by G. , Whitney
“You could’ve summed that up in five seconds.”
“I thought you’d appreciate the extended cut.” I laughed and pulled out the napkin that Simon gave me at the airport. “He wrote his number on this since my phone was dead and he left his elsewhere. Romantic, right?”
“That’s not exactly the term I was thinking.”
“Just promise that you’re going to give me advice on getting him this time,” I said.
“I might give you advice.” His lips curved into a smirk. “Are you going to take it?”
“I always do.”
“No, you only take the parts that you like.” He tapped his chin. “That aside, what do I get out of helping you with this?”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He smiled. “What’s my incentive to help you land this guy?”
“You get the honor of knowing that you’re a good best friend.”
“I’m a great best friend,” he said. “I want something tangible. A real payment that I can collect.”
“You bought a thirty-million-dollar condo last month.” I scoffed. “You don’t need any more money, and I’m not giving you a dime of mine.”
“I wasn’t thinking money, per se.”
“No, I won’t replace your assistant Sarah at Cinder.”
“I would never hire you to work under me.” He laughed. “I just want your help with some letters I’m being forced to write. Well, unless Lawrence changes his mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind about shit, Hayden!” He called out from above, and we both laughed.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“There isn’t one.”
“Then how many letters are there?”
“Just a few.” He extended his hand like this was a business deal. “Deal?”
“Deal,” I said, shaking on it. “What’s my first step with Simon?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Wait for him to call you.”
“Did you miss the part where I said that he told me to call him?” I shook the napkin. “The part where I have his phone number and he doesn’t have mine?
“I heard you.” He eyed my dress. “But since he saw you wearing that, he’ll find a way to call you. Trust me.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate more—to show how his point makes any sense, but no words fell from his lips.
“Just to be sure that you won’t do anything stupid tonight ...” He grabbed the napkin from my hand and tore it to pieces. Then he tossed the shreds onto the ground. “You’re welcome.”
“You think he’s going to find me by magic?”
“If he’s really into you, he’ll find a way.”
I stared at the shreds, tempted to pick them up and piece them together for insurance.
As if he could read my mind, he picked up a few of them and tossed them into the fire pit.
“He’ll call you, Penelope,” he said. “I’ll give it a week at best.”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “That’s when I’ll start helping you with your apology letters, then. Doesn’t make sense to hold up my end of the deal if yours falls through.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.” He smiled. “Is that when you’re going to tell me what you thought of my pictures?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You haven’t looked at my dick?”
Do not answer that. It’s a trap.
“I need to get home, so I’ll see you later.” I rushed back inside, then past the photogs, feeling my cheeks heat with every step.
Best friend or not, I wasn’t even sure where to begin with that discussion, and I didn’t want my mind to wander there ever again.
Five
Present Day
Penelope
* * *
Three days passed without a single call or a text from Simon.
I even started a brand-new gmail account—[email protected], but the only thing that inbox received was a fresh dose of spam.
Five (B)
Present Day
Penelope
Day four came with nothing new.
Then day five.
Simon never called, and I was tempted to return to that fire pit and summon his number to life from the ashes.
Six
Present Day
Hayden
What the hell was Hayden Hunter thinking?” “Are any of the rumors true?” “Leaking dirty pictures in the middle of a PR crisis is not how to run a business!”
Loud voices blared from the television in my living room, cutting through the soft streams of my shower.
I cursed myself for not unplugging it from the wall the night before.
My pictures were still the talk of the gossip world, but they’d done little to quell any of my other issues in the business realm. Those were somehow getting worse.
Now, on top of being a “ruthless liar” and a “reckless playboy with Daddy issues,” I was now a thief. A “thief with a big dick [we’d] love to fuck” according to Cosmo.
Groaning, I stepped outside my shower and wrapped a towel around my waist before walking down the hall.
I grabbed the remote right as Tim Lassing, the CEO of Tinder, took his seat across from a morning anchor.
He still looked as smug as he did years ago, when he first accused me of stealing his damn idea. As if “swipe right for yes and swipe left for no,” was some type of groundbreaking concept.
It was a pure coincidence that we’d come up with it at the same time, and that was the only similarity between our apps.
His app had twenty-million world-wide subscribers. My app had one-hundred million. Case closed.
“Thank you for coming here to discuss your competitor Hayden Hunter this morning,” the anchor said. “I understand that the two of you have been engaged in a bitter feud for years.”
“Not necessarily.” He smiled. “I’ve been desperately trying to prove that he’s a fraud and a liar, but I’m glad that so many people are finally starting to see how reckless he once was.”
“Once was?” she asked. “Does that mean you think he’s changed over the years?”
“Ha! No.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s even more of a conniving asshole than he was before.”
I crossed my arms. He looked saner today than he usually did, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he veered into psycho-territory.
He’d been in a skiing accident not too long after founding Tinder, and some parts of his brain were still on the slopes.
“If you could offer any advice, CEO to CEO—” the anchor said, “What would you say to him?”
“I would say that he should lawyer up for one hell of a fight.” His eyes went wide, nearly bulging out of his skull. “He should also admit that he kidnapped my dog in the past.”
“He what, sir?”
“He stole my dog.” He looked like he was about to cry. “I don’t know why you people don’t believe me. I can’t remember everything exactly, but he’s a dog thief, too. Never trust a dog thief.”
And there it is …
I picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
Before I could send a message to my lawyer, Lawrence’s email crossed my screen.
* * *
Subject: No Penelope Today. Whatsoever.
The universe has gifted us with another meltdown from the Head Loon at Tinder.
Your lawyer, Andrew Hamilton, wants you to focus on writing one hell of a compelling letter to the judge about why his latest claims against you are bullshit.
After that, I need you to get to work on those damn apology letters so we can take advantage of this timing.
If Penelope calls or texts you, please don’t answer her until you’re finished.
Thank you in advance.
Lawrence.
* * *
I smiled, immediately disregarding his request.
* * *
Subject: Fwd: No Penelope Today. Whatsoever.
If you need me, email me at my alternate account.
As you can see, Lawrence doesn’t want me to talk to you today.
Start a new thread and send it to my second phone.
Tell me what you’re up to …
—HH
* * *
Subject: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)
I’m currently waiting for a bird signal from you know who.
He still hasn’t called or texted because he doesn’t have my number. O_o
I’m also watching two new clients bust their ass on the ice. One of them just turned to me and said, “What the hell would you know about completing a double lutz?” UGH.
—Pen
P.S.—I opened your letter list this morning … You honestly want me to help you with all 1000? How the hell have you pissed off this many people???
* * *
Subject: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate Me?)
It’s been five days, Pen.
FIVE. DAYS.
Be patient and do something else with your time. Have you picked out what you’re wearing to his party yet? (He’ll find you sooner or later)
—HH
P.S.—2000* letters. I was a very bad boy when we weren’t talking apparently *smile emoji*
P.S.S—Lawrence does hate you, but he hates everyone else, too.
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)
I looked Simon up and found out that he made the Forbes 500 List last year. He’s listed at #301.
Impressive as hell, right?
Tatiana offered to let me borrow one of her designer dresses. (I told you that her mom was a former supermodel, right?)
(It’s midnight, so that means it’s been five and a half days now. The party is in three days!)
—Pen
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)
I guess that’s “impressive as hell,” if your best friend wasn’t already listed at #1 …
(He will, Pen. Trust me. Have I ever been wrong?)
—HH
Six (B)
Present Day
Penelope
There was a first time for everything.
Day six.
No call. No email. No trail of magical breadcrumbs that Simon followed to find his way to me.
Utterly impatient, I continued my sleuthing online and found his firm and tons of articles about his hedge fund.
On his website, there was no direct way to contact him if I wanted to. The email addresses listed all went to various assistants, and the phone numbers were 1-800 numbers that made it perfectly clear that they were for “Client Access Only.”
Refreshing my phone screen for the thousandth time, I leaned back against the seat in one of Hayden’s town cars.
“Hey there.” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Everything okay, Miss Penelope?”
“I’m fine, Chance,” I said. “Just waiting for something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure that you can tell your best friend and he’ll buy it within seconds.”
I forced a smile and refreshed my screen again.
As we rounded the block to my brownstone, my phone rang with an unknown number.
“Simon?” I answered without the slightest bit of grace.
“Who the hell is Simon?” Travis’s voice was on the other line.
Ugh. “No one I’ll ever tell you about.”
“Good.” He laughed. “I don’t want to hear about him until he proposes. This is my new business phone, by the way. Save the number.”
“I’m doing quite fine, Travis,” I said, hating that he had no phone etiquette whatsoever. “Thank you so much for asking. How are you?”
“Great, and good to know that you’re fine. You know I’ve never been good at small talk.”
You’re not good at communication in general. “My birthday is coming up soon.”
“I know that. I already asked Hayden for advice on what to get you.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’ll call you back later this week to spoil it, just in case you want something else. Love you, Crown.”
I laughed. “Love you, too.”
I ended the call and waited for the car to pull the curb before stepping out. Rummaging through my purse for my keys, I overheard a series of honking cars and screams.
“What in the hell?” “Are you serious?” “What the hell are you doing?”
“Hey! Hey! Penelope?”
I turned around and saw Simon rushing across the street in a suit. He was dodging taxis, ignoring the way they were flipping him off.
“I was hoping that was you,” he said, smiling. “I think I’ve tracked down every Penelope Carter in this city…”
I blushed as he moved closer. “You’ve really been trying to track me down?”
“Yeah. Is there a reason you haven’t called?” he asked. “Was I misreading our conversation at the airport?”
“No, I—” I tried to think of a non-Hayden reason. “I lost your napkin in baggage claim.”
“Okay, well …” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Can I have your phone number?”
I nodded, reciting it and feeling it buzz against my pocket seconds later.
“I was hoping you’d still be able to come to my party this weekend,” he said. “Is that possible?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Where is it?”
“Pier sixty-two. It’s on a super-yacht.”
“You rented one of those for a party?”
“No, I own one of those.” He smiled. “It starts at seven, but people won’t start getting there until eight. Myself included.”
“In college, you were always an hour early.”
“That was before people started asking me for money.” He laughed. “Now I’m purposely late so they don’t get the chance.” He stepped closer. “They’re also a bit more hesitant to get closer if they see that I have a date.”
I blushed again.
“I really should’ve asked you out in college,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been subtle back then, and I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’d really love to see you this weekend.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
“Hey, asshole!” A gruff voice shouted from across the street. “How long do you plan on holding up traffic with your lover boy bullshit?”
“Yeah!” Someone else shouted. “I hope she’s giving it up to you if you’re willing to act like you own this damn street!”
“I guess I should move my car now.” He stepped back, laughing. “See you this weekend, Penelope.”
“See you this weekend.”
I watched him slip behind the wheel of a bright red, candy-coated Ferrari. I waited for him to disappear down the block before rushing inside my place.
The moment I entered the living room, I was slapped in the face with something soft yet itchy.
What the hell?
I stepped back, realizing that it was a silk shirt with sequins on its sleeve, and it was hanging from a wardrobe rack full of other silk shirts.
Stepping around it, I saw more racks lined up in the dining room, then black and white boxes that were stacked high near the windows.
Versace. Fendi. Christian Louboutin.
“Hey there!” Tatiana tiptoed around a tower of Prada boxes. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”
“Were you waiting to brag about a shopping spree?”
“Ha! Please.” She picked up an envelope and handed it to me. “Your best friend did all the shopping apparently.”
I tore it open and read the card.
* * *
Penelope,
* * *
I think it’s way past time for you to have a wardrobe that you don’t have to rent.
* * *
Don’t try to pay me back, and don’t you d
are ask how much this costs.
* * *
Just accept it.
* * *
Let me know what you pick for the yacht party.
* * *
You’re welcome.
Hayden
* * *
P.S.—Wear your hair down.
P.S.S.—Don’t wear panties. Trust me.
Seven
Present Day
Penelope
Saturday
The second I stepped aboard the pristine white yacht, I felt out of place. My red dress—with its deep cut that revealed my cleavage and high thigh slit, stood out against everyone else’s toned down black and blue formal wear.
Shit.
I debated running back to the town car and begging the driver to take me home to change into something else.
Before I could think that through, the security guard motioned for me to step forward.
“Next in line, please,” he said, his eyes glued to a tablet. “Name and affiliation to Mr. Gaines?”
“Um…” I forced a smile as I moved closer. “Is there a coat check in there? You think I can borrow someone’s jacket?”
“Your name and—” He looked up from his pad, his gaze traveling up and down my dress. “I think you’re at the wrong party, Miss. This ain’t a Hollywood premiere.”