My head shoots up when the passenger’s side door of my truck swings open. In jumps Lorraine, the owner of the house we’re working on today. She’s dressed in a button-down blouse pushed up by her perky tits with ankle length pants and flats. She glides into the seat with the grace of a 1950s Hollywood starlet.
I think she’s an entertainment executive from New York or L.A., some rich, lonely, divorced lady with a good plastic surgeon and her tall stacks of cash to keep her company.
I fucked her once. That’s one of the things I’m regretting right about now. I may be a little paranoid because of what’s going on with Helena but right now, it feels like Lorraine has all the trappings of a crazed stalker. The touchiness, the lack of respect for personal space, the Fatal Attraction eyes. God help me.
"Why are you hiding out in here?" Her tone is flirtatious.
"Making with some business calls.” I try to look busy but that doesn’t throw her off.
"All work, no play, huh?"
I give her a tight smile. "Lots to deal with."
"Mmm. Why don't you come inside? I'll have my chef make you a bistrami while you and I familiarize ourselves with each other. We'll call it a working lunch.” She smiles suggestively.
Fuck! ”Oh, I'm sorry, Lorraine. I'd love to discuss your renovation home project with you—"
"Charlie, my home isn't the only thing I need you to work on."
“Look—you are a gorgeous woman but—"
Her expression falls with disappointment. "Let me guess—there's a special someone in your life these days, isn't there?"
Seeing a way out, I pounce on it even though it’s a lie. "Yes."
Lorraine pouts a little. "What's the lucky lady's name?"
"Nova. Nova Chester." I cringe on the inside as I say it because I know that Nova would kill me for this blasphemy to her name but I'm desperate here. I have more than enough trouble on my hands as it is.
"Hmm..." is all Lorraine says in response.
Her gaze moves to the drawing I’d forgotten was in my lap. “Who’s the artist?” she asks.
“A friend,” I say in an indifferent tone.
“Your girlfriend?”
“A friend.”
She bites down at the corner of her lip but says nothing. “You like her.”
I feel heat at the back of my neck. “I’ve got to go run a few errands before lunchtime.”
She throws her head back and laughs gleefully, all signs of jealousy gone. “Well, that was a not-so-subtle brush-off!”
“Lorraine, really,” I say insistently. “I have to go.”
Her laughter fades but her amused smile lingers. “Okay, you have to go.” She pops the door open and slides out of the seat.
He gaze moves to the drawing again. It lingers. “Nova Chester…” she says meaningfully as she nudges the door closed and brushes the grime from my truck off of her fingers. “Beautiful…”
When I glance down at the drawing in my hand, I see Nova’s signature big and bold, in sprawling cursive across the bottom. Shit!
Chapter 9
Nova
The echo of my mother’s four-inch heels fills the air and her hips sway left to right as she takes powerful steps across the floor of the vacant room. “We get lots of natural light in here,” she cranes her elegant neck toward the window, “and aren’t the views of the park to die for?”
The crumpling building next door is blocking off most of the early morning light that should be coming in through the window and the park in question is three blocks down. But leave it to a realtor to paint a pretty picture with her words.
A skeptical-looking Reese follows behind her, taking tentative steps. “Uh, the window has a crack right down the middle. I’m not sure this is actually safe.”
Ever the snake oil saleswoman, my mother waves off my friend’s concerns and speaks in her most expert voice. “We’ll throw a little silicone adhesive on it and it’ll be good as new.”
I set my backpack at my feet and lean a hip against the counter where the empty cash register sits. I keep my opinions to myself. I know better than anyone—you don’t get in the way of Cleo Chester-Pence-Wellman and her commissions. She may be my mother but the woman is vicious about her business.
Besides, I warned Reese not to get my mother involved in the process of finding a new location for the Broken Cupcake. I know that they’re close—mom was a devout customer of the original cupcake shop and she’s excited to see it up and running again—but when it comes to business, she spews realtor-speak like it’s an official language and whether she means to or not, sometimes her sales pitches can be a bit…misleading.
Reese’s sister and business partner, Vivian, comes out of the back room with a worried look on her face. “The kitchen is going to be a problem,” she announces.
My mother power-struts across the floor, her professionally-colored blonde hair bouncing with each step. “The kitchen is perfect,” she coos, “It’s charming!”
Vivian folds her arms across her chest. “It looks like something from out of a 1950s Maytag advertisement.”
“Vintage is in,” Mom assures her. “Antique. Rustic. Whatever they call it.” She continues her sales pitch as Vivian leads her into the kitchen.
When they’ve disappeared into the next room, Reese whispers to me. “I really appreciate Cleo trying to help us find a new place but—holy conflict of interests—she’d rent us a shack with an outhouse and a coal pot if we aren’t careful.”
Doing my best imitation of my mother, I sweep my arm through the air, motioning at our decrepit surroundings. “What are you talking about? This place is charming. All it needs is a little creativity and a lot of TLC.” I strike a pose next to the cash register like one of the models on the Price is Right.
My friend laughs. “Oh, I get it. It’s bring your kid to work day, realtor edition.”
I pull out my Nikon and scroll through some photos I took when I was hanging out by the river the other day. “Ugh! You know my mom. She’d sell ice to a snow man.”
I joke around about Cleo’s shameless ambition but I admire her so much. I remember how restless she was when I was a kid, after she divorced my dad, jumping from relationship to relationship and career to career. She finally settled down when she got into real estate. It’s like she finally found her calling. She’s been happier since and her focus has been unrelenting. She inspires me to go after my own dreams.
She’s just a little intense sometimes.
I look around at the dump we’re standing in. “All I know is, if you guys are signing a lease for this place, you’d better be ready to invest a lot in renovations…And you’d better call it the Haunted Cupcake because I’m pretty sure I just saw a ghost in that corner over there.” I point up at the cobwebbed ceiling.
“Don’t even say that,” Reese mumbles, instantly looking a little white. “Anyway, Leo, Charlie and the crew will help us with the renovations. We just don’t wanna go overboard.”
At the mention of Charlie’s name, I get a bit fluttery inside. He’s been calling me all morning and I’ve been avoiding his calls. I just need a little bit of time to get my head together. After I left his house last night, I spent a long time thinking about the things that he said about my dating history. I hate to admit that he’s right.
I don’t date guys like Charlie—brash, confident, overwhelmingly sexy. Guys like that crack your heart right open and leave you with all the wires hanging out.
I date nice, safe, reasonable guys. Vegan Sagittarians, I call them affectionately. The type of guys I can have a little fun with and when the inevitable break up happens, it doesn’t sting so bad.
I have trust issues. So sue me.
Still, sometimes I wish that any of those guys could make me tingle the way Charlie does with just one look…even though I know it’s dangerous for the electrical wiring of my heart.
“Earth to Nova!” Reese snaps her fingers in my face and I blink. “Where’d you go off to right now?�
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I scramble for something to say. “I was just, uh, thinking about how happy I am for you that you’re reopening the cupcake shop.”
She shrugs. “Well, Viv and I have a long way to go before the business is back up and running again but really? I don’t have a choice because there’s nothing in this world I enjoy doing more than making cupcakes.”
I squint into her face. “I’m not sure how Leo would feel about that statement.”
“You know what I mean.” She bumps her shoulder into mine, laughing as she corrects herself. “Aside from doing Leo, there’s nothing else I enjoy doing more than making cupcakes.”
“That’s more like it.” Now I bump my shoulder into hers. I’m quiet for a while and then I drop my weight against the counter and sigh as a bitter feeling rises into my chest. "You know I'm jealous of you, right?"
My friend's brows furrow as she casts me a look. "Why?" She almost sounds offended.
"Because you get to make a living doing something you love. You don't have to sacrifice your integrity to make a dollar. It kills my soul working as a waitress when I have so many ideas in me that I want to put out into the world." My eight-hour shift at Gallo’s starts in 45 minutes. I’m not looking forward to it.
"Oh hun. I know it's hard but you'll get there," she promises, so much genuineness in her voice that I nearly believe her. She reads the doubt in my face. "I know you may not see it but you're way too talented to not end up where you want to be."
Brushing away a curly lock of my hair, I sigh again. "I hope you're right."
Reese wanders off to inspect the wood paneling and Charlie’s number pops up on my ringing phone again. I quickly shove it into my pocket before Reese sees it.
Vivian comes storming out of the kitchen, fury painted on her features. “We’re not taking this place,” she announces conclusively.
My gaze moves to Reese. “Uh, don’t you think that’s a decision we need to make together? As partners?” She puffs up her chest. Being assertive is a new thing for her. She’s still got her training wheels on but every time she stands up for herself, I feel the satisfaction of a proud mama.
“Unless you’re fine with mice nibbling at your ankles while you prepare the red velvet cupcakes at 4:30 in the morning, this place is a solid ‘no’,” Vivian deadpans as she marches out the door without another glance over her shoulder.
With a body-long shudder, Reese grabs my wrist and is pulling me toward the door. “Uh, okay. It’s a unanimous decision. This place is out of the running.”
My mother calls out reassuringly from somewhere at the back of the bakery. “Don’t worry, ladies. It’s only a matter of time before we find the perfect place.”
As we stumble onto the sidewalk, my cellphone starts ringing in the pocket of my sweatshirt. I don’t recognize the number when I pull it out and glance at the screen, but I answer anyway. “Hello?”
An overly-loud and overly-pleasant voice carries over the line. “Hello. Is this Nova Chester?” She says it in a way too official tone. I immediately start wondering if I should be nervous.
My passport is still valid, right?
“Yes, this is she…” Reese gives me a who is it? look and I shrug in response.
“Good day, Ms. Chester,” she continues, “I’m Jaimie Cain, calling from CXT Now Inc.”
Wait—I can’t use my passport if I’m on the run. Now, I’m kicking myself for not paying attention during that documentary about the California drug kingpin who evaded the feds by posing as a children’s party entertainer and sneaking into Mexico in the bottom half of a two-person unicorn costume.
I’m sweating already. “I’m sorry to be rude, but how can I help you, Ms. Cain?”
“Well, my colleagues and I were browsing your blog earlier today…”
I probably shouldn’t have spent my life’s saving of $23.72 on that insertible G-spot vibrator I found on eBay last week. But I couldn’t help myself. It had three speeds and it was made of food grade vinyl. I cherish my orgasms and I can’t resist a deal like that when I see one.
I wonder if they let you bring your sex toys when you get hauled off to jail…
“…and we’re very impressed with your Love Bugs series. It’s genius.”
Huh?
“We’ve looked around on the internet and haven’t found much more of your work but we’re very interested in seeing more, Ms. Chester.”
I pull the phone away from my face and stare at the strange number. “Is this some sort of practical joke?”
A little laugh pours over the phone. “It’s not a joke, Nova. CXT owns a small production company and we’re looking to expand our repertoire of animations series. We think your work might be a good fit but we need to take a closer look at your offerings. Do you have any work that you can send us?”
Oh my god! This is happening! This is happening! Reese stares at me with worried eyes. I give her the biggest smile I can manage without ripping my face in half. “Yes, of course. I can send you some stuff from my portfolio.”
“That’s fantastic. Let me give you our coordinates,” she says. I drop to my knees right there on the sidewalk and start digging through my bag for a pen. She rattles off her email address and I scribble it onto the palm of my hand. “Can you please get it to me by the end of the day? Our editorial team is meeting up first thing in the morning and I’d like to be able to present your stuff to them.”
“Yes, sure thing.” I’m sitting cross-legged in the middle of the sidewalk now.
Reese for sure thinks I’ve lost my mind. I can see it in her eyes. “What was that all about?” she asks as a middle-aged couple darts around me, casting unpleasant grimaces my way. I don’t care. I’m high off of excitement right now.
I grin up at her as I continue to rummage through my bag. “Some production company. They’re interested in my drawings. I think they want to turn it into an animation or something.” I can’t believe the words I’m saying. They sound too good to be true.
Reese is speaking excitedly, but I’m not really paying attention because the more I dig around, the more obvious it becomes…My sketchpad isn’t in here.
“Oh my god…” I mutter.
"What?" Reese asks.
"My sketchbook. I had it last night and now…" Just as I'm about to dump my entire bag out onto the sidewalk, it hits me. "I must have forgotten it at Charlie's last night." Maybe that’s why he’s been calling me all morning.
"At Charlie’s house?" She gives me an openly suspicious look. "Yeah. We were having marshmallows and hot chocolate last night and I must have forgotten it by the fireplace."
I say it nonchalantly but my friend is giving me a not-too-innocent look. "Is 'marshmallows and hot chocolate' code for sex?" Reese snorts a laugh.
I roll my eyes. "Marshmallows and hot chocolate is code for marshmallows and hot chocolate." I rise to my feet and dust the grime off of my ass.
"How boring." Reese almost looks disappointed. "When are you going to just admit that you want Charlie?"
I scoff with indignation. "I want Charlie to fix the cupboard door that's hanging off its hinges in my kitchen. I want Charlie to repaint my front porch that looks like the scene of a spray paint bloodbath. But I don’t ‘want’ Charlie. He's like family." I draw quote marks around the word.
"If you say so." Reese's lips curl wryly as she saunters off toward her car. There’s a little skip to her step. She truly finds this amusing.
"You're ridiculous," I yell after her as she climbs into the driver’s seat. "Charlie is just my friend." From behind the windshield, she gives me a look that tells me that she’s done with this conversation and I’m only arguing with myself. “I don’t want him like that,” I say loudly and passersby look my way. Reese is still smirking as she gives me a curt wave and pulls away from the curb. I raise my fist in the air and holler after her as she drives off. “I don’t want him! I don’t want him!!”
But the louder I yell, the less sure of myself I feel.
&n
bsp; Chapter 10
Nova
"Dear, would it be possible to have a little less meat in my meatballs?"
I blink uncomprehendingly into the face of the pocket-sized woman sitting in front of me.
"I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying that the meatballs are too big? I can bring you a knife to cut them into pieces if you'd like. "
Her annoyance increases. "You're not listening—it's not a question of size. It's just too...meaty."
"Okay, you mean the meatballs taste too much like meat?" I try to speak as politely as possible but my nerves are already starting to feel the strain.
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