Chapter 2
“ Y ou should have told her the truth.”
My head vibrates against the window, the subtle hum of Sunny’s Italian playlist shuffles between men singing about their love to men fighting for love. Not that I have anything against love, but what’s so special about it?
I’ve seen it first-hand and all it does is cause absolute destruction.
“And what?” I look at her. She let her curly brown hair down, no longer wearing the expression of a lost cat. She controls the car with confident dark brown hands that move with experience and excellence. Her light brown eyes quickly glance at me then back on the road.
“I don’t want her thinking I can’t handle real life.”
She turns her left signal onto the withered down street of Rosedale, right before the suburban houses come into view. “Wouldn’t that be better than pretending like you’re not about to become a criminal?”
I take her phone and click next, only for a Russian ballad to blast out of the speakers.
“If she finds out, she’s gonna make me move in with her and Easton.
” A part of me would thrive in an environment with Nadine again.
When you grow up with someone and that person holds your hands through every phase in life, you yearn to be with them forever, even when you know you shouldn’t.
Call it attachment issues, call it whatever you want, but it’s how I feel.
Which is why I stop myself from jumping at the chance to be present in her life again. Her happiness matters to me more than my own does.
“I have a solution for you, Nova.” She parks in front of my shop. My blue bicycle with its pretty pink basket leans against the door with a lock. “Stop buying books for six months and you’ll pay off the fee.”
Sighing, I unbuckle my seatbelt and bend forward so my elbows are on my thighs and my face is cupped in my hands. “That’s easier said than done.”
“Said every addict,” she mutters before inhaling sharply. “Another idea! We could admit you into rehab.”
Turning my face to look at her, I muffle the words in my palms. “You really think there’s rehab for book addicts?”
She turns her car off. The ignition farts in response before shutting down. “There’s rehab for all kinds of addicts.”
My phone dings with a message.
Rosa
Heard you’re about to be a criminal soon. I knew
that bratty attitude was going to get you somewhere.
Why do you hate me?
“Maybe I should. But with my sisters,” I show her the texts. “It’s impossible.”
Sunny sighs. “I forgot that the three of you are attached at the hip.”
“It’s called having a healthy relationship,” I sarcastically retort. “You should try it sometimes.”
“Says the hypocrite,” she sticks her tongue at me.
We sit in silence. The June heat pierces through the thick material of her seat.
Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Once, then twice.
Sunny’s fingers tap against the steering wheel while she motions with her head for me to check the message.
Dean “Ogre” Vuk
Good afternoon, Miss Rivera.
Dean “Ogre” Vuk”
When you arrive to drop off the flowers, please find me in my office to discuss urgent matters. Best regards, Dean Vuk.
My breathing halts. Stomach somersaults. Emotions quiver. And my senses? Obliterated.
“Shit.”
Vuk Securities is my only client (not by choice). Believe it or not, most people don’t care about personalized bouquets, plant advice, or getting their hands dirty anymore. A cruel world, Sunny says. But a boring one to me.
Mr. Vuk sending me a message instead of an email means I’m in serious trouble. That man doesn’t message me, doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my existence unless it’s needed.
Our correspondence consists of weekly emails where I update him about each flower for each of his employees and he responds with a measly, seen .
Good lord, even his texts sound like a menacing email.
“What?” Sunny pushes, reaching for my phone.
“Nothing,” I stuff it into my yellow ‘who says you can’t be the best’ tote bag.
“That’s not the look of nothing.”
I open the door, willing myself to leave. But not before turning my face back to her and giving my most terrifying Mike Wazowski smirk. “It’s the look of I love you.”
“Gross,” she replies. “Get out of my car before I throw up.”
I do the most adult thing I can think of.
Pressing a swift kiss on my best friend’s cheek, I launch myself out and shut the door behind me.
She rolls her window down while I run around the front to my shop.
“You’re disgusting, Nova!” She makes an effort to wipe her cheek and dry heaves.
“And you’re dramatic, Sunaira .”
I stick my tongue out before slipping inside.
She shakes her head, but I swear I see the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips before she drives off.
The temporary happiness fades away as I slump against the door and remember how royally screwed I am.
After a terrible ride of exposed butt cracks on the TTC, I’m taking the sun coming out after a morning of cloudiness as a sign to keep pushing forward.
Downtown Toronto is hell to walk through on a regular day. Walking across Eaton Centre is asking to get bumped into students who are desperately trying to get to class or students who don’t care about tanking their GPA.
There’re also people with signs at the intersection holding up poster boards about resurrecting Jesus.
Completely normal for us Ontarians.
When I finally get out of the busy square, I trudge through more blocks. After carefully packing the flowers inside of the picnic basket, I noticed the wheel of the bicycle was punctured. Which meant another one of those spoiled neighbourhood kids got to it again.
When I rented the building just outside of Rosedale—at the border of the loud city and the suburban houses—I thought people would be nice, business would be booming, and I wouldn’t be under debt.
Oh boy, was I wrong.
POPSICLES ONLY ￠99
I halt.
Nova, no.
One can’t hurt.
Is a popsicle worth the 15,000 you have to pay?
Damn it.
I shake my head, forcing myself to continue walking past the sign. When I reach a stop light counting down the numbers from thirty, I stop. A car zooms past, Beautiful Liar blasting out of the rolled down windows and right into my ears. My foot tapping against the concrete, each number taunting me.
15
14
13…
Squeezing my eyes shut, nope. No . I can’t do it.
I turn back around and run towards the store with the stand.
Five minutes later, I come out a happy woman with a cherry popsicle.
Hey, I know what you’re thinking but when else am I going to find a popsicle for a dollar in this economy?
Beyoncé and Shakira, thank you for calling me out and pushing me to get a popsicle.
“You can’t bring that inside, Miss Rivera.” Ernie Williams, security guard of the building, otherwise known as boss-man (by me, of course). His features stiffen against his black skin, but I know Ernie’s not pissed. He has a soft spot for me.
Ever since his granddaughter came to work with him and I spent time making her laugh, he’s liked me.
“It’s a popsicle.” One that’s dripping down the palm of my hands.
He raises an unimpressed brow.
“Alright,” I smile widely. “I’ll finish this outside if you tell me a joke.”
I hear a quiet chuckle. “You’re exactly like Matilda.”
Matilda’s the granddaughter. Her birthday’s in exactly two weeks and we’re best friends. Her words, not mine.
“Intelligent minds think alike.”
His smile vanishes and he straightens himself when he looks behind me.
Popping the melting popsicle back in my mouth, I turn around to see what has him worked up.
A black Bentley pulls up to the side of the road, right in front of the doors.
I shuffle to the side, so my right shoulder meets the large glass of the building.
Ernie walks over to open the door and I hold my breath. I’ve heard the workers at Vuk Securities talk about this before. Girls gushed over how hot all of them looked stepping out of their car. I’ve imagined it before, but witnessing it in real time? Jaw is dropped.
Calahan Vuk is the first to walk out. The middle brother of three.
Some say he’s sensitive, others say he has anger issues.
I don’t know him well enough to base a judgement off of what I’ve seen and heard.
His dark suit fits against him like a cage.
The buttons closed all the way to his throat, even his necktie pleads with him to chill.
His blonde hair is cut short to his scalp, a buzz at the growing out stage.
He doesn’t acknowledge Ernie when he walks inside the building.
Azar—the youngest—steps out next. Instead of the typical suit, he’s wearing a linen shirt that’s loose and flowy.
His black hair is floppy yet styled in that meticulous way of his.
He stretches his arms out behind his head, thick muscles bulge and makes me laugh because it’s so Azar to do that in the middle of the street.
He leans his sunglasses-covered eyes up to the sky.
He told me he’d be back next week. That little liar.
Unlike Calahan, he thanks Ernie with an adorable hug before stepping back and letting the oldest Vuk brother out.
His Damien loafers make an appearance first before he elegantly steps out of the car.
The sun blazes on him like some kind of spotlight he’s reserved for this entrance.
He stands straight, naturally buttoning the middle of his navy-blue suit jacket.
There’s no tie matching it. The top couple of buttons were undone, showing a speck of chest hair and skin.
I swallow hard, only for the artificial cherry flavour to get stuck in my throat. I start coughing. Loudly. Horrendously. My mouth opens wide as I smack my chest.
The rough tickle passes down the pharynx and I make the biggest mistake of looking up.
Deep, dark, green eyes are looking directly at me.
My heart stops beating.
“Nova? ”
It takes physical effort to look away from his sharp gaze to Azar. The contrast is astonishing. While Dean is all rough, hard, and muscular. Azar is soft, strong, and… also extremely broad.
He smiles brightly, giving much needed golden retriever energy.
It’s okay, Nova. Breathe. Dean Vuk is a scary man who just so happens to be extremely attractive. You’ve dealt with many of them before.
My inner talk hasn’t finished when I lick my lips and return Azar’s smile with a large grin, dropping the large picnic basket in my other hand, I wave at them.
Azar waves back.
Dean’s fingers are stretched open as he raises them a fraction, almost like he was about to wave back but realizes it too quickly. He fists his hand and I watch him throw his guard back up with a painful clench to his jaw and a look on his face that shows how much I irk him.
He doesn’t waste another second walking inside.
Azar watches him with a smug smirk on his face before putting his hand down. As unnerved as I am from that interaction, I pick up the basket and walk over to Azar.
“You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” I bemuse.
“Aw,” he presses a hand over his heart. “To be missed this much by a fellow friend.”
I roll my eyes.
Azar and I have been friends since the minute I stepped into Vuk Securities.
The story isn’t a fun one but it’s funny.
Originally, I walked into the security company hoping to get a job as a security guard during the day.
At the time, I was desperate for money and Rivera’s Roses—my shop—wasn’t doing as well as I thought it would.
I can’t stand office jobs or tedious work, and this was available.
I forgot one tiny detail and that was how being a Pilates princess does not mean I can protect people.
When I walked into the waiting lounge, Azar was sitting at one of the couches, sipping an iced coffee with his intimidating presence. One look at him had me gasping and not because he was attractive, but because I knew I wasn’t getting the job.
He laughed at that, completely chuckled.
He did try to hit on me with an exaggerated wink that looked like he was trying to get something out of his eye without touching it—lost a thousand aura points that day—and told me he was one of the partners of the company (not sure if I count him as a partner when he works as a bodyguard).
We then laughed because we both knew how unqualified I was for the job in my loose pants and a habit for always smiling.
When I didn’t get the job (already predicted that), Azar was waiting for me outside and asked if I wanted to get lunch somewhere. Somehow, along the way, we became friends.
Now he comes over every weekend to watch Love Next Door, hangout when Sunny is in the mood, and workout at the gym together, which is slowly gaining back his aura points.
“I actually did miss you, Az.” I smile at him. “Sunny said she saw you looking glum at one of the concerts.”
His grin becomes grim, and he turns mildly annoyed at the memory.
Azar’s tasks are… interesting. Sometimes he goes to protect a mobster and other times it’s a royal family.
I’m pretty sure he had to bodyguard a chihuahua once.
Now, that was pretty funny. Considering all the tiny dog did was hiss and sass at the guy.
“Just a stuck-up popstar and her annoying football boyfriend.” He bares his teeth at the memory.
Running a thick thumb over his upper lip.
“The thing is,” he raises his arms, runs his hands through his hair, before slamming them down.
“He doesn’t like her, and she doesn’t like him, but they’re doing this fake dating shit for popularity, and it pisses me off because he treats her like crap. ”
Way to drop a bomb.
I cluck my tongue. “Azar,” I say. “Do you like her?”
He goes red. Complete, beetroot red. “Fuck no.”
A dramatic, over the top sigh flutters out of me. “Oh Azar, love is not a cri?—”
“I don’t,” he snaps. “She’s just… irritating.”
Irritating . Key word for: I’m madly in love with her.
Mark it. Write it down. Engrave it on my tits if it helps.
But this man is in love.
Azar’s phone buzzes and he looks at it with another grim look of his. The first of many, I’m guessing. “Fucking hell, she’s stuck in an elevator. I’ve got to go.”
“Give her a kiss for me,” I mock him by blowing pouty lips.
“Shut up, dude.” He gives me the middle finger, getting back into the car and not a second later, it zooms away from the curb and to wherever it is Azar needs to go.
When a hot wave of earth hits me, I remember that I had to be inside about ten minutes ago and dash past Ernie who has usual obnoxious dad smile on.
Saying hi to all the workers in the lobby, I’m stopped by the crowd of people in front of the elevator.
Eyeing the stairway sign, I dart towards it, hiking the basket up my forearm and dealing with the long-gone popsicle and remaining sticky residue from it.
Fifteen floors later, I’ve made it to Vuk Securities.