Obsession: Seven Vices Series

by Blythe, Emily

  Obsession

  Seven Vices Series

  Emily Blythe

  Copyright © 2020 by Emily Blythe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Obsession

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  EMILY’S NEWSLETTER

  FIND OUT MORE

  Chapter One

  Lola

  “Here, hold my purse.” I jammed my bag into Aspen’s arms and reached into the dumpster.

  “My mom’s gonna kill you, you know.” Aspen sighed with exasperation.

  I strained as I brushed the legs of the lime-green chair with my fingertips. It was no use. “I can’t reach it. Give me a boost.”

  Aspen shook her head begrudgingly and helped me over the edge of the once fire-engine red dumpster, which had turned a rusty-orange. The strength of her tall, but slight frame never failed to surprise me.

  The stench hit me right in the back of the throat as I got on top of the trash heap. A mixture of rotting vegetables and old grease from a deep fryer—I thought it emanated from the Chinese restaurant that backed into the alley, but apparently not.

  I tried to keep my balance, but my sneakers sank into a pile of soggy cardboard underneath me, making it a chore to get near the wooden dining chair. After taking two clumsy steps, I fell forward, sticking my hand out to brace my fall.

  “Eww,” Aspen mewled from behind me as I steadied myself.

  My palm was covered in what I could only describe as miscellaneous brown sludge.

  “Gross.” I scrunched up my nose and wiped my hand on a trash bag.

  “Come on, let’s go.” Aspen bounced on her heels. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “Here. I got it.” I lifted the shabby, yet sturdy old chair out of the dumpster and lowered it down to Aspen. After yanking it from my grip, she placed it on the ground and helped me down. She glanced toward the busy sidewalk, hoping no one would see us.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I heaved the chair over my shoulder.

  “Wait—” Aspen spotted something on the ground and picked it up. “It’s a wallet. Must have fallen out of the dumpster.”

  I placed the chair down and pulled the black leather wallet from her grasp. There was no cash, no credit cards.

  “Probably stolen,” I added.

  Aspen tilted her head. “We should return it. It looks expensive.”

  She was right. The leather was plush and thick. When I flipped through the card section again, a face stared back at me. I flashed it at Aspen. “There’s a license here. We can get it back to the owner.”

  “Wait. He’s hot!” She snatched the wallet from me and studied the license picture.

  I peered over her shoulder. Hot was an understatement.

  The man looked like he was in his late twenties with a square jaw and dark, thick hair. The kind of guy I’d expect to see modeling an expensive cologne on a billboard in Times Square.

  Aspen shook her head as she gestured to his date of birth. “He’s thirty, though. Too old for me.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Like you had a chance?”

  She grimaced and handed me the wallet. I picked up the chair once more and headed for the street.

  “You’re so embarrassing.” Aspen trailed behind me as we took to the sidewalk. Her cheeks had turned red, the same color as her long, fiery hair.

  She was seventeen, and I was twenty-two, not that much of an age gap, but the two of us couldn’t have been more different. I was a country girl at heart, and she was a New Yorker through and through.

  “You love me,” I shot back. “And I need this for my sewing desk. My old chair is falling apart.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. But my mom’s still gonna kill you.” She raised her eyebrow. She knew I drove her mom, Lillian, crazier than she did.

  I was subletting a room in their apartment, and it hadn’t been smooth sailing. Lillian was a type-A neat freak. I was messy, loud, and so was my taste in decor. On top of that, there wasn’t space in my bedroom for my desk and sewing machine. Lillian let me set up my sewing station in the corner of the living room under one condition—that I kept it ‘tasteful’.

  “Let me worry about your mom,” I said as we made our way downtown. “But first—food.”

  * * *

  I took a bite into the crunchy Jamaican beef patty I’d picked up in the Bronx on the way home. Flicking crumbs off the page, I looked over the sketches I’d made for my college assignment.

  I was in my final semester of fashion design school. The project was worth half my grade. It involved designing a collection and then assembling a sample of my best design for a showcase. The showcase was vital because design houses looking to recruit graduate interns attended it every year.

  I traced my finger over the sweeping graphite strokes that formed my favorite sketch — the dress I’d been painstakingly constructing for three months. It was a blush, tea-length gown with a fit and flare skirt that was flouncy and whimsical. It embodied the vision I had for my collection—Happily Ever After in the City.

  “What on earth is that?” Lillian’s voice startled me, and I jerked my head toward the front door.

  I hadn’t heard her come in. She eyed the new piece of furniture I’d acquired as she placed her keys down on the kitchen counter. Lillian’s small apartment was sleek, modern, and beige. My little dumpster chair stood out like a sore thumb.

  “A chair.” I popped the last piece of the patty in my mouth, hoping that would be the end of it.

  Lillian sighed as she collapsed on the sofa. She unbuttoned her blazer and slipped off her heels. “Didn’t we talk about dumpster diving?”

  Damn. Aspen. She ratted me out.

  “I’ll never understand why people throw out perfectly good furniture. At One Tree, we…”

  “Lola, this is not One Tree Valley,” she replied, referring to the commune where I grew up. Where my family still resided.

  “Obviously.” I picked up my sketching pencil and pretended to focus on the page in front of me.

  Lillian cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter. There’s something more important I need to tal
k to you about.”

  She moved to the kitchen and glanced at me cautiously, before pouring out two glasses of cheap sauvignon blanc.

  I knew what she was going to say before the words left her mouth.

  She strolled over and handed me a glass before taking a long sip from her own. “Rent is due next week.”

  “It is.” I swallowed. “I’ll figure something out.”

  She ran her fingers back through her long auburn hair. “You said that last month.”

  “Things haven’t exactly gone to plan.” I referred to the revolving door of odd jobs I’d had since being let go from my steady cater waiter gig two months ago. “But I’ve got another job interview tomorrow. It’s for a receptionist position at Peyton Publishing.”

  Lillian looked skeptical.

  “Noah’s putting in a good word for me,” I added.

  She let out a long breath. “You know I love you like a daughter, don’t you?”

  I nodded. Lillian was the closest thing I had to a mother figure in the city.

  “I wouldn’t even ask…” She continued. “But I’m barely making ends meet. Aspen’s lessons are costing a fortune now.”

  Aspen was on track to get a scholarship at Juilliard, a prestigious performing arts conservatory where she would study music.

  I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t want to put you out. I hate this.”

  Despite our conflict over home decor, Lillian had been good to me. The last thing I wanted to do was make her life harder. She was getting herself together after a bitter divorce from Aspen’s father.

  A warm smile spread across her lips. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard. It was for me when I first moved here, too. You’ll get on your feet.” She squeezed my shoulder, then took a deep breath as she sauntered back over to the kitchen. “Just do what you can for next week.”

  My chest tightened. “I promise. I’ll get you the money.”

  Lillian flicked me a half-smile. She didn’t believe me.

  Inside, neither did I.

  Chapter Two

  Lola

  Back in my room, I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I’d memorized the shapes formed by the hair-line cracks in the plaster. I traced them with my eyes over and over as I thought about how I would finish the delicate beaded applique on my sample dress. I was only just aware of the sound of Aspen’s guitar strumming as she practiced in her room across the hallway.

  Just as I was getting somewhere with my daydreaming, the sound of my phone ringing broke my concentration. I sat up and rifled through my bag to find it. When I did, Noah’s name flashed across the screen. I smiled, biting my bottom lip as I answered.

  “Hey, Lola-pop.” Noah’s mellow voice echoed through the phone speaker.

  I rolled my eyes. He’d been calling me that since we were kids.

  “What’s up?” I asked, leaning back into my pillow.

  He yawned. “I finished my revisions.”

  “Yay! Now you can finally come out of hibernation.”

  “Hopefully. Unless my editor decides to ruin my life again.”

  Noah had scored a book deal and was finalizing his manuscript with the publisher.

  “It’ll be worth it in the end.” I paused. “Does this mean I can read it now?”

  “No one’s laying eyes on the thing until it’s done. I mean done, done.”

  “Fine.” I tried not to sound too disappointed, but the truth was, I couldn’t wait.

  I was always his first reader. Even when we were growing up together at One Tree. He’d been a talented writer even back then.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to remind you about tomorrow,” he said.

  “You think I’ll forget to show up for a job interview?”

  He was silent for a moment before he answered. “You want my honest answer?”

  “No.” I smiled. “Never. I’m allergic to the truth, you know that.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll meet you there around 4:30, and we can go in together.”

  Noah had lined up an interview for me at his publisher’s office.

  “I’m sorta nervous because I need this job so bad. I have like seventeen dollars in my bank account right now.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just act normal and don’t dress like a weirdo.”

  “So hide my true nature at all costs?”

  “Exactly.” He paused. “But seriously, when we get there, I’ll introduce you to Peter, the operations manager. He’s a real dick, one of those uptight business guys. Just agree with everything he says, and he’ll like you. Oh, and compliment the painting in his office. He painted it himself. It looks like someone projectile vomited on the wall, but he thinks it’s a fucking Jackson Pollock.”

  A burst of laughter erupted from deep in my belly. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “No problem.” He yawned again. “Anyway, I need to go pass out.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

  “Night, Lola-pop.”

  I hung up and placed my phone on the nightstand. I needed to hit the pillow myself.

  I bent down to pick up my purse from the floor. A few things had spilled out in my haste to find my phone. Lipstick, a bunch of old store receipts… and the wallet we’d found by the dumpster.

  I’d forgotten about it.

  I thumbed the soft leather, wondering about the man it belonged to.

  “Let’s see,” I mumbled to myself as I crawled into bed with the wallet still in hand. I opened it up and stared at the license picture again—he was cute, but serious-looking. I guess it was a license photo though, they always looked serious.

  His name was Julian Lewin.

  Lewin. Where had I heard that name before? It was then that I first noticed his address. East 69th Street—the upper east side. An expensive part of town, that’s for sure.

  I flicked back to his photo, trying to imagine what he did for a living. An investment banker? Or maybe an actor? We didn’t have TV or the internet at One Tree, so I wasn’t familiar with a lot of famous faces.

  I rifled through the rest of the pockets, looking at what was inside. A gym membership card—not surprising. A scrap of paper with some random phone number on it… and the business card of a shrink. The rich boy has problems, huh?

  I closed the wallet up. My eyelids were getting heavy, and I needed to be at my best tomorrow. I could return it after my interview.

  As I reached over to place the wallet back in my bag, something about it caught my eye. There was something stuffed into the lining of the wallet itself. I inspected it closer. It kind of looked like a folded up piece of paper. I tugged hard and pulled it loose.

  I unfolded it. It was a letter. A short one, with beautiful handwriting.

  It was addressed to Julian.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Should I read it? It was one thing to look through his club cards, but to pry into his personal correspondence? That was probably crossing the line.

  But it wasn’t like I knew the guy. He’d never know…

  Before I knew it, I was curled up on my bed, reading the whole damn thing.

  Dear Julian,

  It’s been too long since I’ve heard from you. Twenty days to be exact.

  When they told me I couldn’t visit, it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest. All they said was that you’d been treated in the infirmary and taken to solitary confinement. Did someone hurt you?

  I just want to know you’re okay. I’ve been thinking about you, non-stop. I can’t help it. How lonely you must be in that cell all on your own.

  Solitary confinement? Had this guy been to prison? This was clearly a letter from someone who cared for him. His mom? His lover? I read on.

  The only thing that makes me feel better is knowing that you’ll be out soon, and we’ll finally be together. Just remember, I love you, baby. Hang on for me.

  Love always,

  Hannah xoxo

  I sat upright. Definitely from a lover. His girlfriend, I’m gues
sing. How old was it? I scanned the page. There was no date. The paper was creased as if it had been folded and unfolded many times.

  It was impossible to tell.

  I glanced back at his license photo.

  “What did you do?” I muttered to myself.

  Maybe a white-collar crime. Fraud or something. Insider trading? That’s what rich guys went down for.

  Whatever it was, his girl on the outside sure missed him. Were they finally together? If he was still carrying around the letter in his wallet, I had to assume she was someone close to his heart.

  It was sweet in a way. Perhaps her love kept him going while he was behind bars.

  I smirked at myself for being so sappy.

  “Ever the romantic,” Noah would have said if he was here.

  He always teased me for thinking the characters in his books would end up together, even though he had no intention of letting them have their happy ending.

  I gently folded the note and tucked it back into the lining of the wallet. If this was a letter from the love of Julian’s life, he would be glad to have it returned, and I’d make sure it got back to him.

  Chapter Three

  Lola

  “I can’t believe you told him you don’t like talking on the phone.”

  “I don’t. You know that!” I glared at Noah as we marched through the foyer of Peyton Publishing.

  “And that you’re not good with computers?” He held the glass door open for me. “Or phones? Or ‘tech’ stuff in general?”