors swing open, I pause to take it all in, my breath catching in my throat. I’ve only ever seen it in photos that were captured in secret. Each shot an act of rebellion, thanks to the strict no-camera policy.
Crimson velvet drapes hang lazily from the ceiling to the floor, and they surround the perimeter. Candles flicker on the polished bar top, crafted from the wood of one of Broadway’s first stages. It’s a silent testament to its rich history. I can almost imagine the whispered conversations and laughter that have echoed off these walls over the decades. If this building could talk, what stories would it tell?
I scan the room, and the romantic energy surrounds me. Eventually, I spot Trever and approach him, weaving through clusters of elegantly dressed couples mingling and laughing. Once I’m close, he stands, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. It catches me off guard, but I go with it.
“Wow,” he whispers, pulling away, gently grabbing my hand and taking me in as if he’s memorizing every detail. “You’re … gorgeous , Carlee.”
“Thanks.” A blush creeps onto my cheeks, warmth flooding my face at his compliment.
Trever is undeniably attractive, with golden-brown eyes and messy dirty-blond hair that falls around his forehead. Based on his dating profile photos, I know his chiseled abs trail down the V that points to his package. It’s a hidden treasure beneath his tailored suit.
He pulls the barstool out for me—a charming gesture—and I happily sit. So far, so good. Maybe tonight will go exactly how I want it to. I might not be desperate for love, but great sex is another story.
“Would you like a drink?” he politely asks, leaning in, his voice low.
“Martini, extra dirty,” I reply.
Anticipation brews as the bartender approaches.
“Extra dirty?” he questions, his smile widening as he settles into the seat beside me. “My favorite .”
He places our order and turns his attention back to me. His gaze is steady and full of intrigue.
“How was your week?” he asks, inhaling my sweet skin.
“I met up with a friend for a couple of drinks on Wednesday. Work was fine, and I even deep-cleaned my apartment. Adulting at its finest.”
I keep the struggle with my blog to myself, a secret too precious to share. No one can ever find out who’s behind LuxLeaks. Right now, only a handful of people know—Lexi, Weston, Easton, and Brody. They’d never snitch.
“Did you tell your friend about me?” he inquires just as our drinks are placed in front of us, their crystal glasses gleaming .
I smile. “Actually, I did.”
Weston wasn’t happy about it and rolled his eyes when I showed him Trever’s photos.
“Yeah? What did she say?” he asks, arching a brow.
Presumptuous to think it was a woman. I’m not sure he’d want to know Weston said he looked like a fuckboy. I smile, remembering how I told him he’d know, considering he’s the president of the fuckboy team.
“I was given a good luck , but I don’t think we’ll need it,” I reply, taking a casual sip of my drink and popping an olive into my mouth. The salty flavor mixes deliciously with the gin.
“You’re right,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
Then Trever wraps an arm around the back of my barstool. I want to feel something—anything. Even a teeny-tiny spark.
Could he be the man to finally give me that elusive big O? He’s confident, like he possesses the skills to take me to the edge. But then again, I thought that about many I’d given chances to in the past, and they failed.
“What about you?” I ask, shifting the focus back to him.
He sighs, a deep, weary sound. “Work this week was difficult. So tiring.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I respond with genuine concern in my voice.
“After I cut our last date short, I’ve been working nonstop,” he continues, his gaze drifting like he’s recalling a distant memory. The investment project he’s involved in consumes him.
I glance around the room, absorbing the dreamy ambience, distracted from his business jargon. The atmosphere inspires intimate conversation, yet here we are, entangled in corporate chatter. With the right person, this place would be romantic.
“And the outrageous import fees …” he adds, his voice trailing off.
I watch Trever intently, nodding when I think it’s appropriate while realizing how deeply he’s obsessed with his job. Within five minutes, I confirm he’s not boyfriend material, but maybe he can move into the fling category.
The night isn’t over yet.
“This deal could redefine how the market views manufacturing,” he continues, his passion undeniable. “The payoff could be huge .” He emphasizes the last word, then finishes off his drink while signaling for another round.
He throws around phrases like leverage , assets , and return on investment without taking a single breath, his words flowing like an unending waterfall. I can hardly keep up, mainly because I don’t care that much.
After thirty minutes, he finally pauses, and I take the opportunity to excuse myself.
“I think I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
“Sure,” he replies, already distracted by his phone as I tap out.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I let out a yawn. This evening feels more like a business meeting than a date. It’s a disappointing twist after a promising start.
Turning down the dark hallway, I pull my phone from the pocket in my dress. The screen lights up my face in the dimness as I quickly type a message to Lexi.
Carlee
Checking in.
Lexi
How’s it going?
Carlee
Awful!
Lexi
Glad I ordered you a burger! Yay! I mean, aww, that’s so sad. See you soon!
Carlee
UGH!!!
Lexi
I LOVE it when I’m right. Kinda like how I know you and Weston will fall madly in love, and then you’ll officially be my sister. A DREAM!
That’s not happening. He has a specific type of woman he pursues.
My complete opposite.
No lines have ever been crossed between us—not even once. And they never can be.
I ignore her text.
Carlee
I’ll see you soon, but can you be on your best behavior? Especially now that Weston knows he was my hall pass! WTF?!
I want to tell her to stop revealing things about me to him, but I can’t. It would blow our cover, and the last thing I need is for Lexi to jeopardize the delicate balance we’ve created.
Lexi
He finds it endearing, I promise.
Carlee
I bet he does!
Once in the restroom, I comb my fingers through my hair. I reapply lipstick, loving the deep shade of crimson. Standing before the mirror, I can’t shake the nagging thought that I’m undatable.
Is it my expectations that ruin everything?
Maybe Trever’s nervous, fumbling for conversation, so he’s sticking with what he’s comfortable with. I take a deep breath, not ready to completely give up, and decide I’ll change the subject the first chance I get. Maybe I can salvage this date before it slips away entirely.
My phone vibrates, and I unlock it.
Weston
How are things?
Carlee
Amazing!
Weston
Liar.
Carlee
Liar?
Weston
Yep. Because you wouldn’t have texted me back if it was.
Carlee
Did Lexi tell you what I just texted her?
Weston
Nope! Swear.
Carlee
Quick question. Am I hard to talk to?
Weston
Not at all.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I return to the bar. As I step back into the main area, I glance across the faces of couples lost in deep conversation.
My eyes quickly find Trever, only to find him talking on his phone. A fresh martini waits in front of him, glistening with droplets of condensation.
My empty barstool sits between him and a man with broad shoulders, wearing a stark black suit, exuding an air of confidence that’s hard to ignore.
As I take a few steps forward, an unsettling familiarity grips me.
I recognize the dark, messy hair from behind .
My heart kicks into overdrive, and I stop walking.
I blink hard, trying to convince myself he’s not a daydream, that I’m not imagining things.
Sitting right next to my barstool is Weston fucking Calloway.