Chapter 14 #2
“Done.” She looked at me again, this time more seriously. “You okay, really?” I hesitated. “Yeah. Just adjusting. There’s a lot of… legacy in this place.” She nodded slowly. “Don’t let it swallow you.”
“I’m trying not to.” She smiled softly and disappeared into her room. For all our differences—her ink-stained fingers and chaotic light, my structured days and scheduled nights—Elena was the one person who saw through everything. The only one who ever really had.
The wine was already breathing by the time Elena wandered into the kitchen, barefoot, hair in a messy bun, one of my oversized t-shirts replacing the hoodie. “You’re the only person I know who has wine that needs to ‘breathe,’” she said, sliding onto a stool at the island.
“Trust me on that one,” I replied, pouring her a glass of Bordeaux.
“And don’t let the aesthetic fool you. I also have instant mac-n-cheese in the pantry.
” She laughed, took a sip, and let out a satisfied hum.
“Okay, this does not suck.” I poured my own and leaned on the counter, facing her. “So, tell me things.”
“Elena Jones, current status report?” she asked, then sighed.
“Okay. Let’s see. I’m still paying more in rent than I make in art, which is fine, really.
My landlord installed a new fire alarm that goes off every time I toast a bagel, I swear, every single time.
My last commission was for a ‘tastefully erotic’ book cover, don’t ask me about that because the plot was weird.
Oh, and I may or may not be in love with my barista. ” I raised an eyebrow. “Again?”
“Well, she is just the nicest person ever. And, she remembers my order rotation. Which changes every 4 days. That’s practically marriage material.” I snorted. “Your life is a cliché.”
“I like to see my life as a 2000s rom-com.” She shrugged. “It does sound cliché, doesn’t it?” We both laugh at that. There was a beat of silence before she looked at me, her tone softening. “I know it’s different for you. You’re all… Forbes lists and gold pens now. But I like my mess.”
“I know you do,” I said. “That’s why I’ve stopped trying to fix it.”
“Growth,” she teased.
“But really,” I said, watching her more closely, “Are you okay?” Elena looked down at her wine.
“Yeah. I mean, not ‘perfectly stable,’ okay. But, like… still-showing-up kind of okay.” I nodded, understanding more than I let on.
“You know me. If life doesn’t make me cry or question capitalism, what’s the point?
” I reached across the counter and tapped my glass against hers.
“To messy art and overpriced apartments.”
“To control-freak big brothers that want to pay for your life, but you don’t let them because they keep weird bronze sculptures.” We laughed, drank, and for a moment, everything felt still.
No boardrooms. No headlines. No power dynamics or secrets.
Just me and my little sister, drinking wine in a kitchen way too big, finding that rare kind of comfort you can only get from someone who knew you before the world expected anything from you.
The city was unusually quiet for a Saturday, probably because most of Manhattan was still nursing hangovers or stuck in overpriced yoga classes.
I pulled the car into the arrivals lane at JFK, glancing in the rearview mirror as Elena applied makeup as if she were meeting with someone important. “It’s just Nico,” I said.
“Exactly. He’ll make jokes about how I look like I haven’t slept, probably crying over a barista I barely know again.” That made me burst into laughter. “To be fair… you have,” I say, teasing her.
“That was a long time ago, shut up.” Before I could fire back, my phone buzzed.
Nico: Touchdown.
Look for the hottest guy in arrivals with a chef’s kiss luggage.
Moments later, there he was. He had aviators, a leather weekender bag slung over one shoulder, and that same smug grin he’d had since forever. “There he is,” I said, putting the car in park. He spotted us immediately, waving dramatically like a washed-up pop star.
“Why does he look like he’s about to sign autographs?
” Elena deadpanned. “Because he totally would. If someone asked him.” He climbed into the backseat, throwing his bag onto the empty seat next to him.
“My favorite power siblings,” he declared, leaning forward between us.
“You two look disgustingly well-rested. Gross.”
“You look like you bribed a flight attendant for extra drinks and then gave her your number,” Elena said, twisting in her seat. “I did both of those things. But she upgraded me to first class.” I shook my head and pulled into traffic. “Brunch?”
“Please. I’m starving. And slightly hungover. But mostly starving.”
We ended up at a French café in the West Village.
It was Elena’s choice, which meant overpriced pastries and coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
We found a corner table on the patio, and by the time the waiter brought our drinks, Nico had already launched into a story about his latest failed situationship with a ceramicist in LA.
“She said I didn’t ‘respect her creative boundaries.’ I said her creative boundary was ghosting me mid-work days. ”
Elena snorted into her cappuccino. “I swear,” Nico continued, “I’m going to marry someone boring. A dentist. A dog groomer. Someone who thinks foreplay is paying the bill early.”
“I don’t think that’s your destiny,” I said. “No?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s yours? Because rumor has it, Monsieur CEO has been busy playing sexy boss with the heiress of Hayes International.”
Elena blinked. “Wait—what?” I didn’t answer fast enough. “You fucked Samantha Hayes?” she asked, sitting up so fast she nearly knocked over her drink. “That’s Sam?”
“I didn’t know who she was the first few times, and let’s avoid the word fucked, we are adults. But yeah, we spent the night together in Paris.” I muttered.
Nico nodded dramatically. “A classic romance movie. She was hot, smart, and flirty. He was emotionally avoidant, but charming. Sparks flew.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Elena said, eyes wide with a strange mix of awe and horror. “Theo, you realize this is your actual life, right? Not a bad t.v. series drama?”
“Trust me, I’m well aware.”
“And you’re working on top of her now?” Elena asked with a smirk. “And under her,” Nico whispered, and I swear they started laughing like it was the most hilarious joke ever. “She works for the company,” I corrected. “Technically not under or for me.”
“She’s literally across the hall,” Nico added helpfully. “And according to Harper, the sexual tension is so thick it qualifies as a fire hazard.”
“Jesus. Harper needs to shut up,” I muttered, finishing my espresso. Elena leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Okay. But… are you okay with having her there after you… Well, fucked her?”
“Elena Jones! And yes, I’m okay with having her around. I’m just trying not to fuck everything up.”
Nico raised his glass. “To not fucking everything up, just Hayes’ daughter.” I rolled my eyes as we clinked. Elena almost choked laughing.
“Also,” Nico added, “I want to meet her properly. The whole ‘I fu— slept with her, but now I don’t know what to do’ energy is killing my vibe.”
“You’ll meet her,” I muttered. “Tonight. At the gala.”
“Ooh,” Elena said, eyes lighting up. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“No, it is not.”
“Yes,” she and Nico said in unison. I sighed, finishing my coffee. It was too early for whiskey.
Elena starts to get in full glam mode when we get back, a makeup bag explodes across the bathroom counter, hair tools scattered like weapons. “Don’t even think about using this bathroom,” she called from behind the bathroom door. “I wouldn’t dare,” I called back, heading toward my room.
Nico tossed his weekend bag onto the guest bed and flopped down like he’d lived here for years. “Nice place,” he said, glancing around. “Modern minimalism with a side of repressed emotion.” I chuckled, pulling my shirt off. “It’s quiet. I like it.”
“It’s lonely,” he countered, but not unkindly.
We got dressed in a comfortable silence until Nico broke it again, more seriously this time.
“So, Samantha Hayes.” I paused mid-button.
“What about her?” I ask without making eye contact.
“Are you into her, like more than sex into her, or what?” I sighed.
“Yes.” Nico nodded slowly, thoughtful. “And?”
“And Harper handed me a ‘just-in-case’ HR document that allows a relationship between us if she reports to someone else.”
“That’s… thorough.”
“Well, it is Harper. She’s thorough.” I tugged on my jacket. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“She’s twenty-six. I’ve lived a whole life, with baggage included. She’s just stepping into the empire she never wanted. I’m the new CEO of said empire. We are not on the same page. We’re not in the same book.”
“Maybe,” Nico said, adjusting his cufflinks.
“Or maybe you’re both just reading ahead in different chapters.
” I raised an eyebrow. “Look, what I’m saying is,” he continued, “how do you know if she’s not interested in more if you don’t ask her?
She slept with you again. Even after you guys argued and tried to act professionally about your work situation.
I’d say she wants you too.” I didn’t answer, mostly because I didn’t know how to.
The doorbell buzzed. It was Harper. I opened the door and immediately blinked. She was in floor-length navy silk, hair in a sleek bun, red lips the only pop of color. Classic Harper, stunning, polished, and already twenty minutes early.
“Wow,” Nico said under his breath. “You’re terrifying in the best way.” Harper smiled, then she looked me up and down and nodded. “Acceptable.”
Elena emerged a few minutes later, all bronzed cheekbones and old-Hollywood curls. “I’m ready. Should we drink champagne now or pretend to be classy and wait until we arrive?”
“Pretend,” Harper said. “Damn, okay,” Elena muttered.
“Harper, a word,” I said a bit rougher than I intended. Elena and Nico kept walking. “Yes?” She looked surprised. “Can you please quit gossiping with Nico about… Sam.” That’s when she relaxed her expression. “Sure, when you stop fucking her during business hours and ask for my friendly opinion.”
“Har—” She put her hand up, shutting me down.
“Theodore, I absolutely love you, as my boss, as a friend. You know you’re like an older brother to me.
I can keep the business side of things quiet and professional, but we are all friends here, and we know you.
And well, it’s kinda great to gossip about your sex adventures when I’m the only one seeing them.
” She tapped my chest with a grin on her face and walked away.
I hate these people, but she is right. We are all friends, and I should take her advice more seriously than ‘the office Harper’s advice’.
We headed downstairs, into the waiting car, four pieces of very different energy buzzing in the same space, me with nerves I wouldn’t name, Nico with too much charm, Harper with invisible spreadsheets in her brain, and Elena already halfway into character for whatever role she decided to play tonight.
The city rolled past the windows like a film reel. The gala was waiting.
And so was she.