by Mimi Strong
If I don’t die waiting.
I catch a bus home, smiling the whole way.
My roommates are both in the house, making pizza. I’m famished. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I definitely burned off a few calories in Dylan’s bed.
“Jessica!” Amanda yells when I enter the kitchen. She’s got her bleached blonde hair up in a ponytail, and her blue eyes are bright. “Your cheeks are rosy. OMG. Jessica was having sex!”
I grab a handful of grated cheese to stuff into my mouth. “Shut up.”
Riley tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and gives me a knowing look.
“Hey.” I nod her way.
“Sex, huh? My little sister is all grown up,” Riley says. There’s an edge to her voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
For the last few days, Riley has been acting like everything’s fine between us. It’s not.
Her golden brown eyes sweep up and down my body.
“I hope you’re being safe,” Riley says. Her big-sister tone feels like a knife twisting in my guts.
“No, of course not,” I snap at her. “I plan to buy pregnancy test kits by the caseload. Like Nan used to do for you.”
Riley’s eyes narrow. “Not cool.”
I narrow my eyes right back at her. “It wasn’t cool when you slept with my teacher.”
Amanda yells at us, “No fighting in the house!”
Riley ignores Amanda. “That’s in the past,” she spits at me.
“I’m still waiting for that apology,” I say coolly.
“For what?”
“Um, hello? For being a disaster and ruining my life.”
Riley rolls her eyes. Her voice heavy with sarcasm, she says, “Oh, sweet, perfect Jessica. I’m so sorry I ruined your perfect life and tried to show you that you could think for yourself.”
Amanda tries to ask me for more details about Dylan, but I can’t hear her.
I’ve just noticed the shirt Riley’s wearing. It’s a pale blue V-neck with I LOVE PARIS on the front.
“That’s my fucking shirt,” I growl at her. “You took it when you ditched me and Nan.”
She widens her brown eyes, pretending to be innocent. “This old thing?”
“You’re a psycho. And I don’t even care. That shirt wouldn’t fit me anyway. You can keep it.”
“You have broad shoulders. That’s why it won’t fit you.” Riley sticks out her chest.
Amanda yells, “Stop it you two! Act like family.”
“I can’t help how I feel,” I tell her. Being around my half-sister makes me feel like I’m twelve again.
Amanda tries to change the topic. “Is Dylan a good kisser?”
“Yes,” I admit.
Riley frowns, like she’s disgusted.
Amanda keeps asking questions, getting more and more personal. I wouldn’t usually share so many details, but it’s pissing off Riley, so I keep going.
Finally, Riley gets so annoyed that she leaves the room.
Good.
Amanda pinches my arm. “Jess. You have to make a peace offering,” she hisses.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do something nice for Riley, so she knows you love her.”
“But I don’t love her.”
Amanda’s eyes glisten with tears. “She’s your sister. You have to love her.”
“I have total control over who I love.”
“No, you don’t,” she says. “We don’t get to decide.”
I snort and switch the topic back to Dylan.
Later, when Amanda and I are sitting on the couch eating, I have to smile. Dylan bought pizza for us earlier tonight, and we didn’t even touch it.
I wonder if he’s sitting in the loft now, eating pizza and thinking of me.
Chapter 2
At work, I drop my bag next to my work chair with a thud.
“Well?” I say, giving Nick what I hope is a serious glare.
He doesn’t look up from his computer. His multiple face piercings are picking up the blue light from the screen.
“I may have overreacted,” he says.
I slam my palms on the desk. “YOU THINK?”
His eyes flick up to meet mine, without his face moving.
“The false alarm was my doing,” he says.
“Yes, I figured that out. What made you do that? It worked, by the way. Dylan sent me home while he waited for the alarm company.” I plunk myself down in my chair heavily. “So, thanks a lot for that.”
Nick rolls his chair a few feet to the side and pulls something out of a cardboard box. It’s a soup can-sized metal thing with metal connectors.
“I went by the firehall and removed the transmitter,” he says. “I don’t have my so-called spycams running in the rental unit anymore. If you don’t believe me, you can check inside the stereo speakers. That’s where the cameras are hidden. They’re small, but you’ll know them when you see them. Just lift off the fabric covering and pull them out. I only ask that you don’t do something stupid like step on them, because they’re not cheap.”
“Excuse me? Did you say your—” I make air quotes with my fingers “—so-called spycams? Because they sure seemed to me like for-real spycams.” I look around me at the dusty boxes. “Why did I even come in today?”
Nicks eyebrows come together in concern for a microsecond. “What do you mean? You weren’t going to come in?”
“This job sucks. I have a college degree. Sure, it’s not from a fancy college, but I can do better than this.” I get up from my chair and kick a dusty cardboard box. “This job can kiss my ass.”
“You seem upset.”
I kick the box again. This job really sucks. My roommate situation sucks. Riley tried to pick a fight with me this morning over the chore schedule. She was completely in the wrong, but Amanda took her side. Three is a bad number for roommates, because it’s always two against one.
I swear at the box and kick it a couple more times, until the seams give way and the contents sag out.
“Tantrum?” Nick asks.
Hell. I may be twenty-two, but I feel like having a tantrum. Just today. I’ll be mature again after I’m done with this box.
I kick the box across the concrete floor, calling it every bad name I want to call Riley. Plus some nastiness about Nick. The box falls apart completely, scattering its contents across the floor.
My tantrum is interrupted by the ding of the elevator.
Nick has called the elevator. He stands with his arms crossed, his body looking thin in his head-to-toe black outfit.
“How many sugar cubes do you need in your coffee?” he asks. “Ten?”
“No!” I put my hands on my hips, then move the back of my hand up to my forehead. I’m breathing heavily and starting to sweat. “Yes,” I say begrudgingly. “Ten sugar cubes. And five cream.”
Without another word, he steps onto the elevator and disappears.
Feeling very foolish, I get down on my hands and knees to pick up the items I’ve scattered.
This is a box that Nick processed. I remember this box from yesterday, because he took it away from me. It had a lot of photos, and I was disappointed, because I wanted to look at them while I did the scans. He joked around that I didn’t have the clearance level to access this box. He must not have recognized this box when I started abusing it, or maybe he knew that teasing me about my clearance level would have earned him a punch in the nose.
As I stack the papers and file folders together, I glance through the candid photos. These pictures aren’t that old. Maybe seven years or so, by the look of the clothes. I find a picture of a young Nick, back when he had half as many piercings. He’s standing next to the Vice President of Morris Music, and she’s got her arm around him.
She looks exactly the same as she does now, with her ice-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She’s wearing a brown suit, with a tiger-print blouse. But what really gets my attention is how much Nick looks like her. They look exa
ctly like… mother and son.
“Holy shit,” I say to myself.
My anger boils back up. Nick is Maggie’s son, and he didn’t tell me. I never asked, but now I feel betrayed. It’s the sort of thing you should tell people. Especially if you want them to trust you.
The machinery behind the closed elevator doors begins to whir. Nick’s going to be back any minute.
I gather up all the photographs from this box—about a hundred and fifty pictures—and quickly stuff them into my bag. My heart is pounding, and I feel giddy.
I’m being bad. Stealing.
I haven’t felt like this since the time my half-sister took me clothing shopping and tried to make me shoplift. She stuffed some necklaces into my pockets. I was only twelve, and it was early in her stay with us. Back then, I still wanted to impress her. I tried to go along with her plan.
My heart was hammering in my chest like it is right now. I didn’t have the guts to steal from the store. I dumped the necklaces between a rack of clothes before we left.
She never even asked about the jewelry later. She forgot all about it, moving on to the next thing within minutes.
The elevator grinds in warning.
I finish stuffing the photos into my bag. The two thousand in cash is gone, put in my bank account this morning. All that’s in here is my lunch and phone. I zip the zipper and fold the flap over.
A wave of paranoia hits me. Nick will notice, because I never fold the flap over. I unfold the flap, then run to get back on my knees by the mess just as the elevator dings.
He steps out with two big coffees.
“Thanks,” I say, not looking up from the stacks.
“Jessica, I don’t mean to be that guy, but can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Should I put a big, red X on the calendar for today’s date?”
I’m totally caught off guard by Nick cracking a period joke. All the tension I’m holding in my body breaks. I bust out laughing.
He grabs a roll of tape and joins me on the floor to repair the box. He mutters something about this box having personal stuff in it, and covers the top quickly with the torn lid so I can’t view the contents.
I keep laughing, until I have to wipe a tear from each eye. He doesn’t know that I already figured out his secret.
“To be perfectly honest, Nick, I’m not having PMS. Maybe next week.”
“Are things going to get a lot worse? I’m under a lot of pressure as it is.”
I glance up, catching his icy blue eyes. How did I not notice he has the same eyes as Maggie Clark? I must have been staring at the piercings every time I talked to him.
“You tell me,” I say. “Are we going to be perfectly honest with each other?”
“Honesty goes both ways.”
My anger flares up again. I probably will be getting my period next week, which could explain the mood swings. This anger isn’t entirely hormonal, though.
Nick has been working my nerves since yesterday, trying to drive a wedge between me and Dylan. What I really need right now is a friend.
I glance down from Nick’s pierced face, to the ID card near his hip. He’s got a skull sticker over the spot where his last name should be. I point to the sticker. “What’s your last name?”
“Clark,” he says. “The same as the Vice President. I’d say there’s no relation, but we’re being honest with each other. She’s my mother.”
I pause, pretending I didn’t know that already.
“Now you know,” he says. “Honesty. Hmm.”
“You’re a real dick for not telling me that sooner.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he might smile.
“Nick the dick,” I say. “Yup. Nick the dick.”
His mouth moves into an actual smile. That’s interesting. Nick enjoys being called names. I’m not entirely surprised. He’s a weird dude.
“What did you do?” I ask. “Why did your mother banish you to the archives?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
I hate it when people ask that question. How am I supposed to promise if I don’t know what kind of secret it is?
“Sure,” I say carefully.
His hand grazes mine over the pile of papers between us. I’m surprised by how warm his skin is. In this honest moment, he seems more human to me.
I wouldn’t be attracted to him, even if he wasn’t gay, so it’s not awkward when our hands keep bumping into each other.
“Keep this secret, but I’m not actually banished,” he says. “My mother and I are pretending to be at war with each other, so people don’t get suspicious.”
“Suspicious of what? Are you two planning a big corporate takeover?” I chuckle at my joke.
He doesn’t answer me, but his hand trembles as he tapes up the repaired cardboard box.
“Holy shit,” I say. “You are planning a corporate takeover.”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“She wants to push out Mr. Morris? But doesn’t he own the company outright? How can you even do that?”
Nick places his hand over top of mine, on the box lid.
“I’ve told you too much,” he says.
My mind is whirring with a million thoughts.
“But why?” I ask. “Mr. Morris is so nice, and he’s a smart businessman.”
Disdain crosses Nick’s face. He spits out, “Because Carter Morris deserves nothing less than to have his life’s work taken away from him.”
“Are you joking?” I pull my hand away from his. Nick might be gay, but too much body contact is squicking me out.
He leans back and looks me over calmly. “You’re young. I guess you haven’t learned to spot all the sociopaths in your life.”
I snort. “Apparently not.” He seems to be implying something about Dylan, and I shouldn’t take the bait. I bite my tongue.
“My mother built this company,” Nick says. “I saw for myself how hard she worked. She was never around for me, because she was always on call for Carter Morris. In more ways than one.”
“They were hooking up? OMG. Gross.”
A flash of disgust goes across Nick’s usually-calm face. He’s really rattled today.
“Don’t answer that,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone about your secret corporate takeover plans, but you need to be straight with me. What does all this have to do with Dylan?”
Nick blinks several times. “Nothing.” He blinks a few more times. “We want him to sign a high value recording deal. But we could use someone else. Anyone will do. Anyone. Just a pretty face with a good voice.”
I stare at Nick’s face, watching for clues.
“And then what?” I ask.
“None of your business.”
I think for a minute, wondering if Nick will tell me more in exchange for something I know. That’s how gossip with my friends always worked. Corporate secrets are just another form of gossip, I think.
Slowly, I casually ask, “Did you know Dylan has… sort of a sponsor? Someone helping to guide him?”
“No.” Nick’s voice wavers, and his eyebrows raise dramatically. “Really?” He frowns, his forehead furrowing deeply. “What do you know about this sponsor? Are you sure it’s not just an agent?”
A bad feeling twists through my stomach.
I get to my feet and dust off my knees.
Nick is lying to me. I’m sure of it.
He probably does know more about Dylan’s sponsor, but won’t tell me. His facial reactions are totally exaggerated, like he’s overcompensating.
Part of my business degree included a course on psychology, and reading people. Most people are transparent, if you think to look.
“You can tell me anything,” Nick says. He’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor. In his black jeans, his skinny legs remind me of a twisted licorice stick.
For an instant, I feel sorry for him. Nick thinks he has such a great poker face, but he doesn’t.
No wonder he was skittish
around Mr. Morris.
He’d probably spill the secret in two minutes alone with charming Mr. Morris.
No wonder Nick’s hiding down here in the basement.
My nerves are zinging with pride that I’ve figured out one piece of the puzzle. If I keep my eyes and ears open, pretty soon I’ll figure out the rest.
Best of all, I can use the information to help Dylan.
“That’s all I know,” I say coolly. It’s not much of a lie, since Dylan hasn’t told me much more. “Now, what can we both do to help Dylan get a sweet contract?”
Nick gets to his feet and brings the box to the metal shelves. He presses the button to get the machinery to slide the shelves over. The powerful motor grinds, and the shelves shift until they slam to a halt. I may have been raised around plenty of farm equipment, but the moving shelves are a little scary.
“Well?” I say, my impatience coming out in my voice. “How do we make sure Dylan gets the big money deal, and not someone else?”
“You won’t like what I have to say.” Nick turns slowly to face me.
“Tell me anyway.”
He flicks his lip piercing with his tongue, then says, “You have to break up with Dylan.”
I cross my arms, the fury returning. “Give me one good reason.”
“I’ll give you two.” Nick counts the reasons on his fingers. “One, he’s more marketable when he’s single. And two, he’s totally in love with you, and being in love has turned his work to shit.”
With my arms still crossed, I tap my fingers on my forearm. “Shut up.”
“You asked,” he says. “Listen for yourself. Get him to play you one of his new gems.”
“He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
“Perfect. It’s only Wednesday today. Break up with him tonight. By Friday, he might have a decent song written. Then he can get signed for a million-dollar contract, and everything will work out.”
“No. I’m not breaking up with him. I’ll talk to him about the songs.”
“Let me make some calls.” He picks up the takeout coffee containers and returns to his desk. He picks up the phone and starts making calls.
I return to my seat across from him. I drink my sweet coffee and pretend do some work.
After a moment, details from what Nick told me finally sink in. Dylan’s in love with me? Nick thinks he is. Of course, Nick also thinks Dylan’s new work is shit, so I can’t really believe a word Nick says.