4. Noah
NOAH
I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating nonstop.
Typically, I silenced it before going to bed, but I couldn’t be trusted to accomplish much after an exhausting flight home.
I rolled across the bed, reaching one arm out from under the duvet to pull my phone off the charger.
The most recent text was from my cousin.
Nathan: Is that video online really you?
My sister blasted me with texts, too.
Daphne: Why is there a video of you trending on TikTok??
Daphne: Who is this girl?
Daphne: I wanna meet her
I was about to respond and ask what she was talking about when another text from Ezra, my manager, came in.
Ezra: Call me ASAP
What is happening?
Still half-asleep, I clicked play on the video Nathan sent me. It was one and a half minutes of clear footage of Macey and me arguing at the airport. Shit. I had noticed a few people listening in, but the size of the crowd was well above a few. It had hundreds of thousands of views already.
God, of course the argument had to be with Macey. She knew how to rile me up enough that I blacked out my surroundings. A problem, considering I always needed to care about what people saw when they looked at me.
She was a nuisance that I had planned to avoid for the rest of our lives, but the persuasive part of me screamed its protest. I wanted to argue more. I wanted to prove that everything she said was wrong. I wanted to see her defend herself.
Macey Monroe. How good was she at hiding things under the surface?
If my manager wanted a phone call, I’d need coffee to keep up. My ankle throbbed as I hobbled to the kitchen and switched on the coffeemaker, but icing it could wait.
Once drops of coffee started to fill the pot, I called Ezra, who immediately answered.
“Who the fuck is that girl in the video with you?”
Ezra had been in social media management for far longer than I had an Instagram account, but he always said he could never be an influencer himself. That warm greeting again exemplified why.
“Good morning, Ezra,” I said patiently, pouring a cup of coffee into my mug that said #1 brother .
Ezra’s Boston accent really came through when he was fired up. “You know, this morning did not start off good. I woke up to a viral video of one of my clients yelling at a pretty girl.”
“She yelled at me first. ”
I could almost see Ezra pulling at his black-and-blue striped hair.
“Semantics.” He brushed it off. “The point is I thought that video was going to be the worst thing to happen to us this week. This month, even. But in a rare turn of events, I was wrong.”
When was the last time I went grocery shopping? All I had was eggs, eggs, and…more eggs.
Eggs for breakfast, it was.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, pulling the carton out of the fridge.
“Noah, we’ve got brands lining up for deals this morning. Since you’re the rep for VelocityGear, I was thinking you and the girl could get matching outfits or something.”
The egg cracked beneath my hand when I tapped it against the counter. “Huh?”
“Oh! I haven’t even told you the best part yet.” If social media management didn’t work for Ezra in the long run, he should consider a career switch to theater. So dramatic.
“Which is?”
“Opal Serenity, a brand-new five-star resort in Aruba, reached out and wants you there for the resort opening next week.”
I put Ezra on speakerphone, exchanging the bowl on the counter for my phone. I held the bowl close to my chest with one arm, the other hand whisking the eggs in it.
While I’d been to a few hotel openings before, they were nothing as luxurious or expensive as a resort in Aruba. “Seriously? That’s huge.”
“Sure is,” he said, then his voice lowered. “There is one catch, though.”
Of course it was too good to be true.
“What?”
“They want you to attend with the girl from the video. ”
“Macey?” The bowl fell out of my arms, scattering eggs across my kitchen and my feet. “Absolutely not. I won’t go.”
Ezra sighed for the second time in this conversation. “I don’t recommend that. You know how you’ve been moaning about wanting to take a three-month social media break to road trip the country with your sister? Which, by the way, I also don’t recommend.”
“I don’t think moaning is the word I’d use, but yeah.”
“Noah, this deal is huge. It’s the equivalent to what you usually make in three months,” said Ezra. “This is your ticket to a stress-free social media break, my friend.”
Now that caught my attention. I leaned against the counter, egg catastrophe forgotten, and grabbed a nearby journal and pen.
“Tell me what we’d have to do.”
The door to the bar creaked when I pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room with the scent of roasted peanuts and the tang of well-aged whiskey.
Soft jazz music drifted from a jukebox in the corner, scratchy tunes that warmed my brain as I shut the door behind me.
The sign hanging from the ceiling displayed the bar name: Rose Buds .
Faded posters and vintage stickers adorned the walls, as well as signatures and hand-written notes.
Guests scattered across tables and chairs, plus a few booths against the wall.
A bizarre mix of people: young beatnik-looking artists, aged businessmen, a group of girls on a post-work happy hour adventure, and a few dudes who were admiring said group of girls.
And then there was me.
When I had DM’d Macey on Instagram and asked to meet for a drink, I’d expected we would go to a hotel bar or a craft cocktail bar. Hell, I’d take Chili’s over whatever this was. Macey had an eclectic taste in bars. Not bad, because I could get used to the vibe. Just…weird.
I was both surprised and relieved she had agreed to see me. Despite my determination to play it calm and cool, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Is she mad about the TikTok? Will she bring it up? Are we going to end up having a sequel argument?
Macey waved at me from a table designed for two.
Here we go.
She dressed more casually than I’ve ever seen her, whale outfit excluded. Black long-sleeved top and tight denim jeans. I had never been much of a leg man before, but I suddenly found myself with a new appreciation for them.
“Hansley,” she greeted when I sat across from her.
“Macey.” I forced a smile, knowing I had to be on my most charming behavior tonight. “How are you?”
She eyed me carefully. There was a splash of color on her eyelids that wasn’t normally there. Sparkly. “I’m good. I was surprised to see your message.”
“I’m surprised you come here,” I commented, my wrist dragging over a sticky spot on the table, “on purpose.”
Macey, un-offended, laughed and sipped her drink. “Once you have one of Bear’s cocktails, you’ll see why.”
“Bear?”
The burly bartender lifted his arm in a wave, and the bear tattoo on his forearm caught the light. “Ah. I get it now.”
I stood to order, but Macey stopped me. My hand suddenly felt like it was on fire, even though she only lightly grazed it with her fingertips. “No,” she said. “Bear knows what you want.”
“How does Bear know what I want?” The bartender shook a mysterious concoction, which I assumed was meant for me. “He doesn’t even know me.”
Macey shrugged. “Don’t ask questions. Besides”—she slyly peeked up at me beneath dark lashes—“he probably just looked at what drinks you hold in your selfies. Hopefully, it’s nothing lethal.”
My breath caught somewhere in my chest. “Lethal?”
“He’s pretty protective of me. That TikTok video may have made you public enemy number one.”
Here was my opening. Time to set the record straight. “I had no idea that someone recorded us.”
“I didn’t think you did,” she said with a neutral face. “It sucks, but it’s done. I guess next time we should fight in private.”
“Listen, Macey…I went too far with some of the things I said. I don’t think you’re an unsuccessful corporate pawn.”
Macey pulled her hand into her lap. “Technically, the word you said was spawn . Corporate spawn. Like I’m a demon who crawled out of hell or something.”
“Well, I’ve heard you’re a fast runner.”
She stared deadpan back at me.
I winced. Not a good start to my apology. “Yeah. Too far. I’m sorry.”
I thought she would egg me on further and request I grovel on my knees, but she did something even more shocking. She accepted it.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry for my comments, too.” She twirled the ice in the glass with her straw. “You were right. My articles are dull. But it’s not my fault. My boss has me edit them so much it takes all the personality out of them.”
Bear, a middle-aged man with a thick beard, dropped off a glass with a chipped edge. He placed a tiny white napkin below it and a red straw inside. Based on the color, it looked like a whiskey drink with a few add-ins. He clapped Macey on the shoulder before returning to the bar.
I grabbed the glass between my hands and gave it a whiff. “Have you tried explaining that to your boss? ”
She laughed, and it evoked a strange feeling in my chest. Could smelling alcohol lead to heartburn? I’d Google it later. “More times than I can count. It’s not that easy.”
As soon as I sipped the drink, I noticed a hint of sweetness, perhaps from a touch of honey, that softened the whiskey’s bite. Then a subtle hint of spice that tingled on the tongue. It tasted like liquid gold, sweet and indulgent.
“Holy shit.” I greedily drank more. “This is the best drink I’ve ever had.”
“Told you so,” she said.
I pushed the glass to her. “Here, try it.”
“No, thanks,” she declined. “But you’re welcome to try mine.”
I took a sip of the offered glass. Equal parts sweet and tart. “It tastes like a flavored lemonade,” I said as I passed it back to her.
“It is,” she said lightly. “I don’t drink alcohol. That’s why we come here. Best cocktails and mocktails in town.”
Interesting. Most people in our age range—especially those who worked press events, where alcohol was served by the bucket—drank.
It was rare to find someone who didn’t. Not that it bothered me.
I thought it was cool that people could have a good time without getting drunk.
And I secretly hoped that Daphne was one of those cool people.
Even though based on her 2:00 a.m. private Instagram Stories, she wasn’t.
Which was also fine, as long as she made good decisions.
“Is there a reason?” It wasn’t any of my business to prod, but I was curious.
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve tried it a few times, but I don’t like how it makes me feel.”
“I get that.”
Macey pulled her black-and-white purse off the chair and stood up. “Well, this has been?—”
I stood up straighter, instinctively reaching out. Ready to grab her if needed. “Are you leaving? ”
“I thought that’s why you wanted to meet.” She sounded confused. “To apologize and clear the air.”
The group of girls a few tables over waved at her and pointed to their empty chair. Macey waved back at them and lifted one finger to signal that she’d be there in a second.
Absolutely not.
“You know those girls?” I asked.
“They’re my best friends,” she said. “They’re here to make sure you don’t murder me.”
My jaw dropped. “Murder you? You’re the one who suggested this place. I think you could get murdered here perfectly fine without me.”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”
“Exactly.” I pointed at her seat. “There’s more I have to say. Sit down.” She cocked an unamused brow, and I amended, “Sit down, please.”
Macey sat. “What did you want to talk about, then?”
Very direct. I could work with that.
“I have an offer,” I said, then launched into a full-blown explanation of the Opal Serenity resort in Aruba.
How few people the resort was inviting to celebrate their grand opening.
That they wanted us both to attend—Macey could cover the event for Roamer’s Digest , and I’d share it on social channels.
Macey’s attention was studious, like a scholar examining a textbook. Intense. It shouldn’t add extra pressure to know she was really listening to me, but it did.
Once I finished my prepared speech, I took another sip of Bear’s cocktail. “So what do you think?”
“I think that sounds like an amazing opportunity,” she said.
Perfect. I could picture the check already. Then the deactivation of my social media account for three months. I’d use that time to figure a way to get out of this career forever and?—
“But you should take someone else. ”
Wait.
I leaned over the table. “You’re saying you don’t want to go? To Aruba? For free? With me?”
My voice went embarrassingly higher with each question. Anyone would be crazy to turn down the offer. If there was one thing that bound the human race together, it was our love for free things.
“Correct,” she confirmed. “I’m not going on some press trip as your plus-one.”
The whiskey soured in my stomach. “You wouldn’t be my plus-one. We’re both being invited as part of the press team.”
“Thanks for the offer.” Macey stood for real this time, taking what remained of her drink. “But my answer is no.”
I watched her walk to the group of girls in the corner, feeling confused beyond belief. I wasn’t sure what hurt more: that the check I needed was still far away or that Macey had just rejected me.