It’s two weeks before graduation so we’re all off college, and Vivienne doesn’t start her new job as Nico’s administrative assistant until Monday.
Turns out, Conor’sLittle Beehas an exceptional knack for numbers. She completes complex calculations in her head faster than most people could type the numbers into a calculator. Not even Conor knew that until Nico was almost pulling his hair out last week, searching for a mistake his assistant made in a client’s account.
He had about thirty pages of stock transaction data strewn across the breakfast bar, tirelessly cross-checking figures until I’m sure he was seeing double. It took Vee five minutes to find the blunder among the sea of data.
Five fucking minutes.
Needless to say, Nico immediately offered her an entry-level position, with a promise he’d sponsor any courses she’ll need if she ever decides to climb the career ladder.
So yeah, she’s between jobs and can spend the day helping her boyfriend unpack my shit.
Perfect timing.
“When’s the rest of the furniture getting here?” Conor asks while the girls lock themselves in the bathroom.
I seriously doubt it needs all three of them to line the shelves with my toiletries, but I keep my mouth shut.
Who am I to interrupt their gossip time?
“Soon, I hope. The driver called at eight, saying delivery should be by eleven.”
“Alright. We should clear some space then.” He grabs his coffee, taking a slow, measured sip, inquisitive gaze scanning the room. “You know what you desperately need?”
“Beer?”
He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, but gentlemen don’t drink before noon, so put a pin in that. I meant your flat screen. That’s what we’re starting with. You want it mounted on the wall?”
“Not like I have a choice. I threw the stand away last year,” I sift through the boxes, hunting for the one labeledtools.
Once I have it and Conor locates the TV, we measure the wall, drill it, and secure the bracket. Half an hour later, the girls move on to the kitchen stuff—most of which they bought last week using my card—and Conor flicks through the channels till he finds ESPN so the practice run for Spanish GP can serve as background noise.
An hour whizzes by. We’ve unpacked just five of over thirty boxes. Rose brews another pot of coffee as a knock reverberates through the condo.
Colt stands in the hallway, cradling the largest case of beer available. I’m surprised he’s here this early. I didn’t expect him to show up until at least late afternoon, when we’d have done most of the work, reducing his job to fuck all save for delegating the remaining task.
“A bit early for that, isn’t it?” I point at the Coronas he’s protectively clutching.
“Think of this as a pre-housewarming party and live a little.” He points his thumb over his shoulder at the boxes, furniture, and mattress leaning against the wall behind him. “Looks like my timing couldn’t be better. The rest of your stuff’s here.”
Narrowing my eyes, I throw a skeptical look at the white bookshelf and a mattress that can’t be the King-size I ordered.
“I don’t think that’s mine...” I say, glancing down the hallway where two men carry a three-seater, navy-blue couch.
And then all hell breaks loose. Figuratively, of course, but it feels like the Cerberus was let off his leash and charges right at me, all three wide mouths baring their long fangs.
My breath falters as a familiar figure rounds the corner, a large green plant in hand, a black designer purse slung over her shoulder to complement her tiny black dress and red-soled heels. I can’t actually see the red soles, but that’s all she ever wears.
“No fucking way,” I mutter, prompting Colt to check what got my panties in a twist. “This isn’t happening.”
A stifled snort flies past his lips. “Oh-oh,” he hums, amusement palpable. “Just your luck, huh?”
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth start cracking when none other than Blair Fitzpatrick—the instigator of Mia’s long years of bullying—locks eyes with me.
Her smile slips, and those striking, dark, stormy blues of hers narrow, roving up and down my body, her nose scrunched in disgust. Just like my breathing, her steps slow.
A shadow crosses her face, but as fast as it appears, it’s gone. She lifts her chin a notch, seemingly unfazed that fate, karma, heaven, and hell are shitting all over us right now.
Looks like I lied again...
