Control Freak (Second Shots Book 1)

by Ana Novak

  “You’ll be awesome. I can’t wait to hear your new stuff.”

  We spent the remainder of the ride in companionable silence, with Van focusing on his phone while I watched the cityscape. We were on our way to our old neighborhood in Williamsburg, where I was going to be settling back into the apartment I’d shared with Mistral before moving to California. Mistral had moved to the Village, but still had a few months left on her lease, so she’d offered me the apartment until I figured out whether or not I wanted to move back permanently.

  Van gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek when I got out of the car in front of my apartment building. “Be safe,” he said. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

  “You’re not even coming up?” I scowled. “So much for celebrating my return to the ‘Burg.”

  He laughed, his blue eyes sparkling in the light from the street lamps. “Mel will be over soon, don’t worry.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, forcing myself to stay quiet and refrain from snapping at him. As excited as I was to see Mel, all I really wanted to do was spend some time with my brother. Mel had driven up to visit me earlier this year when she’d been filming in L.A., but Van and I hadn’t seen each other since I’d left New York over a year ago.

  I accepted my suitcase from him and returned his hug listlessly before he climbed back into the car and closed the door, separating himself from the outside world. I stood there on the sidewalk in front of the building for several long moments, watching as the taillights of the towncar blurred and then disappeared into the lights of the city beyond. Finally I turned and looked up at the exterior of my new home. Mistral’s apartment was on the third floor, but thankfully the place had an elevator.

  I buzzed at the front door and waited. A few seconds later, there was a crackling through the intercom.

  “Hello?” It was Mistral’s voice.

  “Pizza delivery,” I responded, trying to keep my tone light. I was still miffed at Van, but I didn’t want that to ruin my night with Mistral.

  I heard her whoop of happiness through the speaker, and then the buzzer signaled for me to enter.

  The lobby was brightly lit by long fluorescent beams hanging overhead, but most distracting of all was the block-lettered sign taped onto the elevator doors.

  OUT OF ORDER.

  “Well, great,” I said. “That’s just perfect.” I allowed myself another stab of irritation at Van for not sticking around to help me carry in my bags. All I had was the carry-on suitcase and my backpack, but lugging both items up three flights of stairs was not my idea of a good time.

  I started up the stairs reluctantly, wondering if the elevator would be fixed soon. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying, but I wasn’t too keen on running up and down the stairs every day. On the other hand, this was one of the last rent-controlled buildings in the area. Mistral’s career as a celebrity stylist had really taken off after she’d made a career change in her late twenties. Despite my recent successes, I definitely wasn’t making enough to move to the Village with her, and I wasn’t about to swallow my pride and migrate to Roosevelt Island.

  I could feel sweat on the back of my neck by the time I finally made it to the third floor and pushed open the door to the narrow hallway leading to Mistral’s apartment. She was waiting at the door, confident on five-inch heels that made her tower over me. When she saw me, she jumped up and down, clapping her hands gleefully, and stretched out her arms as if her excitement could pull me to her like a magnet.

  “You could have told me the elevator was out of order,” I complained, dragging my suitcase down the hall toward her. “I would have made Van stay and bring my stuff up for me.”

  “Oh, girlie, nothing could make that man walk up a flight of stairs unassisted,” Mistral said, and rolled her eyes when I came to a stop in front of her. “It’s a good thing Mel loves him, because I’m ready to knock that arrogant smirk off his face.”

  “Hey now,” I complained as she enveloped me in a hug. “That’s my brother we’re talking about.”

  “The same brother who tried to talk you out of divorcing Dave,” she reminded me, arms still wrapped around me. “I’m so happy to see you, Tay.”

  “Ditto,” I said, hugging her back and breathing in her sweet, flowery perfume. “I missed you.”

  “Well, now you’re here,” she said, and stood back to sweep her arm across the nearly-bare expanse of her living room. “Back in the same place you were living before you left, except with less furniture.”

  “I’ll get some stuff at the flea market,” I replied. I pulled my suitcase inside and dumped both bags against the wall next to the doorway. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here.”

  “I really appreciate you paying the rent so I don’t have to,” she answered saucily. “I’d been considering using it as a place to crash on girls’ nights out, but honestly, I have better things to spend my money on. A hotel would be cheaper. Preferably a hotel with a hot masseuse at my beck and call.”

  “Why would you come all the way from the Village to go clubbing in Williamsburg?”

  “You haven’t been to J85 yet,” she said. “The bartenders there are so gorgeous they should be illegal. In fact, they might be. What’s the age of consent in New York?”

  “It would be truly creepy if I knew that off the top of my head.”

  “Well, you are a writer. You’re a treasure trove of useless information. Congratulations on the Times, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I wanted to say that it was funny how no one in California had ever mentioned the fact that I’d made the New York Times bestseller list, and I’d been in New York for a couple of hours and two people had already congratulated me. However, Mistral was in the kitchen already, clinking wine glasses and popping the cork from an opaque blue bottle.

  I moseyed towards the counter, noting how empty the apartment was and liking it. It had been a long time since I’d decorated a place myself. In fact, I’d moved from my dorm room into an apartment with Dave, and he’d had very particular taste, so I’d never really even bothered.

  “I put an air mattress in the bedroom,” Mistral said, following my gaze as I surveyed the apartment. “And some blankets, too. I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep on the floor.”

  “You figured right.” The buzzer sounded now, and I jumped, but Mistral was already scrambling to answer it.

  “Come on up! The elevator’s still broken,” she said into the intercom.

  “Aren’t you worried that it might be someone you don’t know?” I asked, grinning at her as she handed me a wine glass.

  “It’s only Mel,” she said, and took a sip from her glass. “So how was your flight? How’s the book coming? Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Good, good, no. I’m not ready yet.”

  “Ready for what? How ready do you have to be to take someone home for a one night stand?” She led me back into the living room and flopped down onto the threadbare couch, which creaked dangerously under the assault.

  “Yes, because the last one night stand you talked me into ended so well.”

  “You must be joking. I said to take a man to bed, not pick out one of the hottest rockstars of our generation to trigger a front-page cheating debacle right in front of the paparazzi.”

  “There were no paparazzi there. It was just a fan.”

  “And I repeat: one of the hottest rockstars of our generation. How did you not know this?”

  “He quit his band five years ago,” I said, a little ashamed. “And even if I had heard some of his music-” -Which I had, since I’d listened to every UnAlive song I could find on Google Play in the year and a half since our hookup- “I wouldn’t have known what he looked like. All I knew that night was that he was a hot guy.”

  “And a sex god,” Mistral purred.

  I smiled weakly, trying to avoid thinking about that night. “Total sex god.” I’d fallen in love over and over again with his voice, which Billboard had claimed was a “throaty mix of Joe Cocker an
d Drake Hunt.” Every time I listened to an UnAlive song, I remembered that voice whispering in my ear.

  Mel knocked then, and it was a welcome interruption. Mistral leaped up to pull the door open, and Mel swept in, looking ridiculously glamorous with her hair in ringlets around her face and her caramel-colored skin glowing effervescently.

  “Best friend,” she said, holding out her arms to me.

  “Best friend!” I echoed, and walked into her hug. Her perfume was the same as I remembered, the exact opposite of Mistral’s: spicy and exotic, the deadly and alluring scent of poison. Each of my friends had picked a trademark scent that stood in stark contrast to their personalities, and I loved them all the more for their quirkiness.

  “We’re so cheesy,” she said into my hair.

  “Yup.” I pulled back. “How was your flight?”

  She made a face. “Terrible. Yours?”

  “Not bad, except for the paparazzi that caught me hugging Van and immediately accused him of having an affair.”

  “No! Really?” She pulled out her phone. “That’s bollocks. Have they still not figured out the two of you are related?”

  “Do Aussies really say bollocks? I thought that was an English thing,” Mistral piped up from the couch.

  “Well, I did live in the UK for a few years,” Mel said. She was already making a beeline for the kitchen and the open wine bottle. “But yes, we Aussies are allowed to say it, too.”

  “I might try it out,” Mistral mused. “Bollocks. I think it suits me.”

  “Good job, you taught her a new word,” I said to Mel.

  She poured the remainder of the wine bottle’s contents into her glass. “It’s a good word. I could use it to describe pretty much everything in my life right now.”

  “Really? What do you have to complain about?” I teased. “A hot fiance? Getting paid millions for each movie? Or looking drop dead gorgeous every second of the day?”

  Mel smiled and raised her glass. “All of the above. But enough about me. How are you?”

  “Tell Taylor she needs another one night stand!” Mistral called. “And march your stems in here!”

  “The couch isn’t big enough for all three of us,” I complained, plopping down next to Mistral anyway.

  “Sure it is.” Mel sat and draped her long, shapely legs over my lap. “Taylor, you need another one night stand. No, wait, you need a rebound relationship.”

  “That is the absolute last thing I need. Why are you trying to hook me up with someone already? I’m enjoying being single, thank you very much.”

  “I’ve been in a relationship for the last ten years,” Mel said. “You have to let me live vicariously through you.”

  “And I am in dire need of more excitement in my life,” Mistral added. “Humor us, please.”

  “Besides, you look fantastic. It’d be such a waste for you to have lost all that weight without at least flaunting it a bit,” Mel pointed out. “How much have you lost?”

  “I don’t even know,” I said grudgingly. “You know my mom. She’s a total hippie. I basically survived on carrots and hummus for the last year.”

  “Carrots and hummus look good on you,” Mistral said. She ran her foot up my leg. “What’s up with this outfit, though? Is this throwback California grunge?”

  “I haven’t bothered shopping for new clothes,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “I meant to, but…”

  “You probably never left your mother’s house the entire time you were in Cali,” Mel said, and pouted her lips in disapproval. “If the paparazzi are going to accuse you of stealing my fiance, I demand that you dress better.”

  “Ew. That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

  “Exactly, ew.” Mel wrinkled her nose. “We need to burn those jeans.”

  “I have lighter fluid!” Mistral jumped up and made a dash for the kitchen.

  “Why?” I exclaimed, appalled.

  “Monthly barbecues on the roof,” she said, her voice muffled from where she was already rummaging around beneath the sink. “You’ll get to meet your new neighbors. Avoid the lesbians from four. They’re always on the lookout for someone to bring in for a threesome, and they’re pretty kinky.”

  Mel looked alarmed. “Lord, no. That is not the kind of rebound relationship I was thinking of.”

  “There will be no rebound relationships of any kind,” I said. “Why are we getting lighter fluid?”

  Mistral popped up from behind the counter. “To burn your jeans,” she said, brandishing the plastic bottle.

  “Whoa. Back up. I am not burning these jeans.”

  “They make your ass look like a fifty-year-old’s,” Mistral said helpfully.

  “Well, screw you too, former best friend. See if I invite you over again.”

  “We could burn them on the fire escape,” she said, completely ignoring my previous comment. “It’s more symbolic that way.”

  I looked at Mel, incredulous. “You’re hearing this too, right? I’m not going insane?”

  “Oh, you’re insane, all right, but this is happening.” Mel chugged the last of her wine and stood up. “Take those jeans off, girl. We’re doing this.”

  “Oh, good grief.” I folded my arms across my chest, settling myself deeper into the couch. “You two are nuts. Certifiably nuts.”

  “But we’re burning those jeans, and any other hideous clothes you have hiding in your suitcase.” Mistral marched over to my suitcase and picked it up.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Joke’s on you. It’s just my laptop and pajamas.”

  “Oh, really?” She pulled out a shapeless green bundle of fabric. “What is this, then?”

  “That’s…” I honestly didn’t remember packing it. “That’s a dress.”

  “In puke green. Lovely.”

  “Shut up. Nothing fits me anymore.”

  “That’s when you hit up Rodeo Drive, lady.”

  “You do realize that Beverly Hills is nowhere near Oroville, right? It’s an eight hour drive.”

  “They don’t have malls in Oroville?” Mistral gave me a withering look as she stomped past the couch.

  “You aren’t seriously…she’s not seriously doing this, is she?” I asked Mel.

  Mel beamed at me. “Time to let go of the past.”

  “That dress is not the past!” I darted to the window and stuck my head out. “Put the lighter fluid down!”

  “Too late.” Mistral was already emptying the contents of the bottle all over my dress, which was bunched up pitifully in a corner of the fire escape. “This will be epic. Why are you still wearing those jeans?”

  “Mistral, that dress is literally the only article of clothing I have other than what I’m wearing. If you burn it all, I’ll have to shop naked.”

  “I can’t exactly stop now, girlfriend. But I’ll let you keep the jeans.” Mistral was digging in her pockets. “Well, shit. I don’t have a lighter.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Mel leaned out the window next to me, and all three of us looked down to see a police officer standing on the sidewalk three floors down.

  “Nothing, officer,” Mistral called sweetly. “My friend here just got a divorce-”

  “Mistral!”

  “-And we’re burning her old lady clothes to celebrate her freedom.”

  “She’s trying to burn my clothes. I’m trying to talk her out of it!” I shouted. I was not about to get arrested on my first night back in New York.

  Even at this distance, the bright street lights illuminated the officer’s face enough for me to see his bemused grin. “You’d need a burn permit for that,” he said at length, and I could tell that he was trying not to laugh. “Do you have one?”

  “Can you sell me one?” Mistral yelled, and Mel coughed beside me, trying unsuccessfully to smother a laugh.

  “Afraid not. Better wait till you get one.”

  Mistral glared at me. “This is your fault.”

  “Me? What did I do?” I glared back. “Now pick
up my dress and bring it back inside. I have to throw it away now anyway. You won.”

  “Thanks for ruining the fun,” she shouted down to the officer, and snatched up the dress before staggering to the window, her spike heels catching every few steps. Mel and I stepped away to let her tumble back inside.

  Mel picked up the dress between her thumb and forefinger and carried it to the trash can. “At least you have a rubbish bin,” she said brightly. “Mistral didn’t leave you completely without the essentials.”

  I was helping Mistral to her feet. “Except now I have no clothes other than what I’m wearing.”

  “You’ll thank me tomorrow,” Mistral said. “Besides, I can tell you what I did leave here, and it’s way better than any old rubbish bin.”

  “You already mentioned the air mattress, thanks.”

  “I’m not talking about the air mattress. I’m talking about what’s in the closet.”

  There was a pause, and then Mel gasped. “You didn’t take it with you?”

  “Take what?” I asked, looking back and forth between them.

  Mistral clapped her hands. “Of course I didn’t! I couldn’t fit it all in the moving truck!”

  “What are we talking about?” I was thoroughly confused.

  “Mistral worked on four movies last year,” Mel said, as if that explained everything.

  I looked back and forth between them as I deposited Mistral on the couch. “Okay. Is that…is that supposed to help me understand? Because I don’t.”

  “I keep the wardrobe,” Mistral said. “Not all of it, but the good stuff. And I just know some of it’s going to fit you.”

  I finally began to understand what they were saying, and I knew there’d be no talking them out of it. “Can we at least play Pretty Woman for my makeover montage?”

  “You know it, girl.” Mel turned and headed for the bedroom.

  Chapter 4

  “There may be one or two areas where we could tighten up the pacing, and I noticed a small inconsistency with your main character in the last chapter, but overall, I’d say this is one of the most polished first drafts I’ve read in quite a while.”

  Rhonda kicked me under the conference table. “That’s wonderful to hear!” she exclaimed. “We’re so thrilled! Aren’t we, Taylor?”