by Aly Stiles
Julian wraps up the recording session around 3:30 so he can get to his meeting. I tell Viv I’ll need the rest of the day as well for Naomi. Turns out, Viv had plans with Oliver anyway.
“So what do you want to do? Watch a movie? Play some music?” I ask Naomi once we’re strapped into my car. She doesn’t respond, and I look in my rearview mirror. There’s a pink hue to her cheeks, and her hands twist nervously in her lap.
“What is it?” I ask, turning in my seat to face her.
She looks away. “Actually, I was wondering. Could you maybe… take me shopping?” Her eyes dart to me, uncertain and hopeful at the same time.
“Sure, we can do that. For music stuff?”
She shakes her head. “No, like… for clothing. Something for the showcase?” She traces a pattern on the seat. “Something that’s not black.”
Wow. I try to keep my expression neutral as I force a smile. “Of course. I know the perfect place.”
She blinks and reaches up to tug her hair like Julian does. So cute. Except her eyes change again, and I sense there’s more. “What is it, Naomi? You can talk to me.”
She clears her throat and looks away. “Yeah. It’s just that… maybe we could go to a salon and fix my hair too?”
Startled, I study the blond roots peeking out from her raven black hair. “Fix it?”
“Yeah, I…” Her teeth sink into her lip as she returns to the stitching on the seat. “For the showcase. Maybe it should be my natural color. You know, so the judges know it’s me and… I don’t know. It’s stupid.” She shakes her head and pulls her hand back to her lap.
“It’s not stupid,” I say softly. “Let me make a few calls and see what we can do on short notice.”
“Really?” Her eyes brighten into giant green orbs. Gosh, she’s adorable. I’m reminded of another person whose eyes give everything away no matter how hard he fights it.
“Really. If that’s what you want, we’ll make it happen,” I say matter-of-factly. “I make things happen for a living.”
Bam.
Hang on…
I do, don’t I. I’m not just an assistant. I’m the woman who makes things happen. Take that, Crawfords.
I return Naomi’s grin and scroll through my contacts.
Thanks to my role with Viv, I know a lot of people when it comes to hair and clothes. It only takes a few calls to find a salon willing to accommodate an emergency client as a favor to me, and we hit the stores first while we wait for her appointment. I hope Julian isn’t expecting us home anytime soon, because this is going to be a long afternoon.
For a girl whose world revolves around one color, I’m surprised by the drastic shift in her tastes. She shook off the grays and black patterned options I presented to ease her in a new direction and gravitated right to a rack of colorful sweaters. I keep my opinions to myself as she loads up my arms, especially when, with each layer she adds to the pile, another seems to lift from her being.
She’s like a different girl when she comes out of the dressing room, and I think back to the photo above her bed. The change isn’t in the clothes, it’s in the brightness on her face when she looks at herself in the mirror. Like a part of her is going free again after being locked up and hidden.
Her hair appointment is even more dramatic. She looks nervous the entire time the stylist strips her color and uses toner and highlights to help her natural color grow in more seamlessly. She isn’t able to get it back to blond in one appointment, but it’s considerably lighter—and shorter—by the time we leave two hours later.
“Do you like it?” she asks hesitantly once we’re in the car. She tugs on the ends of her new locks that now land just past her shoulder.
“I love it, but the important thing is, do you like it?”
She stares at the ceiling for a second before her face lights up with a smile. “Yeah, I do. Can we go home now? I want to show Uncle Julian.”
“Of course. He texted me an hour ago saying he was home and wondering where we were. Don’t worry. I told him to be patient and mind his own business.” I don’t mention the other cryptic message that triggered the old fire in me. Something about wanting to talk to me regarding an event tonight that sounded suspiciously like a date.
“Good,” Naomi quips. “He’s so nosy sometimes.”
I smirk as I back out of the space and pull onto the street.
We don’t talk much on the drive home. I’m not surprised, given the drastic transformation she’s just undergone. It must be a lot for her to process, and my heart hurts thinking about the other transformation that happened sometime after that photo with her mom was taken.
Her expression dims further the closer we get to our apartment building. I check on her in the rearview mirror a few times, but she’s always gazing out the window with a troubled look on her face. By the time we pull into our parking space and take the elevator to the third floor, she’s pale and clenching her fists at her side. I rest my hand on her shoulder, and she flinches like I’ve startled her. She must have been lost in her head.
“You’ve got this,” I say as we hover outside their door.
She pulls in a deep breath, straightening like she’s bracing herself. She nods, but the way she fidgets with the hem of her sweater tells a different story. We bought several bags of clothing, and she insisted on wearing something pink or green for the big reveal. She chose an oversized lime green sweater and trendy ripped skinny jeans. I love how the green fabric makes her light green eyes glow in her face.
“You look amazing, Naomi. He’s gonna love it.”
I squeeze her arm, and she chews on her lip again, staring at the door handle for another second. Finally, she reaches for it with a trembling hand. I rest mine on her back.
“He’s going to love it,” I repeat quietly as she pushes it open.
Julian is at the small table in their breakfast nook, pouring over a pile of papers when we enter. “Hey. How was—” He drops the pen he was holding. “Naomi?” he whispers.
She clenches her hands behind her back and nods, watching him shyly.
“Oh my...” Emotion cuts off his response, flooding his face as he pushes up from the table. He stares at her, unmoving, his glassy eyes scanning her from head to toe until they finally land on her sweater. “It’s green,” he says in a hoarse voice.
Tears drip down Naomi’s cheeks as she nods. “Mommy would have liked this one, I think.”
Julian chokes on a response and opens his arms when Naomi rushes to him. “She would have loved it, Omi,” he says softly, wrapping her tight. He whispers something else I can’t hear, and Naomi nods, her tears coming harder against his shoulder.
I turn away and press my sleeve to my eyes. It comes away warm and wet. When I look back, Julian lifts his gaze to me over her shoulder and mouths, thank you. I smile back.
Pretty sure this transformation was all him.
CHAPTER 21
JULIAN
“Wait, what was that?” I call out from the stove. I’ve never been much of a cook, but Naomi’s into broccoli all of a sudden, so I hit the internet hard for idiot-proof recipes. This one is supposedly a stir fry but it’s looking less stir and more fry for some reason. I turn the heat down on the range and hope for the best.
“You mean this part?” Naomi replies from the chair at the table. She has it pushed back so she can balance her guitar on her lap and practice while I work on dinner. She plays the same progression that just got my attention.
“Yes, that! I like how you switch to the minor on without you. Do that instead of the C. And maybe take the melody up on the out instead of going down.”
“Like this?” She plays the line one more time, and I point my spoon at her.
“Yes, exactly like that. You like it?”
She grins and leans forward to scribble something on the page in front of her. “This song is getting so good, Uncle J.”
“This song is freaking amazing. You are going to rock that showcase.”
“As well as you’re gonna rock dinner tonight with The Crawfords?” She says the name with an exaggerated snooty accent. I can’t decide between a laugh and a grunt. What comes out is probably in between.
“Yeah, we’ll see. Rock may be a strong word. I’m aiming for surviving.” I scoop a spoonful of my concoction onto a plate and grab a fork. “So this is supposed to be Jennie Jules’ Asian-Inspired Stir Fry,” I say, placing the dish on the table. “Let me know what you think.”
She bends over the guitar to inspect it and… wait. That’s not a grimace. “Hmm. Smells good at least.” I breathe a sigh of relief when she props her guitar against the wall. “You’re getting better, Uncle J.”
“Thanks,” I say rinsing my hands and grabbing the dish towel. “So are you.” I wink on my way past, and she grins through a mouthful of vegetables. “I’m gonna go get ready. You sure you’re okay tonight? I can tell Hadley I can’t make it. She’d totally understand.”
“Yeah, she’d understand that you’re using me as an excuse to bail.” She’s not wrong. “Sorry, Uncle J. You’re going to have to face the royals again. I’ve got an entire season of Teenage Werewolf to watch.”
This time my reaction is definitely a grunt. “And you don’t need help with that?”
“Watching TV? Think I’m good.”
“The remote can be finicky.”
“I got it, Uncle J.”
“Plus, a light bulb could go out.”
“I know the number for nine-one-one.”
“Oh, and there’s that thing with the bathroom sink—”
“Bye, Uncle J!”
I sigh and finish the trudge to my room.
One hour and six unsuccessful excuses later, I’m standing on the doorstep of an obscene mansion. Is Hadley actually more nervous than the night of that April Mist disaster? I reach for her hand, and she squeezes back, lifting a weak smile.
“You look incredible,” I say.
“Thank you. You look…” She glances over, surprise on her face like she hadn’t noticed my appearance until now. Man, she’s a mess tonight. I hate that she lets these people do this to her. They’re not even in the same league as she is.
I grin, happy to help her out. “Hot? Sexy? Gorgeous? Fuckable—”
I freeze at the sudden presence of a stern man in the doorway. He gives me the most dramatic look of disdain in the history of disdained looks. At least the awkward moment gets a smile out of Hadley. I feel her amusement as we follow whoever this person is into a massive foyer.
“I will let the Crawfords know you’ve arrived, Miss Crawford,” the man says and whisks off into the cavernous home.
“He loves me,” I say, and Hadley huffs a laugh.
“Yes. Clearly. And I’m sure you’re very concerned about what Arnold thinks.”
“Was that Arnold?”
She nods, and I like the humor in her eyes way better than what was there a minute ago.
“I’ll shed my tears over Arnold later if that’s okay with you.”
Hadley bumps my shoulder with hers and leans toward my ear. “By the way, you do look hot. But more importantly, thanks for doing this. I know another dinner with my parents is probably the last thing on your list of fun.”
Maybe, but despite my pretend excuses, there was no way in hell I was going to let her face them alone after what I saw last time. To her I say, “I heard there’d be tiny food.”
She grins and yeah, that’s way better. Without thinking, I press my lips to her beautiful smile. Couldn’t help it. She startles at first, then grips my sleeve to deepen the kiss. We’re interrupted a second later by irritated throat-clearing.
We exchange an amused look as we break apart and turn to meet the sour faces of both Mr. and Mrs. Crawford. I guess we’re past the pretending to be cordial phase of our relationship. Good. Those facial expressions were freaking creepy. I much prefer the look of blatant disgust for me as they greet Hadley.
“Oh, we weren’t aware you’d be bringing a guest,” Pearl says, shifting her gaze to me. She doesn’t try the same awkward cheek-kiss thing she just gave Hadley. Another thing for the plus column.
“I told you Julian was coming,” she mumbles, glaring at her parents.
“Did you, dear? I don’t recall,” Pearl says. By her smug look, she absolutely recalls.
“Well, how fortunate we could surprise you,” I say, plastering a delighted look on my face. “I never miss a chance at family bonding.” Hadley jerks my hand, but her eyes don’t seem as mad as her hand. Neither do her lips that tick up slightly.
“Oh? Are you close with your family?” Pearl asks.
“Just my niece,” I say honestly—and also to get the unpleasant reaction I’m getting now at the reminder of our last encounter.
“Well, this way to the dining room then. Shall we?” Remington calls out from several feet away. He never even moved from his original spot.
They lead us to a room with a table as big as my entire living room. It looks hilarious with three measly place settings at the far end. We have to walk past about twenty chairs to get there.
Remington takes his place at the head, and Pearl sits beside him, leaving the place across from her open. I wave Hadley toward the remaining place setting and take the empty seat beside her. Within seconds utensils and expensive china are flying in from behind me, while Hadley stews at the obvious snub.
“So, Julian, how is the band coming along?” Remington asks when the first course is served. Did they hire caterers or do they have every meal prepared and served to them like this? I can’t wait to invite them over for Jennie Jules’ Asian-Inspired Stir Fry one day.
“Great,” I say. “How are the… movies?”
Hadley glances over at me and widens her eyes with a WTH look. I scrunch my face in the equivalent of a facial shrug.
“Things are going very well, thanks for asking. In fact, we just got a call about a film that would feature both of us. They wanted to film in Hawaii but I said…”
I immediately lose interest and study the painting behind Pearl on the wall. I squint at it, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be seeing in the giant painting. It’s literally a solid purple square, but it’s in a fancy frame, so I guess it was an expensive square. Remington doesn’t seem to notice he lost me, however, and his story continues through the first two courses, even drawing in Pearl at one point. Soon we’re hearing two perspectives of an event we don’t care about.
Hadley reaches over to take my hand, probably worried I’ll do something more than sit here picking at this coleslaw they’re calling something else.
“And then Roger said, ‘I hope you have your jet gassed up and ready to go!’” Laughter draws me away from the purple square and weird slaw. I force a smile since everyone else is enjoying whatever they were discussing. Well, except Hadley.
Her hand clamps around mine as the pasta dish is delivered to our places. I glance over in alarm at the sudden vice grip. Huge blue eyes stare at the plate like Satan himself transformed into one of those little shrimp just to mess with her.
I tug her hand to get her attention, and she turns her wide-eyed gaze to me. I’m blasted with hurt, anger, and a flurry of emotions I didn’t know a shrimp dish could muster.
“What’s wrong?” I ask loudly, if only to stop the jet conversation and remind them we’re still here.
Hadley’s mouth opens to speak before she snaps her head toward her parents. “You’re serving shrimp?” she hisses, angrier than I’ve ever seen her at anyone besides me.
Pearl lifts a hand to her chest at the venom. “Shrimp scampi, yes. It’s Chef Karson’s specialty.”
“I’m allergic to shellfish, Mother,” she grinds out through clenched teeth. “This dish could literally kill me!”
“What? No you’re not,” Pearl says, waving her off.
“Yes. I am!” Hadley jumps up and slams her napkin on the table. “You know what? I am so sick of this! I’m sorry you have a third child who doesn’t
want to live in adoration and conform to other people’s definition of success, but guess what? You don’t get to pretend I don’t exist just because I’m not what you want me to be. I like being an assistant. I like helping people and solving problems. I’d rather be the one fixing a mess than causing it—no offense, Julian.”
“None taken.” I lean back and wave her on.
“My point is, I am not ‘just an assistant.’ I am the woman who gets things done! I accomplish anything and everything I set out to do. You don’t get to invalidate me just because it’s not what you chose.”
She moves around her chair and tucks it in. “So you let me know when you’re interested in having that woman as a daughter. Until then, enjoy your stupid shrimp. Come on, Julian. We’re done here.”
Hell. Fucking. Yeah we are.
I don’t even try to hide my grin as I push to my feet and bow. “Always a pleasure, Mr. and Mrs. Crawford.”
I turn from their stunned faces and follow Hadley out of the room. Damn, this table is long.
I can’t even catch up to her as she stomps the entire way to her car, her body rigid with anger. It’s not until we’re strapped in and staring through the windshield that she finally seems to release a breath. When that happens, her face transforms into shock, then alarm, then…
I take her hand. “That was the freaking best thing I’ve ever seen.”
She looks over at me, her concern softening into a hesitant smile.
“Really? I kind of lost it in there. Maybe I should—”
I yank her hand. “Don’t you dare take it back. You rocked it.”
She sucks in her lips as she stares at the façade of the giant mansion. “That was insane,” she breathes out in a whisper.
“And fucking awesome.” She glares over at me, and I shrink. “Freaking, sorry.”
With a laugh still laced with disbelief, she studies the front entrance for a moment. “So what do we do now?” she asks finally, turning to me.
I kiss her fingers and hold them against my lips. “I heard a rumor there’s a Teenage Werewolf marathon going on at my place if you’re interested.”