Chapter 3 #2
the process, but it was still terrifying to realize she would not be the same ubiquitous kind of beautiful forever. Now, at
thirty-two—the age Bill had been when they’d met—this truth had started to sink in.
Danika was glad to hear the whir of the garage door then—to know Chat was back from drop-off. She took a breath before turning
to Max, his mouth opening in a spitty smile.
“Come on, bubs.” She squatted as she smoothed her hair and picked him up. “Let’s go find Mr. Chat.” Her cheeks warmed with
anticipation as she headed down the stairs. She hoped he’d tell her she looked nice—or at least, that he would think it.
Danika blasted the AC as she drove. She wanted to arrive crisp and cool, rather than succumb to the humid heat.
Having grown up everywhere from North Carolina to DC to Germany, she was none too pleased by these Minnesota summers.
Everyone else loved them—the lakes, pools, escape from the winter tundra—but she enjoyed the snow and ice, the way sharp air could fill your lungs, shock you alive.
Danika was glad to have learned this about herself. She was glad to have lived so many places, too. Her whole life, she’d
tell people she was from different cities based on where they were from or what might most impress them. For example, with
Holly Fravel, she’d claimed Monterey because Holly was from LA. She hadn’t bothered to explain her family had only lived there
for two years—and that the army houses on the Presidio were some of the oldest and mustiest of all. Let Holly imagine Carmel.
The army housing from her childhood was one of the main reasons she could never live in a place like Briar Ridge. Both felt
too stereotypically suburban with their rows of generic houses and little to zero privacy. Danika’s mother had especially
hated living on base—pressed up against senior officials, forced to play nice and kiss ass. Danika’s father had been a staff
sergeant (though Danika told everyone he retired a lieutenant colonel), and her mother resented having to suck up to the women
who wore their husband’s rank as their own—the WOs, or “Wives Of.” Danika realized later in life this was probably why her
mom became such a good decorator. Even if their home was small and standard, she was creative, thrifty. Too bad she was such
a bitch.
Danika checked the GPS, surprised she was close. The development didn’t feel as far away as she’d expected. She figured this
would help in appealing to all the families who pretended they wanted proximity to Minneapolis—yet really just wanted a Big
Room and fake-wood floors and a fenced-in yard for their goldendoodle.
Danika slowed as she approached the complex and, as instructed, took a right on Poplar Street (in a move both clever and tacky, all the streets were named for trees).
Then, finally, there it was: the model home glowing above her like a prize.
The driveway was long, and as she curved along the asphalt, she felt relieved.
The house had a wide wraparound porch, neat black shutters, and neutral, authentic-looking cobblestone. It didn’t feel as cheap as expected.
Danika’s relief quickly snapped to irritation when she noticed three other cars parked outside in addition to Bill’s Porsche.
Bill had implied it’d be only them, that they’d go for a drink at L?K after. Danika parked behind the M5 and killed the ignition,
squinting at the license plate in front of her: “JSH MKE.” She groaned.
In addition to never trusting anyone with two first names, Danika thought Joshua Mike was slimy. He’d made millions in private
equity, married into the Cargill family, and, after his wife died of cancer, inherited more money than he—or anyone—deserved.
He went wild from there. Quite literally. He bought the Minnesota Wild hockey team, the famous Lake Minnetonka marina (now
aptly “Mike’s Marina”), and the marina’s accompanying restaurant, The Manor. He was often drunk and crass, and Danika didn’t
think anyone genuinely liked him, but with his money and power, he still had lots of “friends.”
He had a particular affection for Danika. He always followed her around the Club, asking about their house, their cabin, their
architect—who’d grown famous over the years. He invited them to his house frequently, too, bragging about his Himalayan salt room, living green walls, the marble he had imported from Italy.
Danika knew he was fishing for a reciprocal invite, but she refused. On several occasions, he’d also told her she was the
most gorgeous woman in the room.
“Danika, darling,” Bill called from across the living room as she pushed through the front door. He stood in front of a huge wall of windows that revealed the sloping backyard and, down the hill, about ten other houses.
The other three men turned to her. She recognized them all. Along with Joshua Mike, there was Malcolm Mitchell (Mallory Harrison’s
husband) and Wyatt Greene (Robin’s husband). Instantly, she felt thrown; while Bill had mentioned he’d partnered with shareholders,
she had not imagined this group. Her face went hot with embarrassment as she remembered how she’d bragged to Mallory and Robin
about the job at Briar Ridge.
“Malcolm, Wyatt, Joshua.” She walked to each of them, gliding confidently as she shook their hands hard. “It’s great to see
you all.”
“As you can see, we have the A-team.” Bill gestured to the group.
Danika grimaced. Why hadn’t Bill told her who exactly was involved? Bill and Wyatt—despite being golf rivals with a twenty-year
age difference—were old friends. Their families went way back. Bill had explained how expensive this project was, that he needed investors with deep pockets. So on second thought, it did make sense
to Danika that here, around them, were three of the richest members at the Club.
“Danika, darling indeed.” Joshua Mike leaned down to kiss her on both cheeks. “Did you have fun at the wedding?”
Danika leaned against the counter, folding her hands on top of each other. “I did, it was lovely. I hope Miriam had a good
time,” she said to Malcolm, Miriam’s new cousin-in-law.
“Yes, absolutely. Paid for it yesterday, though,” Malcolm said. “Irish flu, as they say.”
“Speak for yourself,” Joshua Mike cackled. “I felt great. That Dom went down easy.”
“It’s nice to see you, Danika,” Wyatt said. He had always been a gentle soul. He wasn’t bad to look at, either, with that thick, silver hair and perfect square jaw.
“You too.” She dipped her head to him, then looked out to the room. “So, this is it? I have to say, it’s nicer than the photos.
I think we have a lot to work with.”
“Absolutely,” Bill said. “Good space, right? Good air.”
Joshua Mike came around the counter, standing next to her. “You think you can work your magic?” He crossed his arms. “I’ve
got to say, Vicki was very impressed, and jealous, when we came over last year. Remember that night? That last tourney of
the season when we forced our way back with Mr. Hole-in-One?” He jabbed his finger toward Bill. “God, that was a good night.
We haven’t been back at your place since. What gives?”
Danika remembered that night—as much as she’d tried to put it out of her mind. The men had shown up unannounced, drunk and
wild after a tournament, piling half-thawed steaks onto the poolside grill and blasting “Country Roads.” Joshua had even invited
his girlfriend.
Bill nodded politely. “She’ll work her magic indeed. But yes, absolutely, we’ll have you all over soon. Count on it.”
Danika’s blood ticked up a notch.
“Perfect,” Joshua Mike said, still with that stupid grin. “Although Vicki’s long gone. I’m sure Jackie will be just as impressed.
You’ll like her, D. She’s got style.”
He wiggled his eyebrows, and Danika felt a wave of disgust. Was he really calling her D?
Bill clapped his hands. “Okay, so, darling, shall we take a proper tour? Gentlemen, you’re welcome to stay or go. It was great
to see you all. I appreciate your time.”
To Danika’s relief, they all mumbled excuses and made their way to the door. Danika ignored another muffled call from Joshua Mike as she moved into the dining room.
As they left, Danika pressed her hand to the cool, freshly painted wall. “It’s nice,” she said to Bill, the house now quiet,
the air tinged awkward.
“Right? I knew you were expecting worse.”
“Well, yes. But it’s wonderful. Thank you. For not setting me up for failure.”
“Oh, you’re never one to fail.”
He was right. She wanted to tell him more—how she was going to aim for a commercial version of their style; how she was going
to give each room an exclamation point; how, as always, she would get the lighting right. Still, she held her tongue. She
didn’t want to look overenthused or flippant. Despite his current mood, things were still off between them. She wasn’t so
delusional as to think they’d fall back into some fantasy, but still. Bill used to love to show her off, to wine and dine
her, and lately, it seemed as if he was living on a separate island. It made Danika feel cast aside, which made her feel needy,
which—in turn—made her feel pathetic.
“Remind me, how many bedrooms?” She walked to the staircase.
“Four.” Bill pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Right.” Her heels clapped each step as she climbed toward the mezzanine balcony. She’d always liked those—how they conjured
images of Romeo and Juliet.
“But, hey, D.” Bill craned up at her, teasing. Danika paused and stared down at him, feeling an unexpected flash of affection for him.
“We’ll still get a drink after?”
“Yes, sure, B,” she said as she continued down the hall, reveling in the sound of Bill’s laughter echoing off all the empty walls.