A sucker is who. (Armando in 5F is convinced it’s a tax write-off for some exotic billionaire, and I’m not saying I believe him, but I do make sure to smile at every well-dressed stranger in hopes of getting swept up in an international love triangle).
It could turn out to be Dracula diversifying his assets, and I wouldn’t care. It saved Mrs. Moonsamy and her daughter from having to move across the country when she was between jobs last year, so whoever it was can’t be all bad.
And the best part of new ownership is easily Manny and his bar downstairs.
In the past two years, the Dapper Scoundrel has been the set piece for all my life crises. When I go to ground, I mean it literally, because the Scoundrel is six floors below me. That alone would automatically make it the best bar in town, but then there’s Manny, with his lilting English accent, model cheekbones, and goofy smiles, who pours the best French martini I’ve ever tasted.
It also helps that he lets me steal their Wi-Fi.
Borrow. I mean borrow.
* * *
On my first day of unemployment, Mom texts to ask how my week is going, and my gut twists so sharply with guilt that I can only manage a thumbs-up before I stuff my phone behind the sofa cushions and run to the bar. It takes two mojitos and a cosmo to untangle it again.
On day two, Emma comes over and makes me promise to use her as a work reference.
On day three, there’s Lincoln.
CHAPTER4
A SCOUNDREL, INDEED
LINCOLN
It’s a Thursday afternoon when a goddess walks into the pub.
I’ve seen my fair share of beautiful women. It’s impossible to find a woman who isn’t beautiful, in my opinion. They’re each spectacular in their own way.
But this woman…
This woman is phenomenal.
I knew the moment I met her that Ivy was special. Call it attraction or call it intuition; I’m not bothered. Something about her drew me in, and I’m not in the habit of denying my curiosity.
That she clearly doesn’t immediately fall at my feet only makes the chase sweeter.
But it’s best we begin with some context.
* * *
No matter how many times I return stateside, the sun is a welcome surprise. Rain is predictable. London rain, especially. Dependable, one might say. And if one was my brother, one definitely has. Reed cares about that sort of thing.
Reliability, I mean. Not the rain.
Although probably that too.
Dad’s always said we’re two sides of the same coin, approaching problems from opposite directions. Reed is regimented; I’m impulsive. Darcy, as the youngest and obviously the most perfect in our father’s eyes, has thus far escaped clichéd metaphor.
“There he is,” Manny calls out as I step through the painted double oak doors, his beaming smile greeting my own. If sun rays could take human form, they’d look like my cousin.
When he’s finished washing out a cocktail shaker, he slaps his hand in mine, pulling me halfway across the counter into a hug. He’s shaved his head and has let his goatee grow out. We’re the same age, but he still manages to make thirty-three look like twenty-one, especially in theNightwingT-shirt he’s got on. Unlike my lily-white arse, Manny’s blessed with his mum’s brown skin and good humor, which makes him a triple threat.
I take my first full breath in twenty-four hours. Christ, I’ve missed the hell out of him. A year between visits is too long.
“How was the flight?” he asks. “I’m assuming you haven’t unpacked yet, because you look like shit.”
I flip him off, taking the second to last stool at the bar. It’s worn, with a little wiggle that lets me rock when I position it right. “Thanks, mate. Your compliments always warm my heart.”
