The weekend crawled by with nonstop schoolwork, which helped to keep my mind occupied. Monday was staff development day, and the students were off, so midmorning I took the train into the city.
All the D&S Tower needed was Batman perched on top of it to complete the menacing matte-black steel superstructure. The modern skyscraper was one of the most visited buildings in the city, gaining popularity from the Star family and their iconic advertisements.
After I pulled open heavy glass doors, the building swallowed me into the enormous lobby. Suspended from the high ceiling was an ornate chandelier, which dangled elegantly between massive trees.
There were freaking trees in here.
Obscured by their large trunks were two escalators with cascading wall fountains on either side. Black marble with flecks of gold covered the walls and floors. I stood there in awe far longer than I should have. Attractive men and women strutted along the lobby with purpose, carrying designer briefcases and purses, laughing, smiling. Their beautiful, tanned faces never looked in my direction, as if I were invisible to them.
Even when I stand out like a sore thumb, I’m still invisible.
I thought I’d dressed appropriately for the meeting, until I saw everyone else’s sumptuous business attire. The plain black slacks that I discovered in the dusty corner of my mother’s closet had a teeny tiny hole in the crotch. Marcy’s bloodred American Apparel blouse fit snugly on my chest, the button right above my cleavage threatening to burst any moment. Paired with last night’s black heels, matching jewelry, and a reserved amount of eyeliner and lipstick, I feigned an important role among the gorgeous, graceful, qualified workers at the D&S Tower.
Crossing the lobby, I entered an elevator. There was nothing I hated more than elevators. And of course, Devin’s office was the penthouse suite, the eighty-eighth floor of the enormous building.
Gripping the steel hand bar behind me, I shut my eyes, concentrating on the eerie elevator music. Claustrophobic box from hell.
The doors opened and I all but threw myself out. A pleasant autumn scent of freshly cut green apples and cinnamon welcomed me to a modernized yet cozy reception area.
A beautiful redheaded woman was perched behind a raised wrap-around desk. As I approached her, she peered at me for a moment and continued to type away. Her metal name plate read Tiara Reid.
“Hi, I’m here for Devin Star?”
Typing.
“I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Star,” I spoke louder.
“Are you his secretary?”
More typing.
I cleared my throat. “Hello?”
She hit one last key with her talonlike red nails, swinging her cold eyes to me. “I’m Mr. Star’s receptionist.” Hostility saturated her voice, as if I was aggravating her by my mere presence. “Name.”
I was taken aback by her snippiness but held my own. “Williams.
Faith Williams.” I cringed inwardly at my accidental 007 reference.
Tiara reached under her desk and smacked a small pack of D&S
Tower tissues in front of me. “These are for you.” She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “May I offer you a complimentary glass of D&S
Tower Detox Water?”
“No, thank you. Wait, why the tissues—”
“Please, have a seat,” she cut in. “He’ll be with you shortly.”
A loud crash, followed by a girlish cry, jolted me into awareness.
My attention darted to the source, yet another thick glass door next to Tiara’s desk. Devin’s office, I assumed. The blinds were drawn tight.
“You’ll need the tissues soon.” Tiara’s tight-lipped smirk was so nasty it made my skin crawl. Neatly getting up, she slid her hands down her tiny waist and smoothed her maroon skirt.
My tight blouse seemed to restrict my nervous inhale. “Is he ready to see me?”
“Are you ready to see him?” Another cold smile. Tiara opened the door into Devin’s office, right as a woman with smudged makeup and puffy eyes rushed out, sobbing. The sniffling woman fumbled with a pack of D&S Tower tissues in her hands and muttered incoherently as she flew past me to escape.
“Oookay, then.” I scratched the back of my neck, stunned by that woman’s clear distress in her swift exit. I reminded myself why I was here in the first place. Sure, I had my portfolio and my resume but my sole intention was to ensure my car was getting fixed.
Tiara shut the office door and snickered.
“That would be the sixth applicant for the art counselor position,” she said with a vile gleam in her smile. “Definitely less emotional than the girl before her.” Despite the sour look in her eyes, I didn’t shrink back as she strutted toward me. “Little advice, darling.
Turn around and go back to whatever poorhouse you came from. I know what money looks like, and honey, you aren’t it.”
“Are you always this caring or is this just for me?”
She scoffed. “This is an elite corporate building—”
“Maybe I should leave, then.” Once Tiara seemed convinced, I burst out laughing. “Psych. I couldn’t care less about your assumptions of me. Now get your fake ass out of my way and step aside, I don’t want to be late to my appointment.”
I started to move around her, when Tiara curled her talon nails into my arm and yanked me back.
“How dare you talk to me like that? I can ruin your life, and believe me, you’ll regret—” Tiara retracted her hand and stepped back. Before she could finish her threat, the door to Devin’s office had swung open, and out came an unexpected face. His son.
David Star.
When he moved, he carried his height with confidence and dispersed fresh, clean cologne into the room. Strong shoulders filled out his pressed white Armani shirt. Thick chestnut-brown hair with natural highlights was styled casually from his face. He was clean-shaven, emphasizing a prominent jawline and full lips.
All he needed was a fan blowing on him, and he’d be fully equipped for a photo shoot.
David scrolled through his phone and stepped up to me.
Without looking up, he spoke. “There’s broken glass in my office.
Clean it up.” Oh, hell no! He sauntered past me to Tiara. “Tia, I’m going out. Cancel any other job applicants today. Tell them I have the stomach virus that’s going around. Yeah, I have it bad. If they get pushy, say I shit myself or something.”
“Excuse me,” I interjected irritably. “I’m not your maid.”
David looked sharply in my direction. His eyes were mesmerizing, a deceiving soft milk chocolate, considering their hard cruelty as they raked my frame once. You know that savage look people give you when they’re judging you instantly?
Yep.
His stare pierced mine with every long-swaggered stride he took in my direction. He was the storm after the calm, and I was in the eye of it. I feared this man’s awareness of me, especially once he got closer.
“Wait a minute, I know you . . . ” His deep, slightly husky voice crooned over his words with an effortless charm. My brain typed out a prompt reminder that the Star family annoyed the shit out of me.
My hormones never received the memo. “You’re the cute goth girl who hates my guts.”
My face blistered with embarrassment, a small laugh tumbling out. “We may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”
To that, David said nothing, his head tilted down to the portfolio clutched under my arm. “Don’t tell me you’re the art girl too?
Small world.”
“Apparently,” I replied warily.
David flashed a grin that held no genuine kindness. It wasn’t quite as heartless as Tiara’s at least. He turned and glided to his door to hold it open for me. “Please, come in.”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” I said. “I’m scheduled to see your father, not you. To discuss the situation with my car.”
For a second, David appeared to be biting back a laugh. Did I forget to wax my upper lip? The weight of the world lifted off me as his eyes fell away from mine and dropped to the portfolio again.
“Then why did you bring your portfolio?”
“Oh, I—”
He snatched it out of my grasp. “Fantastic, I’ll have a look.
Unfortunately, my father took a jet to Australia this morning for the company. I’m the one currently interviewing for the art counselor positions. We can discuss your car situation as well.”
He motioned me inside, and I had no other argument to make.
As I walked past David into his office, Tiara shot envious daggers down at me from atop her perch.
Receptionist, my butt. More like gargoyle.
“My father said I would like you,” David said, once we were alone. “I guess you didn’t tell him how we’ve already met.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Listen, I was having a bad night—”
“Then let’s go back to the beginning,” David said with that deep, appealing voice. He held out his hand. “David Star.”
“Faith Williams,” I said and returned his firm handshake.
David’s eyes drilled mine as his index finger rested against my wrist for a prolonged moment. It was as if this man was purposely trying to make me squirm.
“Welcome to D&S Enterprises, Faith.”
Heat crawled up my neck under his intense stare. He was still holding my hand. Was he checking my pulse?
He let me go. “Have a seat.”
My wrist buzzed where his index finger had been. I sat in the black leather chair across from his desk. Seeing David now, dressed as an astute businessman rather than the normal nineteen-year-old I’d met Friday night, was surprising, to say the least. He embodied the mature role like a chameleon adapting to his surroundings, and I couldn’t help but feel like I’d underestimated his intelligence. Looked like Playboy Junior was the genius protégé the world claimed, after all.
The office was spacious with lush gray carpeting and black leather furniture scattered sparingly. A few fake leafy potted plants sat by his desk. His computer setup had dual monitors and a fancy ergonomic keyboard with the latest state-of-the-art technology. On the opposite side of the room, a galaxy-wide flat-screen hung above a collection of black-and-white shots of the city.
Massive floor-to-ceiling panels overlooked the skyline of New York City. Heavily tinted, each panel limited the amount of light in the room, creating the illusion of night.
Despite all the impressive decor and peculiar window choice, what really caught my attention was the shattered glass coffee table I’d passed on my way to my seat, and his unbelievably cluttered desk.
“This is your office?” I asked.
David sat down in the leather chair behind his desk, his hand hovering over the messy surface as he searched for an item. “Has my name on it.”
“But you’re . . . ”
“Too young?” David offered. He slid a pack of gum from beneath a pile of debris and popped a piece into his mouth. “I’m nowhere near my father’s level of responsibilities, but he did start showing me the ropes from the moment I could say call to action. ”
I thumbed over my shoulder. “What’s with the coffee table?”
“It broke.”
“I hate when that happens . . . ” You sarcastic jerk. “All these beautiful windows, and yet it’s so dark in here.”
“I had them heavily tinted. Got jabbed in the eye when I was little, and now I’m sensitive to light. Have to wear sunglasses even when it’s cloudy.”
“You have photophobia?”
His head tilted to one side. “You have a firm grasp of the obvious.”
“I took an anatomy class, so I knew the term.” I really hate this guy. I flattened out a small wrinkle in my slacks with my palm. My inner neat freak was screaming at the debacle of papers and garbage scattered along David’s beautiful mahogany desk. Or at least, I imagined it was a beautiful mahogany desk. It was hard to tell what was under all the debris.
How could a man so flawless be so messy? Tragic.
Discreetly, as David fiddled with my resume, I plucked an old french fry off his desk and threw it into the garbage can. Three-pointer.
“Miss Williams.”
Caught.
He set my resume down and folded his hands together. “You should know, Rudolph was my favorite reindeer.”
It took me a second to get it. The car accident. Devin must have told him I’d hit a deer. Trepidation clutched at my chest, as I recalled discovering Death’s cigarette on the ground by my car. I shook myself from my thoughts and focused on the celebrity before me.
“Ha-ha, very funny. I didn’t hit the deer on purpose, you know.”
“That’s what they all say.” Amusement lit up his face. “Believe me, you would know if I was trying to be funny. I was trying to be cute.”
Was he flirting?
“Damn things are overpopulating anyway,” he continued.
“Consider it your good deed for the month.”
I accidentally snorted at his dark humor. I should have just let out a hog noise after that humiliating sound. “About my car,”
I began.
“We’ll get to your car. Relax. You’re making me nervous.” He stood to pour himself a drink of what I assumed was whiskey on the rocks. “Here. For any stress.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Have a sip.”
“No, thank you.”
“I insist.”
His voice held an element of control, which intimidated me.
Despite my complete aversion to alcohol, I brought the drink to my lips and sipped. I expected the whiskey to burn hotly down my throat. Instead, I tasted sugar. “Is this . . . iced tea?”
He raised his glass in a salute. “Peach.”
“You keep peach iced tea in a whiskey bottle?”
“You should be a detective.”
“Why’d you make me think it was alcohol?”
He half shrugged. “Just testing something.” On that strangely enigmatic note, David lifted his drink to his mouth, watching me over the rim. “Tell me more about the accident last Friday.”
“I was driving home from a party—”
“Drunk?” He placed the bottle of “whiskey” on his desk with a clink. He watched my reaction carefully, which was unnerving. I had a feeling that was his intention. This was one weird interview.
“I wasn’t drunk,” I answered.
“Ever been?”
“No, it’s not my thing.” I looked down at my glass and frowned.
Then why did you try this, assuming it was alcohol? “Anyway, I was the designated driver for my friend. Your dad tried to signal me that my muffler was sparking. That’s when I noticed my brakes weren’t working, and we hit the deer.” I politely left out the part about his Fast and Furious father shredding the side of my car like a block of cheese with his Lamborghini.
“Sounds like you’re lucky to be alive,” David said.
A lump rose in my throat. All I could do was nod. He had no idea.
David smoothed his tie with a hand. “You’re at the top of the food chain right now. Working at the D&S Tower would be a life-changing opportunity for anyone. We have top-notch internship programs and surefire scholarships for all our young practicums.
Devin must have seen some remarkable traits in you.”
The way he’d called his father by his first name was unexpected.
“I appreciate the compliment and I’m grateful for the opportunity your father offered me. But I came here because—”
“Or maybe he hit his head on the steering wheel,” David joked.
“Do you want to know why the last girl ran crying out of my office?
I’m sure you’re dying to know.”
I set my glass on a coaster. “Low self-esteem?”
“No, she lied to me. She wasn’t here for a counseling position.
She was trying to dig up some dirt on me to sell to the tabloids.
Unfortunately for her, it was pretty easy to figure out, so I made her a promise. One phone call, and she’d never work a press job in this city again.”
“You’re not really going to do that, are you?”
“I have to, I promised her. Always keep your promises, Faith, and never lie.” A slow, provocative grin broke through his serious expression. “Speaking of lies, let’s have a look at your qualifications.”
For the next two minutes, I watched him flip through the various scanned copies of my art. I’d only shown my family and my art teacher my personal paintings.
David flipped another page and my stomach fell. The willow tree from my dreams. It filled a plastic divider, and I didn’t remember putting it in there.
David sat in silence, analyzing the painting in what appeared to be admiration. “Beautiful. Do you have any other landscapes?”
“Not in my portfolio, no. I-I don’t normally paint landscapes.”
“You should.” David turned the page, and we both seemed to cease any movement. There, in the next two plastic dividers of the binder, were identical drawings of the mismatched green eyes. When he turned the page, there were two more scans of the eyes. I thought I might have a heart attack or hurl up my lunch.
“Um,” David said. “This your boyfriend or something?”
I fought the urge to lunge over the desk and slam the portfolio shut. “I’m—I’m sorry, I must have made a mistake and grabbed the wrong portfolio.”
“No worries, it happens.” He set the portfolio aside. “Well, I’m impressed, Faith. You’re talented.”
“Thank you—”
“Which is a pleasant surprise, considering the only reason I gave you the time of day today is because you have a hot rack.” He wrote a comment down on his notepad, snickering.
Was this guy out of his mind? I dug my fingers into the armrests of my chair, engraving my nails into the leather. “Excuse me?”
“You seem confused. Isn’t that what guys with reputations like mine go around saying to girls?”
He’d held a grudge after all.
David rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, drawing attention to his biceps and the way the fabric strained against his wide chest. As I noticed the black Rolex on his wrist, I was reminded that we were from two different worlds. This was his territory and we both knew it.
“Now, here’s how this is going to go,” David said, his eyes now gleaming with devilry. “If you want your car back, of course. My version of the game Twenty Questions and a list of your positive and negative attributes. I have two columns drawn on this piece of paper.”
David held up a piece of printer paper with scribbles on it. All I could make out was a tiny doodle of boobs in the positive column next to nice tits. “One side is negative, the other side is positive,” he explained, indicating to each side with his pen. “As of now, you have several attributes listed under negatives and only one attribute listed under positives.”
Any other time, I would have walked right out of that room after his degrading remark, but I couldn’t move. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“I said you would know when I’m joking. I’m not joking.” David jotted down more remarks on the paper. “Doesn’t take me seriously.
Negative. Damn it, hold on, I’m writing in the wrong column.” He slipped on a pair of glasses, which made him look even more handsome, if that was even possible— not that it mattered—and resumed writing on the paper again. After, he smirked up at me. “Wow. Eleven negatives in the first ten minutes? A record. You’re going to have to seriously impress me at this point.”
“Eleven negatives?” I leaned forward in my chair. “You didn’t even write that many times!”
“You’ve struck me as competitive,” David said, pointing the pen at me. “I like it.”
“Let me see the paper!” I sprang out of my seat to see what he’d written, but he tugged the paper out of my line of vision.
“Uh, uh, uh, Miss Williams.” He shook a finger at me. I imagined chopping that finger into little pieces and throwing it back at him like confetti. “Let’s keep this professional.”
“Please. As if any of this has been professional or mature!” I lurched out of my chair, a ballistic explosion in the midst. “How dare you talk to me like I’m—I’m—”
“Beautiful?”
My eyes clashed with his, expecting mockery within them, but instead, I found honesty, and that left me a little breathless despite my better judgment. “I want an update on my car,” I said. “And I want it in my driveway by tomorrow at twelve p.m. Or else I’ll leak to the press how your father tried to shut me up last night.”
David slowly rose to his full height and strode around the cluttered desk. Intimidating good looks hovered over mine like a challenge that could end in condemnation, his body language self-assured and dominant with the anticipation of a victory that he never received. I stood my ground. David leaned away to sit on the edge of his desk, the gravity in the room shifting back to normal as our height evened out.
“If you leave, you don’t get the job,” he said, at last.
“I don’t want the job—”
“And you lose.” He reached back on his desk and held up the list of positives and negatives. My focus shifted to the positive listed on the paper.
Doesn’t like to lose.
“You’ll have to admit defeat and walk out of this building knowing you gave up.” David pushed off his desk and walked around it again.
You’ll see my name everywhere and remember the smug look I had on my face when I defeated you.” He poured himself another “whiskey” and snatched it off the desk. Then he stood in front of the windows overlooking the city and sipped his drink with a theatrical “Ah.”
I headed toward the door. “Try your reverse psychology on yourself.”
“Stop,” he commanded, and I turned back. David burrowed through me with his steely brown eyes, and through a dreamlike haze, I obeyed.
“Don’t you at least want to know if you’re qualified?” he asked.
“Metaphorically, of course.”
This man had been playing a game with me from the moment we met. And he was right. I didn’t like to lose. It was a curse. Or maybe I was entranced by him. Either way, I felt like a madwoman for even considering staying. This wasn’t me.
“Come on, Faith,” he said around a broad grin. “Humor me.”
This was sick. Stinging, I made my way back to my seat with the intention of putting this jerk in his place.
David strode to his desk without breaking eye contact and sat down. “Let’s get serious. Tell me about your previous jobs.”
“I’ve worked as a waitress for half a year. They weren’t giving me enough hours and favoring other employees, so I quit. I also babysit, tutor, and volunteer in my spare time.”
“Bor-ring,” he sang under his breath.
“Serious doesn’t last with you, does it? I would pay to see you try to wait tables.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “As one of our counselors, you would have to commute here a few times a week after school. Would that be overwhelming?”
“Metaphorically, no. Like you said, working at the D&S Tower is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and art is my passion. When I’m passionate about something, I’m dedicated to my responsibilities and willing to learn. No matter what obstacles are thrown in my way, I don’t give up. Ever.”
“Ever?”
“You already know I don’t like to lose. I’d push forward and get any task you’d need done. I’d do it efficiently too. That’s how I am.
I’ve always been that way.”
“You live in Pleasant Valley, correct? In Thomas’s neighborhood?”
“No, I live on the opposite side of town.” The part that didn’t have gated-in homes and fifty-thousand-dollar pools in every backyard.
He scribbled something else in the cons side of the paper. “All right, so that’s a pretty long commute here. How old are you?”
“Eighteen. How old are you?”
His pen paused, before moving again. “Who’s the one being interviewed here?”
“It was just a question. It’s not like I asked you where you live or what time you get home after work.”
“Are you asking me out?” he quipped.
I snorted. “When pigs fly.”
“At-ti-tude!” David rested the cap of his pen against his bottom lip. “Would that be a negative or positive attribute?”
I gave him a flat look.
“You asked how old I am.” He leaned forward on his elbows, a piece of hair falling out of its perfectly styled position and onto his forehead. He was so sexy that it hurt to look at him. It hurt even more to admit to myself I still found this disgusting jerk attractive.
“Take your best guess.”
As I analyzed his features, I recalled every article I’d read about the Star family and took a stab from memory. “Nineteen.”
David whistled lowly. “So close. A fan would have known my age.”
“A fan would have cared too.”
He inclined his head to the side. “Ouch. See, I knew you never liked me.”
“Not much gets past you.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He bridged his fingers together in a steeple position. “What is your opinion of me? Be honest. Take as long as you want. This is your chance to tear me to pieces.”
“That’s easy, David, because you’re a cliché.” I lazed back in the chair. “You are an arrogant, womanizing elitist, and you think you can have anything you want with a snap of your fingers because you’re rich and famous. But no matter how many hot models you surround yourself with, and no matter how many expensive cars you drive, the only luxury you’ll truly have in this life is the luxury of being alone, watching everyone else around you lead a normal life.”
“And my heart is an endless void, which must be filled with love by the stroke of midnight, or else my Bugatti will turn into a pumpkin?” David added with a haughty grin, spinning around in his chair. “You live in a fantasy world. I have everything I want.”
“You asked me a question and I answered it honestly,” I reminded him. “The unhappiness part was an observation.”
“What could I possibly need in my life to make me happier?”
“I’m not your psychologist.”
He curled his lips into a thin line. “Smart-ass. That would be a negative.”
“Did you expect me to kiss your feet and tell you you’re perfect in every way, shape, and form? Sorry, not sorry.”
David burst into a fit of laughter. “I like you.” He wrote again on his pros and cons list. “You have guts coming in here and telling me off. Especially after my being so rude. You’re exactly what I’m looking for.”
I uncrossed and recrossed my legs. “If only this wasn’t a metaphorical interview.”
David stared at me for a long stretch of time. Jaw clenched, he picked up my portfolio and plopped it to the side of his desk. “Have you really never had a boyfriend?”
“What?”
“A boyfriend,” David repeated. “A boy, who’s a friend. Except the two of you—” He started to make lewd hand gestures, at which point I cut him off.
“I know what a boyfriend is, bozo.”
“So the answer is no, you haven’t,” David said, his grin wolfish.
“You’re a virgin too. Saving yourself for a special guy?”
Geez, is it that obvious I’m a virgin? “That is none of your damn business.”
“Touchy.” His expression was a hybrid of wicked and amused.
Like he’d found a new way to tamper with his favorite toy. “I bet . . . you’ve never seen a guy naked.”
“I have,” I lied, semi-choking it out. How the hell could he possibly know that? Had the room raised a few degrees or had I imagined it? I was hyperaware of every pore in my body sweating too. Recently, on the front cover of Rolling Stone magazine, David had appeared naked with both hands in front of his privates. It was all over the news.
Now it was all I could see. Once more, David was purposely trying to rouse a reaction out of me, and it was working. “I have seen a guy naked, but once again, that’s none of your business.”
“It was health class, wasn’t it? You saw your first and only in health class?”
There was no possible way he was asking if I’d ever seen a . . .
“You know, the Love Muscle? Mr. Happy? I personally like to call mine: ‘The Anaconda.’” Then he moved his hand around like a snake. “Sssssss.”
“I’m four hundred percent done with this interview.”
“Sssss.”
I launched from my seat to stand. “You’re sick!”
“You have no idea.” He propped his feet up onto his desk. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I must inform you that the top button of your blouse popped off about ten minutes ago. Must have been those D cups breaking free.”
I snatched my purse and bolted. “Good-bye, David.”
“I always win.” He’d only muttered it under his breath, but I’d heard him clear as day.
I stopped dead in my tracks and pivoted at the door.
“You’re a sad excuse for a man,” I said, and his cocky grin faltered.
“You’re wrong too. You lost by losing me, and I won by losing you.”
I yanked open the office door and tossed him my complimentary D&S Tower tissues, which he caught smoothly with one hand. His features had molded into granite, his mouth a tight, thin line.
For once, David Star had nothing to say.
When I got home, I sulked around the rest of the afternoon and cured my tribulations with cheddar popcorn and reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I tossed a kernel of popcorn at the TV. “Come on, Buff! Make out with Spike already!”
The lock to the front door jangled, before a frazzled version of Aunt Sarah entered my home with an eccentric neon-purple tote bag. Sarah was my mom’s little sister by twelve years. She lived close by, and with my parents gone, she’d been charged with checking in on me. Inside the doorway, she wrestled her umbrella closed with hilarious aggravated noises.
“Sup,” I managed around a mouthful of food.
She whirled around with her hand to her chest. “Jesus! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“You’re the one breaking into my house unannounced,” I pointed out.
“I was in the area, missy. And I have a key, which means you can’t throw any alcohol-infested partizzles while the folks are away.”
She dangled the key smugly.
“You have to have friends to throw a partizzle, Aunt Sarah.
What’s in the Mary Poppins bag?”
“Vegetarian lasagna.”
“Bleh!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like scurvy for dinner instead? We both know you haven’t eaten a vegetable in days.”
I fluttered my eyelashes innocently. “In what world is Count Chocula not a vegetable?”
“Exactly.” Tossing her raincoat haphazardly onto the rack by the front door, my aunt stepped into the kitchen to put my dinner in the fridge. Then she wandered into the living room and slumped onto the couch beside me.
“What’s up with the business outfit?” she asked. My heart ticked up a notch. I was still wearing the clothes from my failed appointment at the D&S Tower, and she couldn’t know that I’d visited New York
City by myself. That was 100 percent off-limits when my parents were around and 110 percent off-limits when they weren’t even in the same state. My parents made it clear I couldn’t leave town while they were away and that they would ground me if I did.
“Apparently, ripped jeans and band T-shirts aren’t suitable for yearbook pictures anymore. Pleasant Valley likes to torture its students by making them come in on a staff development day.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t seem entirely convinced. “And where the heck is your car?”
Dad had turned half our garage into a gym and the other half was where my mom parked her car, which meant Aunt Sarah had noticed my car wasn’t parked its usual spot next to my dad’s truck in the driveway. The gig was up.
“I drove Marcy to get our photos done this morning,” I said.
“She asked to borrow my car afterward to see this guy and said she’d drop it off later.”
Damn that was good. I’m pretty amazing at this whole lying thing.
“Doesn’t Marcy have her own car?”
“Mr. Delgado isn’t letting her drive for a while. Long story short, a few weeks ago, Marcy drove tipsy to get fast food. Her dad happened to be on duty that night and pulled her over. Now she’s on an unofficial license suspension.”
Sheriff Delgado was one of the most well-respected men in Pleasant Valley. Although I loved him like a second father, his over-protectiveness was mostly responsible for Marcy’s rebellious behavior.
Since Mrs. Delgado’s passing, it was no secret that Marcy and her dad had a rocky relationship. Revoking her license to teach her a lesson is something he would actually do, and Marcy had driven drunk to get a burger before, so the blatant lie to my aunt wasn’t too far-fetched.
“Her dad thinks she’ll behave better without a car,” I continued.
“But you know Marcy.”
“Always finds a way to get what she wants,” Aunt Sarah said.
“And apparently, you’re her accomplice.”
“It was a onetime thing, I swear.” I passed the bowl of cheddar popcorn, swiftly changing the subject. “How was your week?”
“Adulting sucks.” She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “I’m trying to organize all these local bookstore events to help get some new customers and it’s a major drag. I wish I could hire another employee full-time, but nobody wants to work anymore.”
“True dat. Is Ruby still there? I miss Ruby. She always has hard candy in her pocket.”
“I love Ruby to death, but she’s a thousand years old, and she keeps telling customers as they leave not to take any wooden nickels.”
“Harsh.”
“Never grow up, my beautiful niece. Life can make you bitter.” On that cheerful note, she slapped her hands on her legs and brightened.
“Anyhoo! What else have you been up to?”
“I drank two cases of root beer?”
“Wow, so eventful.” She scrutinized my cocoon of blankets and the undeniable dark circles under my eyes as if she knew there had to be more gossip. “Now that you’ve reached the big one-eight, how’s that woe is me teen angst?”
“Let’s see.” I settled back into the couch. “I have one friend, I repel the opposite sex like water repels a cat, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I plan on camping on this couch, on this exact cushion, until my butt forever imprints this sofa.”
“Dang. That bad, huh? Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Glancing up at Buffy on the TV, Aunt Sarah smiled to herself and reached into her purple tote. “Then it’s a good thing I brought something to cheer you up.”
I looked down at the book in her hand and gasped. She sometimes brought me a new book and this one was too fitting. “Encyclopedia of Vampires! No way!” I smiled uncontrollably, cracking open the bad boy. “This is awesome. You know me way too well.”
“This is a good one,” Aunt Sarah said, pointing to Angel on the TV. We binged a few classic episodes together—shouting and throwing popcorn at the TV at the exact right moments. Family. Sometimes they just get you.
After Aunt Sarah left to meet a friend for dinner, I leafed through the vampire book and read a few passages about the mythical origin of vampires, when the paranormal aspect of it all suddenly reminded me of a certain cloaked hallucination.
Nope. I decided to save the read for later.
As the next episode of Buffy queued, I messaged my parents to ask them how their trip was going.
Mom sent me a picture of Dad’s sunburn and then a picture of a lobster. She wrote how excited she was about a beach concert later. Shortly after, Dad sent me a picture of Mom asleep in a beach chair with her mouth wide open. Jokingly, he wrote he’d rather shoot himself in the leg than go to the beach concert. I burst out laughing and sent them a picture of my pale arm and Buffy on the TV screen.
The doorbell rang a few times, interrupting my final text.
When I peered through the peephole, wavy balayage hair and hazel eyes greeted me.
“Peace offering?” Marcy asked, presenting a plate of slutty brownies. Her eyes were sunken in and her skin was washed out like she hadn’t slept well in days. “They’re extra slutty.”
Despite our argument on my birthday and the fact that I’d ignored her calls, I couldn’t help but feel so happy to see her. Before
I could let her in, words came tumbling out of her mouth. “I tried to stop by all weekend. My grandparents came to visit, and then Dad wouldn’t let me leave the house. I’m sorry for everything I said Friday. I didn’t mean a single word of it. I’m so, so, so—”
“Girl, get in here.” I ushered her inside and pulled her into the kitchen to set the brownies down. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have criticized you, I just get worried and have no filter.”
“I know, but the no filter is why I love you. Dude, I ruined your birthday.”
“Dude, no you didn’t,” I said. “I celebrated it twice, remember?”
If anything, a certain hooded figure had ruined it.
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Marcy’s voice broke off as her eyes flooded with tears, and then it all came tumbling out again.
“When my mom died, I turned to Thomas for help, instead of you. I put him in that gaping hole in my heart because I thought I needed the distraction. You’re the most reliable person in my life, Faith. You have the kindest heart of anybody I know, and I was angry with you Friday because you were right about everything.”
The break in her voice brought tears to my own eyes. It broke my heart when she cried, but this was the breakthrough I’d been waiting for—Marcy couldn’t move on until she dealt with her emotions.
“If I promise to be better and not some self-absorbed, ex-boyfriend-crazed lunatic, will you be my best friend again?” Marcy mumbled into my shirt.
“You’re not a lunatic.” This made us both laugh and I held her at arm’s length by the shoulders. “I’ll never stop being your friend.
Thomas is a dick. You’ll find someone who deserves you.”
“Thanks, Faith.” Marcy glanced down at my outfit and grimaced, the touching moment fleeing. “Hold on. What are you wearing? Is that my blouse? And—oh my fashion catastrophe—tell me those are not hand-me-down slacks?”
“Funny story. I went to the D&S Tower today to get an update on my car from Devin Star.”
Marcy gasped. “You went to the D&S Tower? To see Devin?”
She jumped once. Twice. A third time. “Eeep! What are you waiting for? A role call? Tell me everything!”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing wonderful to tell. I never met with Devin, I ended up meeting with his son instead.”
“You met . . . David Star?” She emitted a high-pitched scream.
“No. Freaking. Way!”
“Well, actually, I met David at Thomas’s party.”
“What? I knew David was the A-lister after the whole car crash thing with his dad, but I thought we both missed him at the party!”
Marcy grabbed the plate of brownies, seized my arm, dragged me into the living room, and threw me down onto the couch. She hopped onto the cushion next to me. “Spill. Now.”
“It couldn’t have been much worse. All I wanted was to get more info on my car, but David interviewed me instead and played all these mind games. The whole thing was so aggravating and degrading.”
“What do you mean, degrading?” She bit into a brownie and chewed fast, as if she were watching a suspenseful film. “What did he do?”
At the memory of the whole ordeal, I had a rush of energy and stood up to pace the length of the room. I rehashed every aspect of the interview.
She glanced at my chest. “You do have great boobs.”
“Marcy.”
“I mean, ugh, the nerve! Did you make out?”
“Marcy!”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Did he cop a feel of your bazookas?”
“Marcy! Stop it!”
“What? David Star is the hottest man to ever grace this planet.
Not to mention, he is worth billions. He is every girl’s fantasy.”
“Sure, but did you hear anything I just said? The man is an arrogant, sexist pig.”
“Didn’t he just donate twenty million dollars to a children’s hospital and help build a bunch of houses in some third world country?”
I glared. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours!” She looked unsure for a moment. “Definitely yours!”
She held out her palms in front of me. “Let me just spell something out for you. Star is H-O-T, and you are R-E-A-L-L-Y S-I-N-G-L-E.
As your best friend and wingwoman, it is my duty to look at this from every possible angle. That way, you don’t blow a potential once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do the nasty with David Star!”
On the inside, I was about to self-destruct. On the outside, I wore a calm, detached expression. “I need a new wingwoman.”
“I’m not taking his side, Faith,” she insisted. “It sounds like the conversation between you two was a little more playful than you think. Is it possible he was kidding around with you? Maybe flirting?
Off topic, how’d he smell? I heard he smells like a dream and radiates BDE.”
I jokingly pinched her arm and she winced. “Will you cut it out? He wasn’t flirting! He was being an asshole! It was the most humiliating moment of my life. Period. Believe me, I could go on, but my head is pounding with rage.”
“How’d you end it with him?”
“Told him he was a sad excuse for a man and left.”
Her mouth fell open and bits of brownie fell out. “Oh, hell yeah!
You go, girl!”
I smirked with pride. “You should have seen his face!”
“I wish I did!” We high-fived, and Marcy’s enthusiasm died out.
“Wait, you got his number though, right?”
