by Ana Huang
His blood rushed south, turning him to steel, and Blake realized there was a major flaw in his brilliant win-Farrah-back plan: until he actually won her back, he was going to suffer from a serious case of blue balls.
“What is that?” Farrah’s tight voice interrupted his arousal-slash-horror.
“Hmm?” Blake hoped she wasn’t talking about the erection straining against the confines of his jeans because that would be super awkward.
“That.” She tilted her chin toward his nightstand.
Blake followed her gaze to where a little elephant figurine sat next to his alarm clock. It’d been his loyal companion all these years, traveling with him to London, Peru, Australia, and everywhere in between. It was the first thing he packed when he had a trip.
“Blake Jr.” His mouth tilted up when he remembered the night Farrah gifted him the souvenir from Thailand. That was the night of their first dinner together off-campus, just the two of them. He’d fallen a little in love with her then, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. “Handsome and ageless, just like his owner.”
Farrah rolled her eyes. “Poor thing, still stuck with a vanity name.” A strange expression crossed her face. “Why’d you keep it for so long? It’s a cheap souvenir, and it doesn’t exactly fit with your new life.” She gestured at their sparsely decorated but well-appointed surroundings.
Because it reminds me of you.
“Because it’s important to me.”
His response soaked into the air and charged it with electricity. He could feel the shift on his skin and in the pulsing of his veins.
Farrah’s cheeks tinted pink. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head and replied in a professional tone that didn’t match the sparks crackling between them. “I think I have everything I need.” She tucked her notebook into her bag, and Blake detected a slight tremble in her hands. “I’ll work on the sketches and call if I have any further questions. In the meantime—”
“Farrah—”
“Send me photos of any interiors you like,” she rushed. “You can email them, or I can create a shared Pinterest board. The Pinterest board is easiest.”
“It’s great seeing you again.”
You could hear a pin drop in the silence.
Farrah hoisted her bag on her shoulder, her face hard. “This is a professional relationship.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you—” She stopped. “Just don’t. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you try to cross the line between client and consultant, I will walk off this project no matter how much you’re paying me. ‘Either party may terminate this agreement for any reason with ten business days’ notice.’ That’s in the termination clause of our contract. Am I clear?”
Blake raised his hands in defeat. “Crystal. But—no, hear me out first—we’ll be working together for a while, and we have history. We don’t have a typical freelance relationship. I promise I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, like try to kiss you—” Even though I want to. “—or braid your hair while we gossip over Chinese takeout—” He grinned when Farrah’s mouth edged up into a smile. “—but we can talk about stuff other than, I dunno, leather patterns.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Leather patterns?”
“Are they a thing? Doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is, there’s a big gap between professional and overly personal.” Blake’s voice softened. “I know we didn’t end things on a great note in Shanghai, but that was a long time ago. I’m not the jerk I used to be. We can have a fresh start.”
Farrah pressed her lips together. “Fine, as long as you’re aware of what the boundaries are.”
“I got the map drawn up and tattooed on my brain.”
“Good.”
Farrah’s phone buzzed right as they exited the bedroom. When she read the incoming message, her eyes lit up and a delighted smile stretched across her face.
Jealousy smashed into Blake—sudden, fierce, and potent. She used to smile like that for him. Who’s the fucker texting her?
Was it her boyfriend? She wasn’t married—he’d checked for a ring at The Aviary. But maybe she was dating someone. She was beautiful, smart, witty, kind. She must have men beating down her door.
Green smoke clogged his throat and made it hard to breathe. Blake couldn’t expect Farrah to have remained single and celibate all these years—it wasn’t like he had—but he still wanted to tear the head off any asshole who’d touched her or so much as breathed in her direction.
Irrational? Yes.
Did he care? Fuck no.
But asking her about her love life definitely crossed the boundaries they’d just discussed, so Blake fumed in silence while Farrah responded to Fuckface’s text.
“I have to go.” Farrah looked up, that smile still lingering on her lips, and the fire in him stoked hotter.
Don’t ask, you idiot. Do. Not. Ask.
“Date with your boyfriend?”
His question landed with the subtlety of a pile of bricks.
Farrah flashed him a warning glance but didn’t dignify his obvious fishing with an answer. “I’ll call you when the sketches are ready.”
It wasn’t a no.
The front door shut behind her, leaving silence and a seething, jealousy-riddled Blake in her wake.
Chapter Seven
The smell of booze and fries hit Farrah the second she entered Tavern 14, a happy hour favorite in the heart of the East Village. Per usual, it was packed with people eager to take advantage of half-off drink specials and $2 sliders.
Farrah pushed her way through the crowd and searched for her date. She was about to text and ask if he’d arrived yet when the group of beanie-wearing artist types in front of her parted, and she saw him at a high top in the corner, sipping a beer and scrolling through his phone.
A grin took over her face. It had been too long.
“Sammy!” Farrah raised her voice so he could hear her above the noise.
Happiness flooded Sammy Yu’s sculpted features when he saw her. “Farrah!” He stood up and walked around the table to hug her. He smelled like soap and fresh laundry, and the scent was so familiar she choked up. Nostalgia was getting the best of her these days. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Likewise. It’s been, gosh, two years since we last saw each other?” Farrah and Sammy kept in touch via text and social media, but he lived in San Francisco and in-person meetups were rare. The last time they’d caught up in person was when she flew to California to work on a boutique hotel project for KBI. Sammy had visited New York a few times since then, but they’d both been so busy they couldn’t align their schedules.
“Two years too long. How’ve you been?”
“Good. You? Still taking SF by storm?” Farrah teased.
Sammy’s cheeks colored. With his deep brown eyes, chiseled face, and tall, muscular body, he was as gorgeous as ever, but now he had an additional draw: his bakery, Crumble & Bake, had become a major attraction in San Francisco and had garnered him praise from foodies and celebrities alike. It was so popular he’d recently opened a branch in L.A., where the line on opening day wrapped around the block. Farrah saw photos of the spectacle online.
Sammy himself had become a quasi-celebrity among the food crowd, with more than a million Instagram followers and a booming YouTube channel where he posted baking tutorials.
Farrah knew he’d encountered major resistance from his family when he ditched his math degree and a NASA career for baking, but Sammy was crushing it.
“Hardly. I’m just a baker, not Mark Zuckerberg.”
“Mark Z. can kiss my ass. You’re much better.”
Sammy cracked a smile. “Thanks. Hey, you want a drink? On me.”
“I got it. Don’t argue,” Farrah warned. “You’re the guest.”
He laughed. “Fine. But I got the next round.”
> “Deal.”
Once they got their drinks, Farrah and Sammy snagged one of the few booths in the bar right after it opened up and caught each other up on their lives. She told Sammy about quitting KBI, her birthday trip to Jamaica, and the time she accidentally crashed a Met Gala afterparty. Sammy told her about his San Francisco exploits and the ups and downs of running a famous bakery—including hundreds of propositions and NSFW (Not Safe For Work) images from rabid, sugar-crazed fans.
“Must be tough.” Farrah laughed when Sammy punched her in the arm.
“It’s all fun and games until you accidentally open one of the pictures in front of your three-year-old niece,” Sammy grumbled. “My sister nearly impaled me with her nail file. Besides, I don’t like the attention. I just want to bake my croissants in peace. I don’t know how Kris deals with this shit.”
“Too late now. You’re a star, baby,” Farrah sang. “Kris deals with it because she’s Kris. She’ll clock any paparazzi that comes too close.”
“True.”
Kris Carrera, another friend from study abroad, was engaged to Nate Reynolds, one of Hollywood’s hottest stars and a paparazzi favorite.
“Have you kept in touch with anyone else from FEA?” Farrah stirred her drink, now watered down from the ice.
“Pretty much everyone in the group except for—” Sammy stopped short.
Olivia.
The name hung in the air, unspoken, like a guillotine waiting to drop.
Farrah felt a pang in her heart. There’d been a time when Sammy and Olivia were the couple. Their relationship made it out of FEA intact—the only one in their group to do so—only to implode a few months later. Farrah had been in New York with them, but even now, she wasn’t sure what happened. Sammy and Olivia refused to talk about it.
How could two people go from being so in love to hating each other’s guts so quickly?
Then again, Farrah of all people knew how much things could change in the space of minutes.
“Have you kept in touch with Blake?” The question fell out, unbidden.
Sammy’s eyes flickered with surprise. “Yeah, a little. Why?”
“Well…” Farrah debated whether to tell him about her new project. She didn’t want discussion of Blake to hijack the night, but she needed a sounding board beyond Olivia, and there weren’t many people who knew what had happened between her and Blake in Shanghai. “I’m kind of, um, working for him.”
“What?”
Farrah filled Sammy in on the details.
“Wow.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “What are the odds?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m over him,” Farrah said quickly. “It’s been five years. It’s just weird.”
“Mmhmm.” Sammy surveyed her with a shrewd eye. “You’re sure you’re over him?”
Pretty sure.
She chalked the way her heart pounded when she caught sight of the elephant figurine up to surprise. As for the heat that licked at her skin when she’d imagined all the things she wanted to do to Blake in that big bed of his…well, that was nothing a night with her battery-operated boyfriend couldn’t sort out.
“Totally sure.”
Sammy appeared unconvinced. “Maybe this is a sign,” he mused. “For you to bury the hatchet and move on. You can be friends again.”
Farrah snorted. “Right.”
They could be civil, but friends? She didn’t think so. It was hard to be friends with someone who broke your heart.
“Hey, I’m not making excuses for Blake. He did a shitty thing in Shanghai. But we all make mistakes—some bigger than others—and deep down, he’s a good guy. Like you said, it’s been five years. You don’t have to marry him; just give him a chance to prove he’s changed. It’ll make your life easier, considering you’ll be working together.”
Farrah pondered Sammy’s advice. It sounded similar to what Blake said earlier.
She wasn’t angry about what happened in Shanghai anymore. She used to be. God, she’d been pissed. But the anger had iced over as the years passed, leaving behind a thick wariness no man had been able to penetrate. Her relationship with Blake had proved fairytale love existed in real life, but it also proved that every fairytale had a dark side, that happily ever afters sometimes came with less-than-happy epilogues, and that the One Big Love could crush your heart as easily as they stole it.
Anyway, it wasn’t like Farrah was in danger of falling in love again. In lust, maybe. But that was a whole other matter.
“You’re way too nice. You know that?”
Sammy ruffled her hair, causing her to scowl. “Just dispensing my daily dose of wisdom. Forgiveness makes the world go round and all that.”
“Does that apply to Olivia?” she asked hopefully, smoothing a hand over her tousled locks. She was opening a can of worms by mentioning her roommate’s name, but she was sick of this cold war between her friends. Sammy thought she and Blake needed to make up? He and Olivia needed to make up. Stat.
Sammy’s smile fell. Tension crowded his shoulders, and a steel edge crept into his voice. “It’s not the same.”
Most of the time, he was the same good-natured, easygoing Sammy from their younger years. But like everyone else in the group, he’d hardened over time. More secrets, more bitterness, more cynicism—especially when it came to past heartbreaks.
“Why not?”
Sammy set his jaw. “It just isn’t.”
Farrah knew when she was fighting a losing battle. She changed the subject, not wanting to ruin their reunion. “How long are you in town for?”
She’d been pleasantly surprised when she received Sammy’s text while she’d been at Blake’s apartment. She hadn’t known he was in New York, but it was a nice distraction from the unsettling chemistry that burned between her and Blake.
Chemistry, like coincidence, was a bitch who couldn’t read the room.
Sammy relaxed. “I leave tomorrow morning. Sorry for the late notice today, by the way—I’m in town for business and didn’t think I’d have time to meet up, but my meeting tonight got canceled.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s always nice to see you.”
They stayed at the bar and chatted until the happy hour crowd thinned and gave way to the night owl set, but Farrah could tell neither of their hearts was in it. Their conversation had dredged up memories best left forgotten, and every once in a while, their sentences would taper off as they stared at their drinks, both lost in memories of what used to be.
Chapter Eight
“We’re not installing a shark tank.”
“Why not? Ice-T has one,” Blake protested. “I saw it on an MTV Cribs rerun. Besides, I’m the client. If I want a shark tank, I should get a shark tank.”
Farrah huffed in exasperation. “First, you should not be taking life inspiration from Ice-T. Second, you’re right. You’re the client and if you want a shark tank, I’ll get you a shark tank. But it kind of goes against the understated theme you want, don’t you think?”
Blake shrugged. “It’ll be a statement piece?” He hid a grin at the annoyed look on Farrah’s face.
Annoyance was good. It was a step up from indifference.
“I’m kidding,” he said, taking mercy on her. “We can scrap the shark tank.”
Blake and Farrah sat on a bench by Central Park’s Bethesda Fountain, poring over the sketches she’d put together for his condo. He was the one who’d suggested they meet in the park instead of at a cafe or his apartment. It was a beautiful day, and he hoped the casual atmosphere would encourage her to lower her guard.
It was working, sort of. Farrah seemed more relaxed than she had during their walkthrough, but he hadn’t succeeded in getting her to talk about anything except work—yet. The day was still young.
“Thank God.” Farrah scratched something out on her notepad. “So, design two, no shark tank?”
“Yep.” Honestly, Blake liked all the sketches and had chosen one at random. He trusted she knew what she was doing. “Okay
. That’s it for work today. What do you say we take a walk?”
Farrah slanted him a sharp glance. “I have to get started on the next phase of the project.”
“Right now? At this very moment? Come on, it’s Friday afternoon,” he cajoled. “Look at this weather! The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the—”
“Joshua, Peter, if you don’t stop that this instant, you’re grounded for the next two weeks!” a woman screamed as a young dark-haired boy head-butted his twin. His brother pushed him in response, and the two fell to the ground, wrestling.
Their mother stormed over with fire in her eyes. “Have kids, they said. It’ll be so rewarding, they said,” she muttered loud enough for Blake and Farrah to hear.
“The kids are out in full force.” Farrah completed Blake’s sentence. Her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Yep.” Darkness swirled in his chest as he watched the kids wrestle. The pain wasn’t as sharp as it used to be whenever he saw children, but now and then, he wondered what his life would be like had things with Cleo worked out. Would they have been happy? Would he have enjoyed fatherhood, or would it have felt like a noose, constricting around his neck until he couldn’t breathe?
Questions he’d never have the answers to.
Blake shoved the insidious whispers of guilt aside and flashed a charming smile. “So, how about that walk? According to my trusty mental map, it’s well within the boundaries.”
“I guess I could go for a walk,” Farrah said reluctantly. “It is a beautiful day.”
Success.
Farrah was ice, but he was fire, melting her down inch by inch. Blake had a lot of things to atone for. She thought he’d played her in Shanghai, and he was tempted to let her continue thinking that. It was, in his mind, more palatable than the truth, which was that he was a fucked-up human being. A part of him wondered if he should even pursue Farrah again.
She was too pure, and he was too broken. The world saw a businessman with a perfect smile and perfect life, but the image Blake presented concealed the jagged shards and haunting thoughts inside. It was a side of him he’d never let Farrah see, not only because he didn’t want to drag her into his spiral of shame and regret, but because he was afraid she’d take one look at the chaos and run the hell away.