“Get the remote!” I call, laughing, as I try to run in my socks on the hardwood, but can’t quite make it.
We dissolve into laughter, hurtling into the living room, wrestling for the right to choose our show. We’re all limbs, hot skin, tangled and breathing together.
And, no matter how much I miss my family, I know I wouldn’t trade a night like this for the world.
“Aidan—you remember the HR assistant from your first day?”
I wince, stirring my cocktail and glancing up at Julian. He’s dressed like himself, in a sheer floral top and dark pants. We’re at a fancy pop-up bar in the West Village, where he insisted we go out for drinks to improve the “worst month of the year.”
We got into the bar by taking stairs down to a basement door and knocking a certain way. Now that we’re inside, Julian’s teeth glow under the black lights, and I can barely make out his face through the dark. All the drinks are made with fluorescent glitter, so they’re more visible than the man sitting across from me.
There are fish bowls on the bar, and one of those old scuba masks hanging above our table. The whole thing kind of reminds me of a space-themed indoor mini golf course near Lancaster.
“Of course I remember him,” I say, returning my thoughts to the conversation and taking a sip of my drink. I never actually learned the assistant’s name. “He hated me.”
Julian frowns, “He did nothateyou, the executive assistants were just in and out enough that there was no point getting to know you.” Julian pauses, takes a long drink of his neon green drink. It smells like apples. “Anyway, he started a betting pool. About why you were fired.”
My mouth drops open, “What? Isn’t that like, against the code of conduct?”
Julian raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say,isn’t sleeping with all three of your bosses against the code of conduct?
“Touché,” I mutter, pushing my hair over one shoulder. He insisted I leave it down, and it tickles on my bare skin in this dress, naked without the fur hanging on the back of my chair. “What are they saying?”
Shrugging, Julian says, “Depends on who you ask. Top runners are that you got Dane trapped in his plane, accidentally poisoned Cole with dairy milk. Oh—or that you spilled red wine on one of Nico’s nice silk shirts.”
“Okay, so everyone thinks I’m incompetent?”
“You’d rather they think you weresleepingwith them?” Julian laughs, and I smack him lightly on the arm.
“Honestly, with such a massive blabber mouth here—” I give him a look, “I’m shocked that’s not already common knowledge.”
Julian mimes zipping his lips, which are now glowing green from his drink. “I’ve saidnothing,as much as that pains me. But why do you care what they think about you? You’re going to that art program at NYU, you’re going to be a famous artist withthreevery enthusiastic sponsors. No starving artist stereotype for you.”
I roll my eyes, even as my heart flutters again at the mention of my guys. Probably, I’ll never get used to the new reality of my life. “Thanks for the confidence, but it’s not likely that I’ll get accepted this time. I didn’t prepare much?—”
“Okay, then you have the whole year to keep painting and submit again,” Julian points out. “I’d give anything for what you’ve got going on.”
I frown into my sparkling, swirling blue drink, remembering what he told me about his family. He’s lost them anyway, so what sacrifice would there be for him?
“Do you have, like, a passion?” I ask, before I can think it through.
Julian laughs, “Yeah, it’s totally being a project manager at Ember.” He pauses, tries to take a drink, then seems to realize his glass is empty except for the ice. “No, I mean, not like you. I just want to fall in love. Maybe adopt some kids, have a stable job in the city. See my friends. Be content.”
“That’s a tall order,” I laugh, and he follows suit. When the laughter dies down, Julian knocks his fist against the table and stands, asking if I want another drink. I pass him Dane’s credit card and he pretends to swoon, holding it against his chest.
Julian disappears into the crowd, jostling his way toward the bar, and I turn my drink around and around in front of me, watching the sweat from the glass smear over the black tabletop.
In every quiet moment, I think of my family.
And, as though I’ve summoned it just from thinking about her, my phone starts to buzz with a call from Mary.
Heart thudding, hands shaking, I try to scoop it up only to drop it on the table. Entire body thrumming with energy, I manage to right it, answer, and press it to my ear.
“Mary—” I start, but she cuts me off. Her voice is weird, tight and low, whispering and breaking at once.
“Luc,” she says, “I’m not supposed to be calling you. But I have to—I have to?—”
Mary starts to cry, and I stand up, nearly knocking over my chair. I’m already gathering my things, shoving them back in my purse, ignoring the strange, questioning looks Julian shoots me on his way back from the bar.
