Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Red billows from my eyes. Are you kidding me? “You did not give me the idea,” I hiss.
“Didn’t I, though? Weren’t you talking about how to expand, and I mentioned the shop in Williamsburg was all the rage with its custom bikes? And you should try your hand at custom bikes? I said it one night when we were walking Baby.”
That. Name.
It’s a miracle I don’t blow a fuse right now. Inside, all my circuits are breaking. “It’s not an original fucking idea. It’s a normal thing.”
“It’s the thing in the specialized bike biz,” Zara adds.
Callie bobs a shoulder. “If you say so, but if you’re going to be difficult about sharing the profits, Milo, I can just have my attorney handle this. He’ll be in touch,” she says, then spins on her sneakered feet and walks out in a cloud of perfume and trickery.
When the door slams shut, Zara closes the distance and cups my shoulders. “She’s trying to scare you,” Zara says, calm and reassuring. “Don’t let her.”
I grit my teeth. “I won’t,” I bite out.
But Callie’s plan is working. I am fucking scared.
I turn my gaze to Veronica, who’s busying herself spraying the flowers with water.
Veronica came up with so many new ideas for my flower business.
She’s not like Callie. Not one bit. I know that in my heart, and yet, I have no good instincts. I trusted Callie enough to move in with her, to share a home with her, to fall for her.
“Excuse me,” I say, and I leave, then walk around the block, once, twice, three times, trying to chase the onslaught of terrible thoughts away.
When I return, the clock ticking perilously close to Rio’s pickup time, I zoom in on work. I finish the job with blinders on. As I’m polishing the handlebars and chewing on my own stupidity, Veronica comes over to me, a soft, sympathetic look in her eyes. “Is it easier for you if we just . . . call it good? With the list?”
No. Hell no.
And yet, some of my tension seeps away at the question. “You sure?”
She nods. “It’s been fun, but it sounds like you should just focus on your business right now.”
She’s so earnest. So real. And I am so in love with her that I don’t trust myself not to fuck up everything I’ve built.
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say, right as Rio comes in.
I turn away from Veronica, stride up to him, shake his hand. “It’s all ready.”
He’s all smiles. “I knew I could count on you,” he says.
That makes only one of us.
29
The Man Blues
Veronica
* * *
Fine, I do wallow.
But this time it’s not over a job. It’s over a man, and hey, that’s allowed.
That night, Ellie drags my ass to Gin Joint to meet Hazel and indulge in the amazing new summer-themed mojitos the bar is offering.
“They’re the perfect cure for the man blues,” Ellie says as we turn on the corner, heading toward the popular speakeasy in Chelsea. “Trust me. Sebastian and I were talking about this on set.”
“Dude. Did you just name drop an Oscar winner?”
Ellie winces. “Shit. I did. I’m an asshole.”
I laugh. “No, you’re not. I suppose if I worked with him, I’d do the same.”
“He’s such a sweetheart, and besides, the mojitos worked for both of us, and they are going to work for you,” she says, chin up and best friend-y.
I need something to lift my spirits after that I volunteer as tribute stunt I pulled at the store this afternoon.
Ugh. “What was I thinking?” I ask as we reach the bar.
“You did the noble thing,” Ellie says, and I trudge into the establishment with her.
“I’m still waiting for my knighting,” I say, listless and sad.
As soon as we’re through the door, Hazel pops up from a sapphire chaise longue, marches over to me, and wraps me in her big-sister arms. I sniffle a little as she hugs me, but then I let go, determined to put today behind me.
“Are you okay?” Hazel asks, hands curled around my shoulders, green eyes pinning me.
I haul in a deep breath as the chatter of the bar fills my head—glasses clinking, conversations unspooling, laughter bursting. “I’ll be fine,” I say, fastening on a stiff upper lip. Really, what did I have to mourn anyway? The end of a sex countdown? I’ll get over it. I have to. “It was no big deal.”
Hazel taps my nose. “Did that just grow, Pinocchio?”
“But it has to be no big deal. He’s my boss for a while longer, but even if I didn’t work for him, he’s just not emotionally available and there’s nothing I can do about—”
A dapper lounge singer at the baby grand dives into the opening notes of an unfamiliar love song. It’s old-fashioned and beautiful as he croons in a rich, plaintive voice, Let me call you sweetheart. I’m in love with you. Let me hear you whisper. That you love me too.