I know what happened to Indie.
Grey
Who is this?
He must have tried to call the number because his next text implies it.
Grey
Call me back. Please.
Unknown
Too risky. Come to Cathedral Bay. I’ll tell you everything.
Grey
Don’t fuck with me. Answer the phone.
Unknown
I’m serious, man. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll wait inside the marina. I work there. But if you don’t show up in an hour after I get there, I’m gone.
I squeeze the phone so tight the screen glitches. Grey’s next text was sent forty-five minutes after that message.
Grey
I’m here.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
SLOANE
“Use lilac and make iteverywhere.” Tyli slides my binder back to me, pages splayed to my—awful—sketch of the interior of my future agency. I want a vibe like that of The Veil; sections cordoned off so eventually, when I have a team, everyone has their own booth to work with clients within. In person. Online marketing and social media influence is huge, but I want my place to be different. Focused on what works, sure, but a community too. I know from experience if people have to tackle everything alone, they fall.
I flash a grin at Tyli and glance at my pastel purple binder, raising my brows to my friend. “Obviously.” The sketches she looked over were curtains, booths, and a walled-in vanity area. Separate from the bathroom, because it’s nice to get ready and primp in a place without a toilet.
I close the binder and glance around Ely’s library. Friday of our long weekend, with classes starting back on Tuesday, the place is empty. The lights are dim, the bookshelves dusted but deserted, and while there are a handful of other circular wooden tables here tucked behind the biographical sections, Tyli and Iare the only people around. It’s quiet, too, the sole sound distant hums from the wind outside.
There’s a thunderstorm coming tonight.
I texted Henry and asked if he wanted me home, but he said Mom and Dad were pretending to be happily married again and that made up my mind for me.
“You’re staying all weekend?” I ask Tyli. I saw her two nights ago at the party—told her I had to rush out to see Henry; thankfully she didn’t catch sight of me leaving with Storm.
Tyli tucks a brown-black curl behind her ear, then smooths her hand over her maroon-red notebook. Her nails are stiletto, yellow, and stunning contrasted against her dark skin. The emerald-studded bangles on her wrist clank with her movement and I wonder if that’s her journal or if she uses it for school. Tyli Myles reminds me of Remi in some ways; quieter than average, secretive until she decides to open up. I’ve known her for going on three years now but only what she wants me to know. Her family lives in Charleston and she has no siblings. Other than that, I couldn’t tell you much about her home life.
What I do know about her is she looks good in anything—casual, off-duty model wear and ball gowns both (we dressed up one night last year to go out like we were storybook princesses)—and she wants to be a fashion editor. For a known magazine first, then she wants to start her own. We always joke about working together in the future, but I hope it isn’t a joke.
“Yeah,” she finally answers me, her amber eyes lifting to mine. “Which is good. I’ve got to design, shoot for, and print a mini magazine by the end of the semester.” She lifts her chin and smiles, red lips pulling up high. “You wanna be in it, by the way?”
My face flushes warm. She’s my friend, and it’s just for a course, but still, it’s not every day you get asked to be in a fashionista’s lookbook.
“Yes,” I say, smiling as I speak. “But give me ample warning when you want to shoot. I need to do a facial, spool my brows, find an outfit?—”
“No, no. I like your natural brows. Much better than all the stuff you used to do to them,” she says with a laugh, glancing at my eyebrows. She isn’t wrong. They do look better now. I used to laminate them but then the hairs started getting too brittle, so now I just use gel when I remember. I don’t know if Storm’s ever seen me with them done…
