Fake It with You (Kane Brothers #1)
Chapter 1 SIENNA
My last bit of hope shrinks down until it’s nothing more than a crumb as I read the words on my laptop screen.
Exiting the email, I hit the trackpad harder than necessary as I reach for the small cup of coffee on the diner table and take a drink. It’s bitter, bleak, and void of any joy (a.k.a. sugar). Just like my chances of graduating from college with a job lined up.
Grabbing the sticky maple syrup bottle from the table, I drench my stack of pancakes as I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I’ve spent the past few weekday mornings in this diner before my first class of the day.
Most college students would prefer a quiet environment or at least somewhere with more comfortable seating. But the library isn’t walking distance from my apartment, and coffee shops don’t serve stacks of fluffy pancakes like these. Most breakfast places in Portland don’t serve affordable, edible food on a college student's budget.
That’s what keeps me coming back here. The pancakes.
It’s certainly not the ambiance. I jump slightly in my seat at the sound of a ceramic plate shattering against the tile floor. Grimacing, I do my best to ignore the high-pitched scrape as the two materials come into contact, and one of the servers begins cleaning up the mess. The grating noise mixes with the expletives from the kitchen as two of the chefs argue over something. The fighting is a daily occurrence that most diner patrons watch through the pass-through window behind the bartop.
My throat warms as I sip my coffee, looking at the many business cards and advertisements laid out under the clear plastic tabletop. I remember a few of these businesses closing over the years, and I’m surprised this diner remains standing. Given the tear in the red-and-teal booth seat across from me that seems to grow each day I visit, I’d assume they are close to meeting these other businesses’ fate sometime soon.
As I take a substantial bite of my carb-loaded breakfast, I think back to the crisis at hand. Five companies have turned me down for architecture jobs this week. That’s not including the other ten that turned me down this month and the fifteen I didn’t hear back from. I’m still waiting on a few responses from other companies, but I’m starting to run out of jobs to apply to.
It’s the beginning of May, which means I have six weeks until I graduate with my bachelor’s degree in architecture. If I don’t secure a respectable entry-level job, I’ll never be able to build the career I want, I’ll never be able to make the kind of money I want, and I’ll end up like?—
“You doing okay, Sienna?” The perky voice of my server, Jane, catches me off guard. She’s come to learn my name, given that I sit in the same booth every day.
No, the world is about to open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole.
Considering it’s not socially acceptable to dump your existential crisis on your unsuspecting server, even if you do consider her a familiar acquaintance, I nod and give her the most polite smile I can muster at the moment. It must’ve come across less polite and more “I’ll murder you in the woods” than intended, judging by her grimace and the speed at which she walks from my table to the kitchen.
Thankfully, she tops off my coffee mug before taking off. But it’s safe to say she won’t be coming back around anytime soon for another refill.
My attention is briefly pulled outside when I hear rain begin to softly tap against the glass of the diner window to my right. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve never cared for spring. As I got older, I started to grow tired of Mother Nature’s indecisiveness during the second quarter of the year.
A cold, rainy morning usually ends with the sun high in the sky, reflecting off the many puddles that accumulate throughout the day. Sunglasses are a spring essential around here. Without them, you’re sure to be blinded by the sun’s reflection in the pools of water. Not to mention, the Portland State University sweatshirt I’m currently bundled up in is going to be unbearably hot by the time I’m finished with my late afternoon class.
Thankfully, the apartment I share with my best friend, Beth, is within walking distance of campus, so I can run home and change if needed. Sometimes the perks of living in a walkable city outweigh the weather’s variability. Although, as I stare out the window, I still find myself counting down the days until summer is in full swing.
Watching the rain pour down as people rush to nearby buildings, I note who is using an umbrella and who isn’t. It’s a fun little game I like to play called “Spot the Tourist.” Spoiler alert: none of us PNW natives use umbrellas. It rains year-round here, so we’ve all learned to embrace it.
Shaking off my moment of procrastination, I turn my attention back toward my laptop. Just as I’m beginning to regain my focus on job applications, Jane flies by, frantically trying to deliver a strawberry shake to a family a few tables down from mine. Between the scowl on the woman’s face, the way the man cowers behind the menu, and the young child throwing crayons across the table, I’d bet they were about two seconds away from asking to speak to the manager.
Stabbing my fork into the last bit of my pancakes, I savor the bite as buttermilk and maple flavors fill my mouth, all wrapped in a fluffy package. This place might be run-down, but they know how to make a damn good pancake.
I glance down at my smart watch, 9:13 a.m. The cheap, pseudo-gold link band serves as another reminder to regain focus on my job search. Taking one more sip of my bitter coffee, I set it aside. Only forty-seven minutes until I need to leave for my first class of the day. I’ll be damned if I leave here without having submitted every possible application to any company that will have me.
Pushing past the numbness growing in my fingers, I hit submit on my tenth job application. I continue my search through various online job boards as I hear the high-pitched chime of the diner bells mounted on the top of the entryway door.
“Table for ten!” a man yells excitedly at the host. “No wait, eight…No…ten!”
Glancing up, I roll my eyes at the group huddled in the entryway. Judging by their stance and the way they sway and cling to each other, it’s clear they’re running on fumes from whatever frat party they attended the night before.
I silently say a prayer that they will be seated far away from me, preferably around the corner behind the kitchen, so I can continue to be productive for the last eleven minutes I have here.
When they’re seated at the table right next to me, it can only mean one of two things: I was a very bad person in a past life and this is a result of my karmic cycle, or Jane requested they be sat here as a result of the unpleasant smile I gave her earlier.
The latter is confirmed when Jane saunters over to their table and giddily takes their orders. Honestly, I can’t be mad at her. I may not have time for a man right now, but she has my full support if she’s on the hunt for one. If you look past the “I’m either still drunk or very hungover, but I’m not sure which” look on their faces, most of them are decent-looking, I guess.
I just wish this display of testosterone didn’t have to happen right next to me, distracting me from the very important task of making sure my life doesn’t completely fall apart before it even starts.
After placing their orders, the cavemen decide it’s a great time to play paper football. As if the volume in which they are speaking wasn’t enough to drive me mad. Unfortunately for me, I’m seated right behind the “goalposts” one of them makes by holding up their hands.
Pushing through the distractions, I try to ignore them, but I end up misspelling a word on this application when I hear the front bells chime. Again. I know it’s impossible, but I swear the bells are louder this time.
After fixing my spelling mistake, I hit submit on the application just as one of the paper footballs hits me in the side of the head and gets stuck in my curls. The small white triangle isn’t hard to find against the deep brown of my hair, but my annoyance grows as removing it catches a few of my curls in my small gold hoop earrings.
Annoyed, I turn to the table, still trying to untangle my curls from my earring. “Do you mind?”
The majority of them wince at the expression on my face. It’s a healthy mix of irritation, anger, and disgust that appears only when I’m extremely overstimulated.
The table erupts in a soft chorus of frantic, mumbled apologies just as a smooth, low-timbre voice interjects from beside us, “You guys are such assholes sometimes.” By the way he laughs through the statement, I’d assume he finds their antics more amusing than disrespectful.
I pay no attention to the mystery man as my irritation grows. Whoever he is, I’m sure he’s responsible for the bell chime that made me mess up on my last application anyway.
“THEO!” the chorus of men yell, causing me and a few others in the diner to jump.
Feeling eyes on me, I finally give attention to the man they call “Theo,” glancing in his direction. He’s staring at me, a slight tilt to his head as though he’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t say a word. If he’s associated with these, as he deems them, “assholes,” then I can safely assume he’s one too.
“They’re harmless, I swear.” He flashes me a wide grin, and my brain short-circuits. While charming, there’s a hint of recklessness in his smile, and the combination is intriguing.
Asshole or not, it’s one hell of a smile.
I continue to stare at him as I sit there, saying nothing. I haven’t even so much as smiled at him. I should probably say something.
Just move your fucking mouth, Sienna.
“It looks like you’re busy. We’ll try not to bother you.” Theo winces and points behind him. “They usually seat us in the back.”
Finally coming to my senses, I respond, “I’m fine. I was just about to leave anyway.” Shutting my laptop, I decide I can push my schedule up by five minutes today. I don’t think I can get many more applications filled out with my current table neighbors, anyway.
My jeans scrape against the cracked leather seat as I slide out of the booth, creating the most god-awful noise. There’s absolutely no graceful way to slide out of a diner booth seat, and my cheeks heat. I could not have a worse audience for a moment like this.
I’m apparently on a mission to make this the most embarrassing morning in the history of mornings, and my laptop slips out of my hands. Theo, witnessing the disastrous chain of events, catches my laptop with one hand moments before it meets its untimely demise.
He straightens as I finally wiggle my way free of the diner booth seat. At five-foot-seven-inches tall, I’m average for my height, but Theo is tall. I have to crane my neck up just to make eye contact. Looking straight ahead only gets me a view of his noticeably broad shoulders.
When he takes a tentative step toward me, holding out my laptop, the light catches in his eyes. Hazel green with swirls of brown as though he was born of the forest itself. When I reach out to grab my laptop from him, my fingers accidentally graze his hand, and my breath hitches against my will at the touch.
“Theo!” A slightly shorter blond man approaches Theo, slapping an arm around him. “Come sit down. Pancakes have arrived, and the girls will be here any minute.” He appears less hungover than the rest of his breakfast companions, but not by much.
“Matt, chill. I’ll sit down in a sec.” Matt gives me a look up and down that unsettles the pancakes in my stomach. Walking back to his seat, he winks at Theo with a half-cocked grin on his face.
“Thank you. I should really get going.” I work to shove my laptop into my backpack and push past Theo, heading toward the door.
“Hey, wait.” Theo’s voice stops me in my tracks just before my exit. “Wouldn’t want to forget this.”
Theo holds out my planner. Or more accurately, the one thing I can’t live without. I was in such a rush to get out of here that I must’ve left it on the table.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I put the planner in my backpack. Theo doesn’t walk away as I swing the backpack over my shoulders. The bells above the door chime again, a reminder I should be exiting. Yet my feet are slow to move.
“I also go to Portland State. You graduating next month too?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion. How did he know I…? He points at my sweatshirt.
You know, after all those murder podcasts I listen to, you think I’d know better than to proudly wear merch that states what school I’m currently attending.
Before I can respond to his question, a thin blond woman pushes past me, all but shoving me into the coatrack next to the front doors. Her eyes are locked onto Theo as she reaches out, placing a hand on his chest.
“Hey, Theo,” she says in a honeyed tone. I guess the women Matt referenced earlier have arrived.
Theo’s eyes are still on me when I turn toward the exit, not saying a word.
“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?” Theo reaches a tentative hand out to stop me, but his ability is limited by the woman still clinging to him.
Looking once at her, then pointedly back at him, I respond, “Yeah, see you around,” lacing sarcasm into my tone. Not wanting to linger any longer, I turn to exit the diner.
I can feel forest-green eyes on me as I push through the doors, but resist the insistent urge to steal a glance behind me. I refuse to be distracted for a minute longer than I already have been this morning.
As I walk to my first class of the day, the rain feels like a much-needed cold shower to remind me that the last thing I need is to be distracted by a man, of all things.
Refocusing my thoughts, I think through my to-do list for the day and go through my mental checklist: apply for more jobs, attend architectural design studio class, make final touches on my senior capstone project, hazel-green eyes with a smile that could blind the sun itself.
Well, shit.