by HELEN HARDT
“So would I.”
…
I leave Braden’s the next morning at ten to meet Tessa for yoga. She’s already at the studio warming up.
“Hey, Tess,” I say.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she says.
“Why wouldn’t I? We had plans.”
“Right,” she says, not meeting my gaze. “Plans.”
She’s thinking about last night, how I turned down her invitation for drinks, which apparently turned into dinner at Ma Maison, with Betsy.
“Tess…”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says.
“I just feel a little uncomfortable around Betsy,” I say. “I’ll get over it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not completely honest, either.
“She feels terrible,” Tessa says.
“About what?”
“About spilling the beans about Braden and Addison.”
“There’s no reason for her to feel bad. She was being a friend. Looking out for me.”
“So you’re okay with everything?”
I shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be? It was ten years ago. So he dumped her. Whatever.”
“But something happened that left her freaked out.”
I sigh. “If she was so freaked out, why was she upset that he ended things? She could by lying for all we know.”
Tessa says nothing, just moves into a downward dog to stretch her hamstrings and calves.
I hate the damned downward dog. Hate it with a passion.
We don’t talk for the remainder of the hour.
…
“Coffee?” I ask, wiping my neck with a towel after class.
“I’m not sure I’m up for it,” Tessa says.
“We always have coffee after yoga.”
“And we always keep our shopping dates,” she counters.
Is that what she’s upset about? That I forgot to cancel our shopping date because Braden and I went to New York early? She didn’t say anything about it when we talked on the phone earlier. Of course, that was before she caught me at Ma Maison with Kathy.
I thought we were past it, but I’ve still been neglecting her.
“Coffee,” I say. “We need to talk.”
She holds my gaze for seconds before she nods. “Okay.”
Once we’re settled at Bean There Done That, I take the lead. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not, or you wouldn’t still be upset. I should have texted you and canceled our shopping. And I should have been honest with you about drinks last night.”
“I just miss you is all,” she says.
“I miss you, too.”
She stares down at her latte. “I feel like you’re leaving me behind. You’ve got this new influencing venture. You’ve got a billionaire boyfriend. You’re finding new friends. Like that Kathy you had dinner with last night. Who is she, anyway?”
“How did you know her name?”
“You tagged her in your post, genius.” Tessa chuckles nervously.
“Oh. Right.” I resist rolling my eyes at myself. “She’s a law student at Harvard. She’s interning at Black Inc., and get this. She’s dating Braden’s father.”
Tessa’s dark eyes widen.
“She invited me to dinner last night after I told you no. Braden and I hadn’t made plans, so I went. Turns out, she’s just using me.”
Tessa wrinkles her forehead. “Why do you say that?”
“She said she wanted to talk to me about influencing, but we talked very little about it. Instead, she jumped at the chance to take a selfie with me and get her name in front of my followers.”
The lie tastes bitter in my mouth. It’s not all fabricated. Kathy is definitely interested in publicity, but she’s also nice in her way. We toasted to our friendship last night.
Why am I being untruthful with Tessa? She’s my best friend. She’s not going to judge me.
Who the hell am I?
“I can’t blame her,” Tessa says. “I’ve gotten a ton more followers since you posted with me.”
“I suppose.” I take a sip of coffee. “How’s Betsy doing? Business-wise, I mean.”
“She’s about ready to launch her online store. I’ve been helping her with the accounting end of it.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And how’s Rita?”
That gets a real smile out of Tessa. “An adorable ball of fluff! How’s Penny?”
“I swear, she grows more each day. I have no idea how big she’s going to be. I can’t wait until I get a new place and can bring her home.”
“Why don’t you just move in with Braden?”
Her question jars me. First, he hasn’t asked me. Second, I haven’t thought about it.
Third, because I know I’d do it in a minute if he asked, and that’s a little freaky.
“We’re not there yet,” I say. It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t feel like the truth, either.
“Oh.”
“How are you and Garrett doing?”
“Good. I like him a lot. He’s no Braden Black, of course.” She takes a drink and then wipes her mouth with a napkin.
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I take another sip of coffee and let the warmth sit on my tongue for a moment before I swallow.
Finally, I say, “Tessa, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve apologized. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. Are we ever going to be normal again?”
She looks down, swirls her latte in her paper cup. “I don’t know, Skye.”
“Look at me, Tess.”
She meets my gaze.
“What do you mean you don’t know? I’m still me.”
“Yeah, but you’re not you, too. You’re Braden Black’s girlfriend. You’re a rising star on Instagram. You’re the new face of Susie Girl cosmetics. Next thing you know, you’ll have galleries fighting over who gets to display your work. You’re moving up, Skye, and I feel like you’re leaving me behind.”
I touch her forearm. “I’ll never leave you behind. We’ve been besties for six years.”
“Yeah, and during those six years, we were always equals.”
“We’re still equals.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
I flash back to freshman year at BU. Tessa and I weren’t roommates, but we lived on the same corridor in the same dorm. Though we both got on fine with our respective roomies, neither of us made a huge connection with them. In fact, we laughed at my roommate, Mary Ellen, who once told us that girlfriends sometimes had to break up as if they were a couple.
“Are you breaking up with me?” I ask, trying to sound jovial.
I expect her to break into giggles at the memory of Mary Ellen’s statement that we thought was hilarious at the time.
She doesn’t. Instead, “I don’t know. Maybe we need to take a break.”
“Like Ross and Rachel?” I can’t help asking, even though I know now isn’t the time for my silly attempts at humor.
“Well…Ross and Rachel did eventually get back together,” she says. “I’m not saying it’s forever, Skye.”
“Seven years later,” I say.
She stays silent.
“Fuck,” I say. “You’re serious.”
“Things are easier with Betsy,” she says. “We’re on the same level.”
“What level is that?” I ask sarcastically.
She shakes her head slowly. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re different. The old Skye never would have forgotten to cancel a shopping trip.”
My heart beats rapidly. This isn’t happening. “It was a mistake. For God’s sake, Tess, Braden and I flew to New York in the middle of the night. That whole week
end was out of whack.”
“I know. I actually do understand, and I accept your apology. But then you were supposed to call me after your meeting in New York, and you didn’t.”
My heart drops to my stomach. She’s right. “God, Tess, I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is,” she says. “Things aren’t the same.”
“We’re no longer college students, if that’s what you mean. But I’m still the same. I’m still Skye.”
Even as I say the words, though, they don’t ring true.
Who is Skye Manning, anyway?
The answer is…
I don’t know.
The Skye Manning who’s the most at home at Braden’s underground leather club isn’t the Skye Manning who is Tessa Logan’s best friend.
Is she?
What about the Skye Manning who’s taking Instagram by storm?
The Skye Manning who Addison Ames hates?
Which one am I?
Am I all of them? Or none of them?
I swallow the last of my coffee and rise. “I have to go. Call me if you change your mind.”
“Skye…”
Tessa keeps talking, but I’m out the door.
She wants to trash a six-year friendship?
Fine.
I text Braden.
I want to go to New York. Tonight.
Chapter Forty-Five
We’re not going to New York tonight.
Braden’s text is short and succinct and reiterates that he has work to do here in Boston.
I’m sitting on my couch having a pity party when I remember—
I have to do my first post for the Susie Girl line today!
Fuck. I’m about ready to destroy everything for this pity party. Of course, I literally just lost my best friend. We’re “on a break.” How cliché.
Still, I signed a contract. I have a job to do.
The cosmetics and skin-care products are still spread out on my table where I left them yesterday after opening the package. My new camera from Braden sits next to them. I haven’t yet tried the camera. Today’s the day. But first the Susanne post.
I choose a lip gloss and apply it. I’m still in my yoga clothes, and I wish I were still at the studio. The photo would be better there.
What the heck?
New camera in tow, I head back to the studio. If only I’d thought of this earlier…but I was in the middle of best-friend drama.
It’s getting to be late afternoon, but two classes are still in session. One is hot yoga, which I hate. Sweating my ass off won’t make for a good Instagram post.
The other is prenatal yoga, also not a good look on me.
Instead, I walk into the locker room and do the post there.
Sheer lip gloss in Honey Glaze by @susiegirlcosmetics is perfect after a yoga class! #sponsored #yoga #lipgloss #susiegirl
Not the most exciting copy I’ve ever written, but I want to be done. I edit the photo quickly and post.
Okay, that’s done. Braden and I don’t have dinner plans.
I sigh.
I miss Tessa. I mean really miss her, as if I’ve lost a limb. We hardly ever go a week without seeing each other, and we usually talk daily.
It’s only been a few hours, and I feel the loss acutely.
Still in my yoga clothes, I grab my purse and the new camera. I walk along the street, shooting candids, which always puts me in a good mood.
It doesn’t today, though. Shooting photos with my dream camera isn’t helping my state of mind.
But I know what might.
Thirty minutes later, I’m outside Braden’s building. It’s Saturday, nearly dinnertime, and I have no idea if my boyfriend is even home. I inhale deeply, smile at the doorman, and walk into the building. I head straight for Braden’s private elevator and press the button.
“Yes?” Christopher’s voice over the intercom.
Good. If Christopher is home, Braden probably is as well.
“Hi, Christopher. It’s Skye.”
“Is Mr. Black expecting you?”
“Probably not. Is he there?”
“Yes. He’s on a call in his office.”
“May I come up?”
“Let me check with him.”
I look at my watch. It’s a little after four. On a Saturday. But Braden’s business doesn’t have regular hours, as I learned last weekend.
I wait.
And I wait.
Ten minutes later, the elevator doors open, and Christopher stands before me. “Come on up, Ms. Manning.”
I step into the elevator, my nerves on edge. “It’s Skye, Christopher. Skye.”
“Skye.” He clears his throat. “Of course.”
We ride up to the penthouse without saying anything more until we arrive. Penny and Sasha run to greet me, and I kneel down and accept their happy puppy kisses.
“What good girls!” I pet them both and then pull Penny into my arms. She’s a bit heavier. Soon she’ll be as big as Sasha. “Have you been good for Christopher?” I kiss her soft head.
“She’s a good pup,” he says. “Accidents here and there, though.”
“She’s just a baby. She’ll learn.”
Penny squirms out of my arms to roughhouse with Sasha.
“Mr. Black is still on his call,” Christopher says. “You may wait wherever you like.”
“Do you know how long he’ll be?” I ask.
“I don’t. Make yourself at home.”
Okay, then. I walk into the kitchen. “Hi, Marilyn.”
“Ms. Manning.”
“Please. Skye.”
She nods. “I’m getting ready to prepare Mr. Black’s evening meal. Will you be joining him?”
Will I?
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?” Then an idea pops into my head. “In fact, I’d like to cook for him tonight. Why don’t you take the night off?”
Her eyebrows rise.
“I can cook, you know.”
“I’m sure you can, but Mr. Black asked for his dinner at six p.m. tonight. Sharp.”
“That gives me almost two hours. I think I can scare up something by then.” I whisk past her and open the freezer. I pull out a bag. “Shrimp. Perfect. I make a mean étouffée.”
“Skye—”
“Please. I want to do this for him.” I open the refrigerator. Onion, check. Garlic, check. Celery, check. No green pepper, though. “I need to run to the store,” I tell Marilyn.
“What do you need? I’ll have Christopher pick it up.”
Even better. I make a quick list on my phone. “I can text him the list. What’s his number?”
I enter the digits as she gives them to me, and then I press send.
He texts back. I’m on it.
I text a thumbs-up and thank you and get back to my kitchen.
Except it isn’t my kitchen.
But tonight it will be.
Tonight, I’ll prepare dinner for my boyfriend. I’m no gourmet, but I have a decent repertoire. All he’s had so far is my leftover beef stew. We’re in a relationship. I should be able to cook for him.
Plus, it gives me something to do to get my mind off Tessa.
And to get my mind off my post from earlier. I’m not satisfied with it. It was quick, and I gave it almost no thought whatsoever.
I need to up my game.
Yeah, I’m under contract and will get paid for three months no matter what, but I’ve never half-assed anything in my life.
And I half-assed that post.
That first post.
I wish I could delete it and begin again, but I already have over five thousand likes, which has earned me another fifty bucks. I’m up to nearly fifty thousand followers, and they’re responding.
Sti
ll, I feel like I did a half-assed job.
No longer.
Tomorrow’s post will be perfect. Three posts per week. I’ll do Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday. People are more active on social media on the weekends.
Plus, I need to do regular posts as well. The public needs to see me as a real person, not just as the face of Susie Girl.
What better way to do that than to show them as I cook a meal?
Addison is right. I’m the face of discount cosmetics. Oh well. I can at least be a normal person, right? Maybe that’s the key. If a nobody like me can win the heart of Braden Black, anyone can.
Ugh. Not a good thought. I erase it from my mind.
Now, on to dinner.
Problem number one—I have no idea where anything is in Braden’s kitchen.
I open my mouth to call for Marilyn but then decide against it. I’ll find everything myself. Sure, it’ll take me longer, but what the heck? I open and close cupboards until I find what I’m looking for.
The food processer.
Of course Braden has a top-of-the-line Cuisinart.
I plug in the appliance and mince my celery and onion. Into a cast-iron skillet they go, along with a stick of butter.
Yeah, shrimp étouffée isn’t exactly good for the cholesterol, but it’s delicious. A recipe I learned from my mother, who loves Cajun cooking. She’s a wonderful cook and baker.
God, my mother.
I really do have to tell her and my father what’s going on in my life.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll give them a call.
For now, I’ll concentrate on this amazing meal I’m making for Braden.
I snap a photo of the celery and onion simmering in the cast-iron pan. I’ll document the process in pictures, right up to the finished product. At least my followers will have something interesting to see tonight, since my Susie Girl post is bound to flop.
I can’t begin the étouffée until Christopher returns with the peppers, so I get out the eggs and cream for the chocolate mousse I plan for dessert. In the corner is a KitchenAid stand mixer. Now, where is the whip? I open drawer after drawer until I find it. Then I separate the eggs and whip the whites. I snap another photo.
Christopher returns with my groceries, and I melt the semisweet chocolate in a double boiler over low heat. Once it’s cooled, I add the cream, a touch of vanilla, and then fold it into the egg whites.