by Ana Huang
I banged my hip against the sharp edge of the dresser in surprise. “Shit.”
I should’ve silenced my phone. It was a sloppy, amateur mistake, and I silently cursed myself as I opened the message.
Stella: Kangaroo or koala?
It was the code question we used to make sure the other was okay. We were the only ones who knew the nonsensical answer, so no one could pretend to be us over text in case we were kidnapped or something.
I typed out a quick reply.
Jules: Pink Starburst.
Stella and I always informed each other if we were staying out later than usual. Screw waiting until your roommate was missing for twenty-four hours before raising the alarm; if someone fucked with one of us, the other would know almost immediately.
I just hadn’t expected Stella to be home so early. She told me she had a work event, and those usually ran until midnight.
Stella: :) Hot date?
Stella: One of these days, you’ll tell me who Mystery Guy is
She knew I was dating someone; she just didn’t know who.
I stared at her texts for a second before I shoved my phone back into my pocket. I didn’t have time to get into a conversation about Josh. If I didn’t pull off my plan, there wouldn’t be anything to tell, because we would be over.
Familiar nausea twisted my stomach.
“Stop it,” I whispered. “The plan will work.”
The plan will work. The plan will work.
I chanted the silent mantra as I finished setting up the fake-but-not-really-fake burglary. I left the front door unlocked, replanted the spare key in the pot, and hoped like hell real burglars wouldn’t show up before Josh came home.
Since he lived near Thayer, his neighborhood was eerily quiet during the summer. No raucous house parties, no chatter from students heading to and from one of the campus bars, no one to stop me as I strolled down the street with my loot.
The logical part of me knew there was nothing overtly suspicious about a woman walking around at night with a portfolio bag. The paranoid part of me was convinced the bag served as a neon sign announcing to the world what a terrible person I was.
Liar! Thief! Do not trust her! it screamed.
Great. Now I was hearing voices from inanimate objects.
I tightened my hold on my bag and quickened my pace until I reached the metro station, where I pulled out my phone again to update Max.
Me: I have it.
Me: I’ll drop it off now.
I didn’t want to hold onto the painting any longer than I had to.
Max: It’s almost eleven at night. Where’s your sense of propriety?
Max: Unless, of course, you’d like to give me something else...
I gagged at the suggestion. I was already grossed out by the fact I used to have sex with him. I would rather set myself on fire than let him touch me again.
Me: Give me an address, Max.
Me: Or I’m throwing the painting in the Potomac.
Obviously, I wouldn’t, but I’d take any chance to fuck with him.
Max: You’re no fun anymore, J.
Despite his complaint, he followed up with an address. A quick Google search told me it was a hotel near NoMa.
He considered me such a negligible threat he didn’t bother to hide where he was staying. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or offended.
When I arrived at the hotel, the receptionist didn’t spare me a glance as I walked through the lobby and took the elevator up to the ninth floor.
I wasn’t surprised by the lack of security. The place wasn’t exactly the Ritz-Carlton. Sections of wallpaper curled away from the plaster in yellowing stripes, the carpet was so thin I could feel the wooden floors beneath, and the hall stank of cigarette smoke.
My steps faltered outside Max’s room. Meeting him in the middle of the night in some sketchy hotel wasn’t the smartest idea. He’d always disdained physical violence and deemed it a “lower” form of manipulation, but it’d been seven years. A person could change a lot in seven years, especially if they’d spent most of it in prison.
Right as I was about to leave and text him an excuse for why I couldn’t make it tonight after all, his door opened.
“Jules.” Max smiled, looking freakishly normal in a white cotton T-shirt and jeans. “I thought that was you.” He rapped his knuckles against the wall. “Thin walls. I heard your footsteps from a mile away.”
“Congratulations.” I shoved the portfolio bag at him. I’d stored the rest of Josh’s items in a separate purse, which I kept tucked inside my jacket. “Here’s your stupid painting.”
“Right here in the hall?” He clucked his tongue. “No manners. What if someone sees us?”
“I’m pretty sure we could do a drug deal in the lobby and no one would blink an eye.”
“There are benefits to staying in a hotel such as this one.” Nevertheless, Max stepped back into his room, out of the line of sight of anyone walking down the hall, before he pulled out the painting. He examined it with a small grimace. “This is truly hideous.”
“Then give it back.” It was worth a try.
Max chuckled. “Glad to see you’ve kept your sense of humor. No.” He tucked the art back into the bag. “This baby is worth a lot of money.”
“Fine. Now you have it,” I said curtly. “I assume you’ll be leaving soon.”
I held my breath while he stared at me, hoping he’d take the bait and tell me when he planned to leave. I needed to know how much time I had to implement the second part of my plan.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair by this weekend,” he drawled. “Which isn’t to say I won’t contact you again in the future if I miss you. We had such fun times together.”
I bit back a scathing retort. The longer I stayed, the more likely I’d slip up. Besides, I didn’t want to give Max the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me.
I turned on my heel and stalked to the elevator without replying. I made it back to the metro without incident, and relief cooled my veins as the train whooshed through the tunnel toward Logan Circle.
Phase one, complete.
It was too late to initiate phase two, so I went straight to my room when I returned home. Thankfully, Stella was already asleep, so I didn’t have to answer any questions about where I’d been.
I stripped off my clothes and jumped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the sticky film of guilt on my skin.
It was past midnight. Max had the painting, and Josh would be home in less than seven hours.
There was no going back.
Thick, steamy air clogged my nostrils with each shallow breath when I pictured Josh’s reaction to the “break-in.”
No. It’s fine. I’m going to return the items, including the painting.
Maybe. Hopefully.
My mind raced as I ran through my scripts tomorrow, both for Josh when he inevitably tells me about the burglary and for the person whose help I needed.
My plan was simple, but it hinged half on reality and half on hope.
It would work, though. It had to work.
There was no other option.
43
JOSH
Something was wrong.
My house looked the same as it had when I left last night—curtains drawn, the row of plants on the porch lined up neatly against the wall—but the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up nonetheless.
I scanned the surrounding area, my senses on high alert. I didn’t spy anyone lurking in the bushes or pointing a sniper rifle at me through a neighbor’s window, so I inched toward the porch with caution.
Instead of using my key, I twisted the doorknob and was only half surprised when it opened without resistance.
It confirmed what my gut already knew: someone broke into my fucking house.
I pushed the door open all the way. My heart banged against my chest, more out of anger than alarm. I doubted the burglar was still here. Most thieves broke in during th
e day when people were at work. If they came at night, they must’ve been watching me. They knew I worked the night shift sometimes.
My skin crawled at the violation. The idea that someone had been watching me and planning for the right moment to break into my house made me sick, but this wasn’t the time to dwell on that.
First, I needed to figure out what the hell they stole.
Logic took over, and I called 911 before I did a quick search for missing high-value items. My TV was still there, as were my PlayStation and the signed Michael Jordan basketball Ava gifted me for my twenty-third birthday. The house appeared untouched.
I’d almost convinced myself I was being paranoid and merely forgot to lock the front door...until I entered my room.
“Motherfucker.”
Clothes spilled out of my ransacked drawers, bottles scattered half-cracked on the dresser, and there was a glaringly empty spot on the wall where my painting once hung. The burglar had destroyed my room.
Hazelburg was one of the safest towns in the country, which was why I hadn’t bothered to install a security system. Which cosmic force did I piss off for this shit to happen?
Anger rushed back in a blinding wave as I took another inventory of my belongings. Surprisingly, my laptop was still there, but my painting, emergency cash, iPad, and watch were gone. Nothing too valuable, but still.
The fact that someone had come into my room and rifled through my belongings without my consent made my pulse spike.
I needed a strong drink and a nice, long session with a punching bag to alleviate my fury, but I had to wait for the police to arrive first.
When they did, one of them swept the room for evidence while another took my statement. A frown creased his face after I listed the missing items.
“So the burglar stole four items worth a couple hundred dollars combined and left your laptop?” His words weighed heavy with skepticism.
I didn’t blame him. I didn’t fucking understand it either.
“Maybe something spooked them and they left before they could grab it.” It was the only explanation I could think of.
“Hmmm.” The officer’s frown deepened. “Okay. We’ll do our best to find the perpetrator and recover your items, but I want to set the right expectations. Only thirteen percent of burglary cases are ever solved.”
That was what I figured, but it sounded like he’d given up on the case before he started.
“I understand.” I forced a tight smile. “I appreciate any help you can give, Officer.”
The police left soon after with no leads, taking my hopes of recovering the items with them. In a week, my case would be sitting at the bottom of their to-do list, collecting dust.
Somehow, the day got shittier and shittier.
I walked into the kitchen and cracked open a bottle of vodka while I dialed Jules. There was nothing she could do, but I needed someone to talk to, and she was the first person that popped into my mind.
“Hey, what’s up?”
My muscles loosened a smidge at the sound of her voice.
“Someone broke into my fucking house.” I poured the vodka into a glass and tossed the drink back. Its cold burn doused some of the flames of my anger. “Stole a bunch of shit. The police just left and said they’ll look into it, but the fucker who did this is probably in another state by now.”
Jules’s audible inhale cut across the line. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah.” I placed the empty glass in the sink and put her on speaker while I returned to my room. Now that the police had cleared the scene, I needed to clean up the mess the burglar left. “Lucky you, they took the painting you hated so much.” I tried to lighten the mood. “You hire someone to break into my place, Red? Because if you really wanted to get rid of the art, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve thrown it away for you.”
“Funny.” Her laugh sounded forced, or maybe that was my lack of sleep talking. ”Do you want me to come over?”
“Nah.” I wanted to see her, but she had enough going on without dealing with my shit. “Finish studying. I’ll swing by later if you need a break.”
I didn’t have to clock in for my next shift until late afternoon.
“Sounds good.” There was a strange catch in her voice. “Josh, I…I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“It’s fine. I mean, it sucks, but in the grand scheme of things, it could’ve been worse. At least I’m alive.”
“Yeah,” Jules said quietly. “My prep lesson starts soon, but we’ll talk later?”
“Yep. I l—” I froze at the word that almost slipped out of my mouth. “Let’s do that,” I finished lamely.
I hung up, my heart rattling with panic.
What. The. Fuck?
Maybe it was the alcohol, but I almost said the three words I’d avoided saying my entire life. Words I never thought I’d say to Jules. But in the moment, they’d felt so natural they almost escaped without me realizing it.
They weren’t the result of sudden, blinding clarity the way they were in movies. There’d been no meaningful eye contact at the end of a deep conversation, no special kiss at the end of a magical date.
Instead, they were the culmination of a million small moments—the way Jules tried to distract me with her fish propaganda declaration during Finding Nemo, her quiet sympathy when I told her about my patient’s death, the way she tasted and fit against me like she was the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle of my life.
Somehow, she’d gone from the last person I wanted to be around to the first person I turned to when I needed comfort or just someone to talk to.
I wished I could say I didn’t know how I ended up here, but I’d been on a slow, steady march toward this moment since our first kiss. Hell, maybe even before that, with Vermont and our clinic truce.
I’d just been too blind to notice the destination in my GPS had changed.
Ten minutes ago, the burglary had consumed my thoughts; now, it was barely a blip on my radar.
I had a much bigger problem to deal with.
This is a strictly physical arrangement.
No falling in love.
Red, you’ll fall in love with me before I ever fall in love with you.
The banging in my chest intensified.
“Oh, fuck.”
44
JULES
My breakfast rose in my throat, and I had to make a conscious effort to force it back down when I hung up Josh’s call.
I felt faker than a Mona Lisa print hanging in the lobby of a seedy motel.
You hire someone to break into my place, Red? Because if you’d really wanted to get rid of the art, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve thrown it away for you.
I wiped a clammy palm against my thigh.
Stella had already left for work, so it was just me and my screaming conscience.
You’re a liar and a terrible person. Josh was right about you all along, the insidious voice in my head taunted. You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Shut up.”
This is why everyone always leaves you. Why no one loves you. You don’t deserve—
“Shut. Up.”
I paced the living room, trying to drown out the insecurities rearing their ugly heads.
I wasn’t a bad person. Sometimes, I made bad decisions, but that didn’t make me a bad person. Right?
Sweat stuck my shirt to my skin.
“It’s fine. I have a plan. I’m going to return everything to him, and I’ll get rid of Max.” Saying the words out loud eased some of my nausea.
I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing if I wanted to carry out the rest of my plan, so I allowed myself five more seconds of self-loathing before I straightened my shoulders, exited my apartment, and took the elevator up one floor.
It was time for phase two.
As long as Max had the tape, he had leverage over me. I wasn’t naive enough to trust he’d go away no matter how much I “repaid” him. The only way to get rid of him f
or good was to get rid of the tape. I didn’t know if it was possible to destroy every copy of a digital file for good, but I was desperate enough to try.
The only reason I hadn’t tried before was because I had no clue how to go about doing it, and I didn’t want to risk failing and pissing him off.
But the other night, as I lay awake staring at the ceiling of my fancy new apartment, I realized there was one person who might have the computer skills to pull off my plan: Christian Harper, AKA my landlord, AKA Rhys’s old boss.
I remembered Bridget saying he’d tracked down the person who leaked photos of her and Rhys to the press last year. That wasn’t quite the same as deleting a video that could have dozens of copies floating around in cyberspace, but it was worth a shot.
The elevator doors pinged open.
I walked down the hall to Christian’s fortress-like front door and rang the bell, praying like hell he was home. I’d only seen him twice since Stella and I signed the lease—once at Bridget’s wedding, which he’d attended thanks to his connection with Rhys, and once in passing in the lobby.
I dropped by Pam’s office yesterday and harangued her until she confirmed he was in town. She’d made some snarky remark along the lines of how “Mr. Harper isn’t interested in the likes of you,” but I didn’t care if she thought I wanted to seduce Christian. She was irrelevant.
I rang the doorbell again. Max left this weekend. If Christian wasn’t here, I was screwed.
I had a plan, but that didn’t mean it was a good plan. It relied heavily on good luck, and I could only hope the gods took pity on me and threw a bone my way.
I even borrowed one of Stella’s manifestation crystals, just in case it helped.
I stared at the closed door. Come on, come on...
Just as I was about to accept defeat, it opened, revealing glittering amber eyes and sculpted cheekbones.
It was only eight in the morning, but Christian was already dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit. Between that, his perfectly styled dark hair, and his clean-shaven face, he looked like he’d already been at work for hours and closed several multimillion-dollar deals in that time.